Love Like This

2 | summer's end

I love back-to-school season. Some might be surprised, given that I'm a teacher, and like the kids, have to return to work five days a week after a several weeks long summer vacation.

But the start of the school year is actually my favorite part of the year. Granted, in the preschool wing, there's a lot of crying at the beginning of the day, a lot of accidents not making it to the potty until the kids settle into a routine, and lots and lots of scrambling to manage fifteen or so brand new personalities in one room. Fighting over which station they want to dive into, not yet sure of the rules of sharing.

But there's also the fun of setting up my classroom - bright, happy, primary colors only - not the trendy pastels I see so much of lately. The tireless work of writing names on cubbies, on spots on the rug and at the tables, on the chore chart. The joy of watching each child explore when they finally feel comfortable, observing what toys grab their attention, what activities are worth fighting over to them, what friendships they gravitate towards.

I love it all. I love meeting my kids, learning who they are, wondering who they'll be come June.

I smile, turning from the gaggle of three year olds clambering onto our big circle rug, to the very serious looking man in front of me. My smile fades slightly, hopefully not noticeably.

Calming all the nervous parent jitters, on the other hand, is my least favorite part of the start of school. I suppose that's why I work with children. Very small children.

I've never been quite as comfortable with adults.

"Has she been eating her lunch?" Dr. Reynolds asks me for the third day in a row.

"Every bit of it." I reply, for the third day in a row, helping little Harper out of her denim jacket. It's too hot, even early in the morning, for more than one layer today.

"Okay good. She lost some of her appetite after the... well you know, after her mother." His brows scrunch over his eyes as he glances down towards the little blonde toddler.

His wife, Mrs. Reynolds, passed away last year. It's been several months but he worries about Harper. How she's dealing. If she misses her mom.

I'm sure that she does. Just as I'm sure so does Dr. Reynolds.

"Should I be packing anything different for a snack?" He asks, glancing back up to me, a worried expression coloring his face.

"Her snack is perfect." I smile reassuringly. A clementine, some cheese and crackers, and a juice box. A granola bar if she's still hungry. "She's doing very well, Dr. Reynolds."

The man is a physician. He understands the basic biological needs of a child. He's doing a good job, meeting every one of Harper's needs in every way that he can. But he doesn't feel good enough, I know by the way he looks at her. I just know.

I try not to be obvious when I check the clock.

8:15A.M.

I'm ten minutes behind on Morning Circle. "Harper, go see Miss White, please." I nudge her towards my assistant - an older woman who has been the preschool assistant almost as long as the program has been around, and who's outlasted the last two teachers before me. She eyes me, but not in a way that says, Summer, just hurry up, get him out the door, and lead Morning Circle already.