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?

Laws Help Us

photo from internetjournalist.com

Today's 5-6 year-old Sunday School lesson was on obeying laws. As part of our discussion I posed this question to my class:

What are some laws and rules that are there to help us?

Here are my favorite answers:

"You have to wear seatbelts in the car... except when you're driving to church, because it's just right close by."

"Keep your house clean or it will look like trash... white trash."

"You can NOT marry your sister. Or ANYone in your same family."

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.

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.

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.

Pick The Winner

(Note: To protect the children in the following story, I will give them non-gender names. They are referred to as Kid 1 and Kid 2.)

Yesterday was our church's Primary Program, which is the day when all of the kids pretty much take over the main meeting (under the direction of a few adults) with songs and talks. Needless to say, it's pretty much my favorite day at church of the entire year.

My cute class had seats right smack in the front of the congregation so that everyone could enjoy their 5-year-old antics, but I don't think anyone enjoyed them as much as I did.

As the whole group began to sing the first song, I sang along with exaggerated mouth movements in an attempt to help my class remember the words. This only resulted in their making exaggerated mouth movements as well, which made me laugh. And then they laughed. So I stopped doing it, because I am the mature adult here.

During one of the longer talks that was given, one of my little students began to pick their nose. I would shake my head and give Kid 1 disapproving looks and Kid 1 would simply avoid eye contact and continue to dig. One of my other students noticed my expression and looked over to see what was happening just as Kid 1 examined the treasure on the end of his/her finger, deemed it good enough and inserted it into his/her mouth. "Gwoss!" Kid 2 said, chastising Kid 1. The nose-picker simply shrugged, unfazed.

At one point, Kid 2 began to grow restless. Kid 2 tried sitting on his/her hands and playing with his/her neighbor's clothing before settling on feeling around beneath his/her chair. I saw what was happening but could do nothing about it. Kid 2 began to pull some gum off of the bottom of the chair. I looked at Kid 2 and mouthed, "YUCK" and "NO" but he/she had already worked the gum free and was showing it to me. "This was un-doe my chay-o!" he/she whispered, showing me a sticky greenish-blue blob. "Put it back," I responded quietly, and then turned my attention to the song being sung. When I looked at Kid 2 again, he/she was happily chewing something. Something sticky. Something greenish-blue.

Who is the 'gwoss' one now? I wondered silently, smiling.

So besides the uplift I received from the musical numbers and words spoken, my class had provided me with an unexpected bit of comic relief as well.

And really, does it get any better?

photo from parentsconnect.com

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...

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.

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.

Why I Love Kids

Sunday is not always my favorite day of the week. I go to church every Sunday without fail because it is where I need to be and where my family needs to be and I want my kids to know that. I do not ever regret being there, but it is still not easy.

For one, I have to get 9 kids out of bed, fed, dressed, and looking nice before 9:00 a.m. This includes finding the (often secret) location of 9 pairs of Sunday shoes. (Oh, the drama of the Sunday shoes!) And discovering, 15 minutes before church, that Coolister's white shirt has not been washed since last Sunday. And it has a large spot on it. Then when we get to church and are seated on OUR bench (5th row up, thank you) someone is already making someone else cry or remembering that they forgot their scriptures or needing a drink...

Etcetera.

Yesterday was the usual.

I dragged Curly to nursery and left her there, crying, because I already had Baby O in tow for Hubba's primary class and could not wrestle with them both. I sat in our assigned row in the primary room, checking to see if all of my class members had arrived, and noticed Hubba was ramming the chair on the end of our row into the chair in front of him.

I removed the chair.

SuperC, one of my little students, tapped me on the leg.

SC: "Sisto Bwack?"

Me: "Yes, SuperC?"

SC: "That chay-o needs to stay wight they-o."

Me: "Well, Hubba is playing with it. Would it be alright if I left it on the stack over there?"

SC: (exasperated) "I guess."

In the meantime, someone is asking the kids if they have done anything fun in the last week. Hubba's hand is up, but he is not getting called on, so he yells out, "I GOT TO TAKED MEDICINE BECAUSE MY TEEF ARE ROTTEN!"

I smile nervously, shrink down in my chair a bit, and think about how excited I am for that little tidbit of information to make its rounds.

Oh, the joys of Sunday I think to myself.

And then the primary music leader asks all of the teachers to come up and sing a song to introduce it to the kids. It is from the hymnbook, "How Firm a Foundation".

I take my place up front and sing along with the others, watching my class and starting to feel a little warmth gather around my heart when I notice they are all watching me intently and smiling.

When we finish singing, SuperC raises his hand.

He starts to wave it a little, but he is not being called on.

Finally he stands up, walks to the front of the room and loudly proclaims, "Sisto Bwack, you singed SO nice! You sangd the most beautifulest of all the teach-os! Gwate job, Sisto Bwack!"

"Thank you, SuperC," I responded, feeling that warmth spread from my heart to the top of my head and the tips of my fingers and toes.

A new thought took hold in my mind: Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe Sundays are my favorite day of the week.

And you know what? Even with a head-getting-stuck-in-the-chair incident during class (oh, how I wished I had my camera!) it turned out to be a pretty great day.

It's amazing how far a compliment can carry someone, isn't it?

Choosing

My new "job" at church on Sundays is to teach a class of 4-year-olds in the Primary, the organization for all kids ages 3-11. I started yesterday.

The reason I have this new job is because Hubba is not a big fan of going to his class on Sundays. The thinking was that if his mom was his teacher, he'd go. Sounds reasonable, right? I thought so, too.

We underestimate Hubba.

I came prepared and excited for my first day with Hubba in tow. At first, he seemed excited.

"You are my chee-cher, Mom! You will be my chee-cher all the year!" he happily chattered on the way to the Primary room.

After 5 minutes of sitting on my lap, it started.

"Mom, let's get out of here."

"Where should we go, Hubba? I am your teacher now, remember? I am the teacher for the other kids, too. We get to be together all the time on Sundays now! Let's listen to the new song!"

"No, Mom, you don't look like my chee-cher no more. You're just a mom. Let's go to nursery."

(Nursery is the class I used to teach - the 18 months to 3 years old class. In nursery they have puzzles, trains, books and treats. Hmmm. Wonder why he likes it there.)

"Hubba, I am not in nursery anymore, and you are a BIG boy! Big boys don't go to nursery!"

"Yes they DO! And Primary is DUMB! And I want a DRINK!"

"Hubba, we will get a drink when we go to our class. Not right now."

And so on.

When we finally went to class, things started off well. The lesson was on choosing the right. The kids all sat in their chairs and listened well. Except Hubba.

Throughout the lesson he did all sorts of things.

He walked over to the light switch and flipped it off.

Then on.

Then off.

He tipped his chair upside down and sat on it, making train noises.

He kicked the divider that separated us from another class. Repeatedly.

At one point, he kicked the chair of the girl next to him. She raised her hand.

"Yes?" I asked, smiling.

"Hubba is kicking my chay-uh. I dough wanna sit by him any mo-uh."

Hubba sat in his chair again for about 20 seconds. In this brief window of time I passed out CTR rings. I told the kids they could look at them as a reminder to choose the right every day. Each child was excited and proud to wear one. Except Hubba.

He threw his at the window. Repeatedly.

And then it started. One of the kids in my class said, "Hubba! Choose the right!"

Another child chimed in, "Yo mom is tee-ching us to choose the wight! You are choosing the wong!!"

And another, "Look at your wing and wemem-buh!"

Hubba then proudly proclaimed (while laughing) "I don't choose the right! I choose the POOP!"


The way I see it, it can only get better from here.