Change = Not Easy

(Eleven of my 14 favorite little friends)

Yesterday was a toughie.

My 'job' at church was changed - I will now be the secretary for the Primary (kids aged 18 months-11 years old). I'm sure I will eventually enjoy these new responsibilities, but man oh man is it tough to let go of my little class.

Yesterday was my last week as teacher to my little 5-6 year-olds. I hated having to tell them this news, although it was likely harder for me than it was for them. Kids are pretty resilient, really. Besides the emotional breakdown that Hubba had when I made my announcement, they all took it fairly well.

I went all out for my last hoo-rah, making sure that every child's favorite things to do were included in the lesson. We colored. We taped. We told stories and used visual aids and finger puppets. Each child was spotlighted for their amazing talents, which were printed on a bookmark. I played my accordion for them, which was accompanied by a little impromptu dancing. I even passed out take-home treats at the end.

For the first time, ever, I don't think anyone asked to go to the bathroom. Miracles happen.

As each of them left they gave me the customary high five or hug. Almost every one told me they were going to miss me, which was making me a little teary - until it came to Super C. He gave me a hug and then said, "Don't wuh-wee, Sisto Bwack. We will get an awesome new tee-cho and then we won't hawdly miss you at all!"

The problem is, I am selfish. And Super C's words are exactly what I am worried will happen. My church class is like my little Sunday family! I want invitations to their future art shows and sporting events and wedding receptions. I feel like I'm putting my Sunday kids up for adoption and just hoping for the best when it comes to a new parent. Will he/she remember their birthdays and notice when they aren't there? Will he/she appreciate how creative and witty and clever they are? Will he/she make an effort to contact the two kids who only make it to class on occasion? Most importantly, will the new teacher love them like I do? (Impossible!)

I'm sure things will all work out. I know that early next year, when I'm carrying a carseat around with me again, it will be much easier to fulfill my secretarial duties than to wrangle a precocious class full of young'uns.

But still...

I'm just going to miss it, that's all.

The Many Uses of Playdough

photo found at playdoh.com

Last Sunday, as part of my lesson, I gave each of the kids in my class a little baggie containing a glob of playdough and asked them to create a farm animal from it. As I made the playdough at home earlier that morning I remember looking at how white it was and wondering if I should give it a tint of color - perhaps yellow or green? - but I ultimately decided that it would be best to leave it neutral so they wouldn't mold their globs into animals based on a specific color. (It didn't matter, by the way. The boys all made snakes and the girls mostly made cats.)

After a few attempts to eat or at least lick their little globs of dough, I had them put their baggies beneath their chairs.

At the end of the lesson, being the awesome teacher that I am, I let the kids take the playdough home.

Later, I received this email from one of my kids' parents:

So as we were walking home from primary, M. was proudly showing me her "dough." I said, "oh, that's so nice! Playdough!" And she said, "No mom, it's not playdough. It's dough!" I smiled and thought nothing of it.

We got in the door and about 15 minutes into making lunch M. announced that she was supposed to make a pizza with the dough. So I changed my assumptions... you must have given them some dough to make something at home. What a great idea! OK, fine. Go ahead and make a pizza.

I preheated the oven and the kids had a grand old time rolling out the "dough" on a baking sheet. I gave M. sauce to spread, and cheese, and put it in the oven to bake. 10 minutes later I took it out, got the "pizza" off the pan, and put it on M.'s plate, instructing her to share a little bit with her sisters.

I tasted a little glob of crust which had stuck to the pan.

I'm sure you know the rest.... :)

J and I were laughing so hard. I laughed so hard I cried. Anyway... thank you for the playdough! I should have tasted it before we even started.

Maybe I should have gone with purple?

Kindness

photo from lexington.ma.us

My typically sweet Sunday School class full of five and six-year-olds were not being their usual selves today.

It started in the first hour, when we meet with all of the other kids aged 8 and under.

One had to go to the bathroom about every 7 minutes.
One could not keep her hands to herself.
One continuously turned to glare at me.
One would not stop eating her strawberry-flavored chapstick.
One could not refrain from busting out some crazy dance moves every time we sang a song.
Two would not stop kissing each other on the mouth.
The rest were simply restless.

