The Power of Hi-What I Learned In PreSchool

Working in a preschool has taught me so much about...life. And empathy and patience and mindfulness and so much more.

I'm not exagerrating when I tell you that it's truly made me a better person. I actually think it's not a terrible idea for all of us to spend a little time in a preschool (whether you have kids or not). The pace isn't for everyone and neither is the mess. But the smiles, the sweetness, the simple ways they love, the things they get so excited about, the joy...it's all amazing and hopeful and life affirming. Watching the kids work out their issues with each other and helping to faciliate it is also pretty cool. No joke. 

There's so much I want to say about preschool and how much I love it and have learned from being an assistant teacher. So, I'm going to share a few of my stories from preschool here on my blog over the next couple months. 

Here is a story about how we communicate. How smiles and eye contact and kindness all matter...now more than ever. 

In the preschool that I work in there are several children that don’t speak English. When I first started, I couldn’t imagine how in the world this was going to work. I mean how were these kids going to understand and know the routine and be able to participate and feel safe and happy? One little boy speaks Turkish and just turned 3 when he started school. On the first day of school his mom dropped him off and waved good-bye. He cried, and cried and cried. Even as we sang our very jolly welcome songs and told the kids that it was play time, he cried.  

I walked over to him and looked him in the eye and smiled. I got down on my knees and took his hand in mine. “Hi,” I said. “It’s going to be okay.” I kept smiling. I kept holding his hand. We walked through the routines and transitions together. I stayed by his side that whole first day. And actually every day for the first week. But then he came in one day, waved to his mom and walked over to me and took my hand and said “hi.” Then he started to play alongside other kids in the classroom.

That “hi” was huge. With that “hi” I knew a connection was made.   

Over the last few months, this little boy has made friends, had fun and learned a little more English. Every time he is uncertain or overwhelmed or frustrated with not being able to find the words, he looks at me with that same frightened face he had on the first morning of school. And just like that morning, I walk over to him, look him in the eye, smile and say “hi” and then I tell him “it’s going to be okay.”

I share this story because I think it’s about how communication isn’t just all the talking we do. And boy, there's a whole lot of talking going on in the world. But I'm not so sure there's a whole lot of connecting. Working with these kids in preschool has taught me the power of eye contact and smiling and being calm and truly connecting. And the power of "hi."

Love this song. Not so preschool-y and kind of somber but hopeful too, and just what I'm feeling about some stuff right now.

(click here to watch the video)

I've always loved this classic song. I try to do this everyday....



(click here to watch the video)

Staying Connected

I was at the bus stop waiting for my kids to come home from school.  The sun was shining, it wasn't too hot or too cold.   All the moms were chatting, taking advantage of the last few minutes of uninterrupted opportunities to connect with other adults.

And then it happened.  Like a scene in a movie, everything was in slow motion.  My iPhone slipped out of my hand and slowly started falling toward the sidewalk.  "Nooooooo," I said in a very deep and scary, muffled, slow motion voice.

It hit the cement with a thud and a crunch.  I slowly kneeled down to pick up the phone and turned it over to reveal the shattered screen of my life iPhone.

There were gasps from all the moms who stood in a semicircle facing me.  Some of them had to turn away from the horror. After a minute or two, one of the moms put her hand on my shoulder and said "I am so sorry."

I wanted to throw my hands up in the air and ask God why?  But the bus pulled up and I had to do what we moms do best, push our disappointment deep inside and pretend everything is alright.  And I did until we got home from the bus stop.  Because let's get real, some moms may be good at that, but not me.  I sat down and I cried a little.

I cried because it was one more thing on top of a lot of little things to worry about.  I cried because it's always about money.  I cried because I have a teenager-like addiction to my phone.  

I'll admit to sending this message to my friend.  And yeah, I sound like a teenager.  Whomp, whomp my tattoo dreams are on hold until I can work into my budget.  

I cried because my phone makes me feel less alone, more connected.

Motherhood can make a person feel isolated and a little lonely.  Sure there are opportunities to connect--five minutes at the bus stop, volunteering and play groups.  Unfortunately, I've never been a playgroup kind of mom.  I tend to not be able to talk or interact that much with adults when I am with my kids.  Sometimes it's because I'm having fun actually hanging out with my children and other times it's because I'm too busy making sure my lovely children don't hurt each other or someone else's child or break anything.

So, the phone, it's a big deal.  Some of my dearest friendships have developed on my phone.  I've gotten to know some of my friends better after interacting with them on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter.  My phone connects me to my friends and the world outside my house.  Not to mention I can connect this blog and work on my stellar career in social media.

