It’s a snow day in upstate NY; I’m still I my jammies.
The Today show, Pinterest, and FB keep me company this morning.
Yes, I enjoy this bonus day at home.
Yes, I miss those 5-yr old coworkers… especially on a cold winter morning.
We Have No Mittens
I see them in my headlights, anxiously waiting on the front steps, long before the first car arrives in the frozen parking lot. I am that first car.
I move past them with a warm greeting and an apologetic smile, “No, I’m sorry. I can’t let you inside.” I hurry to my classroom, avoiding the pleading looks. I walk quickly, avoiding the slam of the metal door behind me.
My door is unlocked and open. I have my coffee, and the quiet. Too much quiet. I listen to the clock as I type lessons for the day; the day that can’t begin until that metal door is open and I hear the running feet. “Walk, walk, walk!” They race to the cafeteria, no hat to take off, and no mittens to tuck in their coat sleeve. The hot breakfast disappears as they begin to melt into familiar faces.
The morning bell breaks the silence of the empty classroom. I greet them at our door. The welcoming, wooden door. The door that never shuts. Minds open. Backpacks unzip. There are no brown lunch bags to unpack. No hand-written notes tucked inside a superhero lunchbox from home. No sandwiches with crust cut off. No sandwiches. Their next hot meal is ordered.
Attendance is taken.
The easy lessons, the ones from the plan book, to prepare them for the next test.
The hard lessons, from their future, to prepare them for what they should not need to know. Outside that metal door.