By the time we finally made it to our classroom for our second hour together it was obvious that not much listening would be happening today. I mentally made a change of plans on how to present my lesson - incorporating plenty of role playing, action songs and class participation.

By the time I got the 3 boys from behind the door and the 2 kids who were hiding beneath a chair and table to their seats, my Hubba started kicking the air vent on the door. I nicely asked him to take a seat and he answered my request by kicking the vent again. I sat him in the hallway and again tried to begin class.

The lesson was about being kind. As I began to ask different kids to help me act out the parable of the Good Samaritan I noticed that one of my little six-year-olds was plugging her ears and squeezing her eyes shut. I tried to ignore her antics... until she began softly humming. When she refused to stop I took her to one of the adult leaders over the primary classes and had them take her to her mother. I hate resorting to this tactic but some days it is the only thing I can do to remain sane.

Three girls would not stop chatting. Two others would not stop kicking each others' chairs. My quietest class member looked as if she might start to cry. I was at the end of my rope. Nothing was working!! I had the thought that maybe if I tried to be kind instead of acting frustrated they would get the message. I started to whisper a story which came to mind. The class eventually became silent in order to hear my words.

I told them of a time when I was just older than their age, a time when I was very self-conscious and unsure of myself. There were many reasons for this, but the most obvious was my teeth. I explained to them that my teeth sort of made me look like a beaver and that one particular boy at church would always tease me about my teeth and make me want to cry. Then I asked them, "Was that a kind thing for him to do?" "NO!" they all shouted in unison.

And before I could finish my story, they all took turns defending my past buck-toothed self.

"That kid was NOT NICE to you!"

"What a big meanie boy!"

"If I was a kid way back in time when you were a kid I would've been your friend and told that kid to KNOCK IT OFF, MISTER!!"

I thanked them all for their kindness and just then the girl who was taken to her mom returned. She handed me a note and sat down in her seat. The note read:

Deir techor,

I em sorwee
that I was
anoring you
You are the Best
techor

As I was handing out a coloring page my little Hubba re-joined us as well. Apparently he had gotten bored with sitting in the hallway and made his way to the library where he asked someone to help him write a note for me which simply said:

I Love You!

Hubba

Well, since the lesson was on kindness (and because I am easily manipulated) I let him come sit with the class for the last few minutes.

After the closing prayer was said each class member gave me the customary high-five or hug along with their own added words which varied from thank you to I love you, teach-o to sorry we were kind of bad.

Here was my sweet class. I knew they would show up eventually.

Unexpected

Last Sunday was a little worse than what is typical. Allen had some meetings that prevented him from attending our meetings with us so I was left alone to wrangle the youngest kids.

About 10 minutes into the meeting Little O started his squirming which then became whining which developed into full-fledged You-Better-Get-Me-Out-Of-Here-NOW-Or-The-Whole-Congregation's-Gonna-Be-Sorry.

I grabbed Little O in one arm, the diaper bag and bottle in the other, and headed for the foyer. When I got there I realized that Hubba and Curly had followed me out as well. Curly wanted me to help her color a picture. Hubba wanted to pretend he was a train headed into a volcano that was ready to shoot hot lava UP TO THE SKY! Little O wanted to run. I wanted to die.

I looked back into the chapel to get some reinforcements (aka The Teenagers) but realized that they were all heading up to the front to participate in a Christmas musical number. All-a-Boy sat on the edge of the bench, reading something, while Princess and Cowgirl tried desperately to annoy each other. I let out an exasperated sigh. What could I do from the foyer with a wiggly, screaming little boy?

I was lucky to have a friend who was happy to have Curly sit with her. This left me with the two rowdy boys and a whole hour yet to keep them un-rowdy. Hubba kept trying to jerk away from my grip and get closer to the gym where he wanted to run for the remainder of the meeting while Little O bashed his head back against my face and chest hoping I would let him down. I was trying not to cry as I stood there feeling helpless and I offered a silent prayer in my head.

Please, Heavenly Father, I pleaded, I am trying to do what's right. I want my kids to know that church is the right place to be today. I don't want to let them run around but I don't know what to do. Please, help me to make it through this meeting without breaking down. Help me to do what is right. Help me not to cry in front of people.