Sure the phone was still working, but for how long?  How long would I be connected?  And what would happen to me if I wasn't connected anymore?  Would I disappear when my phone did? 

This is where the story should take a turn.  This is where I, the crazy iPhone addict making a case for why my disease isn't something sick and twisted, but rather sweet and necessary, have a change of heart.  This is the part where I learn a lesson and discover being unplugged, disconnected from phones and iPads and gadgets is where it's at. This is where I take a walk, breathe in the fresh fall air, look people in the eye and say hello and connect to the real, beautiful world that's been here all along.

But I'm not writing that story.  My story ends like this:
The morning after my phone cracked, I rode my bike through my sweet little town to the iPod/iPhone/iPad fix-it shop.  

I did smile at people and notice the blue sky and leaves turning red, brown and orange.  I got my phone fixed and then I went and I took pictures of the pretty leaves and put them on Instagram, tweeted my gratitude, liked a few Facebook statuses and felt totally, completely connected.

***I want to make sure everyone that reads this knows that I know that a phone cracking isn't a real tragedy.  I want you to know that I know it's just a phone, I really do know that.***

Since I'm totally connected again, come connect with me on Facebook and Twitter and Instagram.  Yeah, I just did that.

Come on, I don't want to be this guy. I mean I had to get my phone fixed.

Lost and Found

What are we doing in the morning? OVER.
Go to bed. OVER
Yeah, okay, we will, but what are we doing tomorrow? OVER
We're all going to be together and play and have fun, it's going to be a really good day.  Now go to bed.  OVER.

The kids got Walkie Talkies for Christmas and four weeks later we, the parents, finally put batteries in them.  And now it's like Christmas all over again.  The kids are enjoying the hell out of their new means of communication.  And so is my husband Tim.  OVER.

This past weekend was very full.  Full of playing, communicating, escaping and reconnecting.  Full of getting lost and finding our way again.

Friday night I got all kinds of turned around in IKEA.  There we were on a quest to get organized without spending a lot of money and somehow we got separated from each other.  Tim had the three older kids with him somewhere in textiles.  Wade and I were together trying to find our way back to the rest of the family after losing our way in the warehouse.  

We were lost, of course I stopped and took a picture and put it on Instagram. Duh.

"I heard them," I excitedly told Wade as I pushed the cart around the corner confidently only to find a cute little family picking out dishes.  Not my cute little family.  

How could I be so convinced it was my child's voice?  I mean I was certain.  

It was like a giant Nordic, crisp, clean and supposedly easy-to-assemble maze.  Each turn led me to more affordable furniture and other strange families. My head was spinning. 

When I did finally see Tim and the kids, I dramatically ran to him, flung my arms around him and said "I'm so glad we found you!"

We have fun EVERYWHERE we go. 

Reunited and it felt so good.  We left with new curtains and closet organizers that sadly didn't fit into our closets.  But who cares we found each other. OVER.

Saturday night the kids spent the night at Tim's parents' house and we played the roles of real grown ups for almost 24 hours. 

Sometimes while being married and living life you can get a little lost.  You can get buried in all the scheduling and the whole divide and conquer strategies of parenting four children.  The exhaustion of it all makes even the most in love people simply get a little further apart, distant.

First on our grown up agenda was seeing a matinee of Les Miserables.  Even though I felt it was a little too long, it was good.  I left the theater crying and singing and talking and talking and talking.  "My God, the injustice! the poverty!" "Why did she have to die?" "Isn't it too much?"  "I want to start a revolution.  A revolution of faith and love."  

And of course, singing and singing and singing. "Where should we eeeeaaaaaatttt?" I sang.  "I loooooove yoooooouuuuu!" I kept singing.  Not obnoxious at all.  Not. at. all.

Tim, not only put up with me, he seemed amused and interested.  He seemed relaxed and in love.  And I felt heard and seen, relaxed and in love.

We went out to dinner and talked about grown up stuff and I drank and we watched hockey.  Then we headed to the next movie, Silver Linings Playbook.  Even though I was a little drunk, I think it was good.  I left the theater laughing and talking. And holding my husband's hand.

I don't have to look hard for my silver lining.  I'm married to a good man, a wonderful man.  A man who will/would/does defend my honor, supports my need to sing about making dinner reservations, gets a kick out of and respects my real, honest desire to get in on a revolution of faith and love. 

Vive le France.
Vive le silver linings.
Vive le IKEA reunions.
Vive le grandparents that watch four children overnight.
Vive le getting lost and getting found.
OVER.

Here's a kick ass video of a wedding Les Miserables flash mob.