Tears and Little Eyes

It was the first day. My plan had basically been done for me, there are some veteran staff here that go above and beyond helping.

But 45 minutes to set up their agenda and copy homework? You can't be serious.

She was.

This is something that I've just come to accept over the past five days. These little things that I don't remember learning will take a long time to become so routine that they can do them with out prompting.

For now the last period of the day is a lot of

"Take out your agendas and write down today's date"

"Can everyone take out their agenda"

"John, can you take out your agenda"

"Hands up if you have the date written down"

"Julie, take out your agenda"

"Hands up if you have your agenda out. Hands up if you have your agenda here today. Hands up if you can hear me. Hands up if you're listening. Hands up if your hand is down. Hands on your nose, on your chin, on you head, on your desk, on your nose."

Those last few keep me sane.

There's a tug at my side, little eyes looking up. "Mr. Bird, I don't have my agenda with me." Of course you don't. "Can you check your bag again, please?" Little Eyes look back at me as if to say I've checked my bag, stupid. It's not there. It isn't here today. What the heck do you want me to do.

Instead of saying those things, though, mostly because she's a language learner and doesn't know how, she walks away and I go back to the other 48 little eyes that are wondering what they are supposed to do with their hands on their noses.

my goodness they listen well at the most odd times

Over the next 28 minutes we manage to get the date written and 2 of 3 points on the homework list. This is when my boss walks in. She's here to check on the little one who has been having a rough day. This rough day started with Mom dragging, unsuccessfully, her into the classroom and Dad, unsuccessfully, shoving her into the classroom; both ending, obviously, in tears.

She was still coming in and out of tears.

I scan the classroom and notice, at the same time as my boss, the Little Eyes with her head on her desk.

son. of. a. crap.

"Is she crying?" my boss mouths to me, with more concern than anything else. I shrug because I have no idea ... I'd only noticed half a second ago too.

My boss rubs her back to see what is the matter.

Nothing. No movement. Nothing.

Boss looks back at me, shakes the Little Eyes' shoulder.

Nothing.

Shakes a second time, and Little Eyes looks up groggily.

son. of. a. crap. She'd fallen asleep. I didn't help her find her agenda, or give her a blank sheet of paper, and she'd fallen asleep. And my boss had seen it before I had.

The good news was that Tears was no longer in them and seemed to have made friends with the girls sitting to either side of her.

mental note: keep her there for as long as is necessary. feed children coffee at 1:30.