I stood for a few moments longer, wrestling with my boys, and just when I was nearing a point beyond frustration, help came.

I like to think that my Heavenly Father has a sense of humor, because the help I sought came in the most unexpected and unlikely way...

It was a cat.

She came out of nowhere and started pawing at the doors to the church, meowing and jumping about. Hubba noticed her first and dragged me to the doors. "Awww, mom, that cay-at is so cold outside and it is so warm in he-yer. She just wants to come get warm for a minute. Can't we let her in? She just wants to he-yer the people singing..." After I explained that cats do not come inside churches he and Little O were content to stand near the door and just watch her.

She would strut from one end of the doors to the other, occasionally stopping to stretch or roll or pounce at a stray leaf and they were mesmerized.


That cat silently entertained my boys for the rest of the meeting. Then just as the congregation began to sing the closing song, she turned and left.

Some may say it is a coincidence that the cat showed up when she did, but I see things differently. Coincidence or not, that cat was an answer to my prayer. It was evidence to me that my prayers are heard and that my Heavenly Father will not leave me alone when I am frustrated and upset and at my wit's end.

Yes, a cat, of all things, was evidence of my Savior's love for and understanding of me.

And I was so very thankful.

The Golden Rule

Today's Sunday School lesson was all about the golden rule and making good choices. After an extensive message on doing unto others as you would have them do unto you, I gave the kids examples of situations they could be faced with and then asked what would be the right thing to do.

I asked Super C what he would do if he found a wallet full of money on the street near his house.

"Give the money to someone who needs money?" he asked.

"Well, that would be very nice for someone who needs money, but you could maybe look inside and see who it belongs to..."

"And buy them some gum?" he asked.

"Well, no..." I started to answer, but then he excitedly answered,

"Oh, I know! So the people who need money that you gaved the money to can tell them thank you!"

Close enough.

Next I asked Hubba what he would do if he was playing baseball in someone's yard and broke a neighbor's window. His response was immediate.

"Run!"

"No," I told him, "you don't run. They would probably see you running off anyway and then you'd be in even more trouble. What would be the right thing to do?"

"Hide?"

*sigh* Sometimes I wonder if I am actually teaching these kids anything.

But this much is true; they certainly know how to make me laugh.

Life, Love And Learning

The best and most beautiful things in this world cannot be seen or even heard, but must be felt with the heart. - Helen Keller

I am not sure I can adequately express what I want to, but I am going to try.

The children at church took a walk across the street with their teachers today to sing some songs for the residents of the rest home there. First we walked the halls, holding hands and singing a few familiar favorites, bringing some residents to their doorways to share a smile or offer a wave as we passed by.

We continued to the main gathering room where we congregated on a stage to present a few more numbers. As we stood there singing, I looked out over the crowd. The faces I saw were happy, almost lit up with joy. And why? Because some children that they didn't even know were there to sing some songs for them.

My heart ached for these people, despite their currently pleasant demeanor. Thoughts raced through my mind. Why were they here? Did they have family? If so, did they come to visit? Were they lonely? Hurting? Sad? Scared? Where would I be when I reached that stage of my life? I continued to stand there, mouthing the words to each song along with the crowd of kids, but not actually singing for fear that my emotions would come to the surface. I am not sure how to describe what was going on inside of me except to say that I felt a great deal of love towards our audience.

When we were finished with our music we turned to exit the room. Residents of the home waved farewell, smiling, some calling out things like, "Such beautiful children!" and "Come again!"

I wanted to take the time to hug each person there, to tell them that they were loved and important. But I didn't. Not only for fear that I would become emotional but also because it was time to get back - time to sit in my classroom with the sweet 5-year-olds who I have stewardship over each week. Time to teach the lesson that I had prepared.

As we gathered back at the church and settled down for class I had a similar emotion overtake me, only this time it was one of love and appreciation for each of the kids in my class. I am uncomfortable crying in front of others and welcomed the distraction of Little O being brought to me right then as I don't think I would have been able to hold back what was threatening to emerge.

As I walked through the halls of the church, my little boy in my arms, I continued to think over the things I had felt. And I realized something. At the rest home as well as in my classroom, I was not edifying them. They were edifying me, offering me a glimpse of things that I needed to see and feel.

In reality, they were the ones teaching me the lessons today.

Lessons about the power of music and the love of mankind and the ties that bind us all together.

Remembering to count my blessings.

And none of that even comes close to sharing what I really feel.

Seems Reasonable

Quote of the day:

"I like to keep my eyes open fo pray-os because I listen bett-o wif my eyes lookin' a-wownd at stuff. And anyways, when I shut my eyes it just makes me want-a fall asweep." -Super C

Heroes

Last week I was having a discussion with my Sunday class of 4-5 year olds about who their heroes are.

BatMay-un, SpydoMay-un and even Hannah Muntana were mentioned.

To clarify, I asked them to think of people they would want to be like, those whom they looked up to and thought were amazing.

BatMay-un, SpydoMay-un and SooPaGul were named.

I explained further that Superheroes were, in fact, amazing, but not real people. Could any of them name any real people who were their heroes?

"Is Hannah Muntana for weals?" asked J~.

"Sort of," I answered. "But I mean people who you guys actually know. People who you talk to and see all the time. Someone who does nice things and loves you."

"I KNOW!" shouted Super C. "You is my he-wo, Sisto Bwack!" And all of the other munchkins were quick to agree.

And so, although that wasn't quite the answer I was looking for, I left it at that. Because even if it was just a response to butter me up some, it may have choked me up a little.

Today I am thankful that the funniest, sweetest little people in the neighborhood are my friends. And really - my heroes.

Getting Out

Last Saturday I had the chance to get out in the community and do some sign language interpreting again. It has been awhile, but despite my nervousness I was really looking forward to it. I met up with my brother, Chip, and we carpooled to Salt Lake City together to work as two of the ASL interpreters for the General Relief Society broadcast for our church.

Can I just say I LOVED EVERY MINUTE OF IT!!

We had an amazing crew:
The green room was loaded with plenty of things to snack on:

I was so excited that Chip suggested I get out a little more often. (Wouldn't you be excited?! Look at all of the chocolate!! And you can't even see the fruit and veggie trays, or plethora of drinks!)

This is the set, with the hot seat:

Here are Chip and I, reviewing the talks we will be translating for:


The talk I was assigned to interpret went great, especially considering I have not done this in quite awhile. If you want to watch me at work, click on this link then click on the link for Silvia H. Allred's talk in American Sign Language. If I ever figure out how to embed the video here, I'll do so and make it easier for all of us. But for now, click.

As we were leaving, Chip pointed out this poster of a former event at the Conference Center:


He told me about how he got to interpret for this concert, featuring the Oak Ridge Boys. And how everyone in the Tabernacle Choir kept asking the Oak Ridge Boys during rehearsals if they were going to sing Elvira but they kept saying they didn't think it fit the program. And then how it came down from the top that they could go ahead and sing the song, and that Chip was told to not hold back in his interpretation, but to put on a show. And then he gave me a small sampling of his performance, the likes of which I would pay handsomely to see again. I mean, who knew he could move like that when signing, Giddy-up, a whoom-bop a whoom-bop a maow maow! Apparently Chip's hips are not a force to be reckoned with.

Every once in awhile it is just a great thing to spend some time with my brother, enjoying some tasty treats and doing something that we love.

My Little Missionary

I am not sure what it is exactly that holds me back from sharing my religious views with others. Perhaps it is the idea that I may be perceived as preachy or overbearing. Maybe I am afraid of offending someone. Regardless, I have a son who has never felt any of this kind of apprehension. He has a zest for life and when it comes to sharing his faith and beliefs regarding our religion, no one is exempt.

When Allen and I returned from our trip on Sunday, All-a-Boy told us of his latest missionary experience.

On Saturday All-a-Boy was riding his bike around the neighborhood when he was greeted by two missionaries getting into their car. They asked how he was doing and then inquired if he knew of any people in our neighborhood who were not members of our church. All-a-Boy immediately responded, "Sure I do! Just follow me!" The missionaries jumped into their vehicle and slowly followed behind All-a-Boy's bike as he led them around the block to the home of our neighbors across the street, a friend that All-a-Boy has invited to church on numerous occasions - with no luck. All-a-Boy went to the door with the missionaries and knocked. When his friend S~ and her mom answered, he said, "Hey, S~! I wanted to introduce you to the missionaries."

Greetings were exchanged and small talk was made - and then S~'s mom joked, "Well, All-a-Boy, since this whole thing was your idea I'd expect you to have a story or something to share with us." So he did. He launched into a re-telling of the prophet Elijah and his "sacrifice burning contest" with the prophets of Baal. He then recounted a story of Wilford Woodruff on his mission in England and how he converted a constable who was sent to arrest him.

The visit ended with All-a-Boy sharing his testimony with S~ and her mom about what makes our church different from others and why he loves it so much. Before leaving, All-a-Boy asked if they would like to come to church with our family next Sunday. S~'s mom told him that they could probably come in two weeks.

All-a-Boy was beside himself with excitement as he shared this story with me.

I was beside myself with amazement at the conviction and determination of my boy.

I want to be more like him.

I Asked For It

Today's Sunday School lesson for my 4 to 5-year-old class was titled "Our Parents Help Us Learn". One of the points was that we were born into families for a reason: so they could help us to learn and grow.

I posed this question to my class:

Why do you think we were born into families instead of just being placed on the earth in the middle of a grassy field somewhere?

And N~'s answer was this:

Because we NEEDed to be PRE-TECTed from LAWNmowers!

Maybe I should re-think the way I pose my questions to 4 and 5-year-olds...

What's In A Name?

Photo from Disney/Pixar

Last Sunday at church, I wanted to emphasize my point with a story.

"There was a little boy named Wally," I began, summarizing the narrative in my lesson manual.

"WALL-E?" Super C asked. "Like the wo-bot in the movie?"

"Actually," I replied, thinking quickly, "the boy's name was... Wilbur."

"Like the pig in Shaw-let's Web?" Super C countered.

"Okay," I suggested, "let's call him Walter."

"Walt-o is the boy in the movie about the house in space!" Super C told us.

"Hmmm. How about Will?"

"That's my fwend Lilly's bwuth-o!" he informed me.

"Well, Super C, what would you like me to call him, then?" I inquired.

"I fought you said his name was WALL-E. Why awen't you cau-wing him that?"


Good point.

Warm Happy Feelings

Last Sunday I was trying to explain to my class that, when faced with the question of whether something is right or true, God can give us a warm, happy feeling in our hearts to confirm it.

I told the story of Jeff, a boy who was being taught by some missionaries and wanted to know if what they taught was true. He prayed and had a warm, happy feeling that spread throughout his entire body, traveling all the way from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. (I like to really get into my stories.)

I told them that they could pray to know if something was right or true any time - even during our class - and they could get that warm, happy feeling.

"You know what, Sisto Bwack?" Super C asked. "My woym fee-o-wing is up to he-o alweady!" he told me, indicating the top of his head with his hand.

"That's awesome, Super C!" I told him. "Did you know that if..."

"Well guess WHAT?" N--, who was joining our class this week, interrupted. "MY warm feeling is WAY up to ABOVE my HEAD!" he said excitedly, waving his hand to show me how far the feeling had spread.

"Well, N--, I think..."

"Well, MY feel-een SHOT THROUGH THE ROOF and it's WAY UP in the SKY!" Hubba countered.

"So? My fee-o-wing is alweady in SPACE!" Miss S challenged the boys.

N-- immediately came back with "NOW mine's in HEAVEN! NO one's can go HIGHER than HEAVEN!"

Everyone was quiet, contemplating the amazing height that N--'s warm feeling had reached.

Miss E had been quietly sitting with her hand raised throughout the entire conversation. "Yes, Miss E?" I asked.

"My woym feo-ling just came into my hawt (heart) and stayed they-o."

I smiled. "That is just perfect," I told her.

And no one tried to beat it.

Overheard

Photo from corbis.com

I overheard a conversation in the copy room at church last week.

It was between two women I do not know very well, but I could not help listening in as they spoke of another member of our congregation.

"She is just the sweetest lady you'll ever meet. So thoughtful and kind! She is always going out of her way to make people feel welcome in the neighborhood. And she is the greatest mom - I love watching her with her kids. She makes everything fun, even her food..."

I couldn't wait to hear who they were speaking of, although I had a pretty good idea of who it was. In fact, I had a great story of her kindness to add to their dialogue and so I made my presence known by stepping into the room.

"Well, here she is!" the one lady said to the other. "Have you met Gerb yet?"

What? I thought to myself. They were talking about me? I am the woman who makes everything from scratch? I am the person who goes out of my way to make others feel welcomed? I am the greatest mom? And so on, and so on. It was kind of overwhelming, to be honest. And it got me thinking about the whole situation for the rest of the day.

Here's what I realized: nobody's perfect, even if others think we are. We all have our faults, our weaknesses, our own little skeletons-in-the-closet. Yet many times we are the only ones who are aware of these flaws. Should we broadcast our personal failings and correct others who put us on a pedestal? I don't think so.

Why?

Because I know that others whom I admire have their own Achilles' heel(s) that I am unaware of. And you know what? I prefer the unknown.

Besides, the people I revere sure look great up on that pedestal.

Easter

I think yesterday's class was my favorite of all time with my cute little 4-year-olds at church.

Because it was Easter Sunday I was teaching them about the real meaning of Easter with the help of a sock puppet, a glove and some plastic eggs.

We had about 10 minutes left when I came to the part where I taught them about the resurrection of Jesus. Super C raised his hand and said, "Wait one minute. Go back. Say that big woyd again. Wes-a-what?"

"Resurrection?" I asked.

"Yeah, wes-a-wec-tion. Now, what does that woyd mean again?"

"It means Jesus died and then he lived again."

I showed the class a picture of Jesus after he was resurrected. "Here he is after he was resurrected. We know he was already crucified because you can see the scars on his hands from the nails. See?" I asked, pointing. They all took a closer look.

"He died and then he lived?" Super C asked. "And we aw gonna do that, too?"

"Exactly."

"And he died fo us? So we could live fo-ev-o? Even if we make mistakes?"

"That's right, Super C. That's why we celebrate Easter. "

"So East-o is to wemem-bo Jesus died fo us? It's not just fo East-o baskets and candy?" he asked, incredulous.

"Yup. There's a lot more to it than Easter baskets and candy," I answered.

"Oh my heck!" he exclaimed, standing. "How come I nev-o knew any of this stuff be-fo-ah?"

And then, turning to the rest of the class he loudly stated, "East-o is all about Jesus, guys! Can you be-weave it?!"


These are the days that make being a teacher completely worth it.

We Had It Covered

When we were kids, Sundays were sacred. That is to say, they were the day for our Mom to have some much needed "me" time. This was accomplished by sending the 4 of us off to the local Lutheran church for a sermon and some Sunday school.

I will never forget the week that all 4 of us kids were infected with chickenpox. It was in the middle of a solid Iowa winter when snow sat in a thick blanket on the ground. As Sunday rolled around we assumed we would be staying home, but mom had a plan which enabled us to attend our Sunday services as usual... we would wear our snowsuits.

She bundled us up in our warm winter wear, the type that covers your face completely except for a small, open window where the eyes can peek through. We were then instructed to leave our snowsuits on during church, thus enabling us to participate without anyone knowing of our (contagious) calamity.

All was going well until we started to squirm. And sweat. But the snowsuits remained on, fully zipped and hiding the red, itchy blisters that covered our bodies.

"Do you want to take those off?" we were asked.

"Nope. We like 'em." was our united response. We had orders.

When we got home we peeled off our winter wardrobes and stood there in the living room dripping with sweat like 4 kids who had been caught in a rainstorm, hands immediately reaching to the places that screamed for a good scratching.

We were later rewarded at the kitchen table with pecan-caramel rolls as mom downed a Pepsi (with peanuts).

The next week at church there was a strange shortage of attendees in the children's Sunday school, but you better believe we were there, singing "I'm In The Lord's Army". With gusto.

(And without snowsuits.)

Not Feeling The Love

Have you ever wondered what love looks like?

I filled an empty box with the love I have for my class of 4 and 5-year-olds and wrapped it all up to use as an object lesson in class last Sunday.

I started out by asking what they thought was in the box and I have never seen them so excited.

"A big puh-cuter!" yelled Super C.

"A pink stuffed pony (breath) that you can put in the bathtub with you (breath) and it doesn't get wet!" guessed Miss S.

"I dunno," Miss E. answered, quietly.

"A treat for all of us!" Hubba yelled.

"And what do you think?" I asked Miss L.

"I fink I know what it is but I'm gonna wait and see it foy-st." she responded.

"Fair enough," I told her.

I gave them a few hints:

It is not something you can buy with money.

You will not find it in a store.

It is not something you can hold in your hands.

You can not see it, touch it, taste it or smell it, but you can feel it.

"Anyone want to change their guesses?" I asked.

"Afto all yo cwues, I'm pwitty sho it is what I fink it is," Miss L told me.

"Let's just ho-wee and open it!" Super C. said, hardly able to contain his excitement.

So we did, and the room was silent at the sight of the empty box.
"What in the woyld?" whispered Super C. And then he looked up, his eyes wide as saucers, and yelled, "Someone stole ow tweets!"

"No, no, remember what I said, guys? You can't buy it. You can't touch it. You can't find it in a store... There is something in that box. It's love. I thought about how much I love you guys and I put all that love in this box and then wrapped it up so I could share it with you. Can you guys feel the love?" I asked.

"Not willy," answered Miss S.

"That was just wee-owed. They-o's nuffing in they-o!" Super C. lamented.

I turned to Miss L., my last hope. "Did you guess what it was before we opened it?"

She sighed. "I fought it was choco-wit chip cookies."



(Note to self: object lessons are often lost on 4 and 5-year olds.)

This Month Is Such A Special One

I was the star of the Primary on Sunday (likely because I was the only person with a birthday this week).

The kids (and teachers) all sang me the customary birthday song as I sported the 'birthday hat' and stood before them, encouraging them to sing louder.

I was presented with a small package containing one pink frosted Granny B's cookie before returning to my seat.

Super C immediately got my attention.

"Hey, you aw the best teach-o ev-o! And now it's yo birfday! That's gweat! And yo hat wooks amAYzing!"

"Thanks, Super C.," I said, smiling.

"So, anyway," he continued, "...aw you gonna shay-o that cookie?"

Everything I Need To Know...

...I learn from my class of 4 and 5-year-olds on Sundays.

Take last week for instance, when I learned 3 valuable lessons.

The teachers of the other 4-5 class didn't show up so I had some extra little students on Sunday. I asked a question and one of these new kids immediately raised his hand. "Great! What do you think, N--?" I asked, excited that he was so willing to participate.

"I need to use the BATH-room!" he responded.

"OK", I said, buying time, "we'll all go to the bathroom as soon as we figure out the answer."

N--'s hand shot up again. "Did you KNOW that if you don't go to the TOI-let right away when you need to go to the BATH-room you can get a INFEC-tion?"

Lesson #1.

After the bathroom break was completed, hands washed and the water fountain visited, we made our way back to the classroom. Once everyone was seated I began again.

"Do you guys know that Heavenly Father can speak to us today? How do you think he does that?"

Again, N--'s hand. "HERE's what I know! If you are STANDing by a VOLCANO and it starts a-RUPTing you better run FAST or the LAVA will melt your SKIN off and you'll DIE!"

Lesson #2.

"That's awesome, N--!" I begin to whisper, another tactic in keeping their attention. "But can I tell you guys something else? It's a really important thing about prophets. Can you all hear me?"

SuperC jumps out of his seat, stands beside me and whispers in my ear, "Can you hea-o me? Becawse guess what? You aw amazing!"

Lesson #3.


I can't wait to see what they teach me next week.

Hilarious Hubba

I love the way Hubba's mind works.

Today at church one of the teachers was sharing the story of his baptism with the primary aged kids. He spoke about how, as he stepped into the water, it was the coldest water he had ever felt. He even felt goosebumps standing there, waiting to be immersed.

"But after I was baptized it didn't matter how cold the water was because I felt very warm. Do you know why I felt warm?" he asked the children.

Hubba's hand immediately went up and before anyone had a chance to call on him he asked, "Did you peed your pay-ants?"

I love this kid.