Author: Joy Hurt

In this age of computers, no one has time for more traditional skills. Need a signature? Sign electronically. Sheets of paper? No need. Go Paperless. All the while, the lost art of penmanship and hand-written manuscripts are going the way of the Edsel. How sad for a teacher that loves to teach penmanship and writing. Those skills are just not valued or considered necessary anymore.

Growing up, there was nothing as intoxicating as the smell and feel of real books. Opening a new book, I always put my nose between the pages and breathe in. Each book smells just a bit different and all have a feel you get to know as you spend time reading stories and gathering information. Pages in my Bible have the soft and delicate parchment feel, while my teaching manuals are so heavy I need to wonder why any book publisher felt the need to make them so. Some novels are so heavy, I prop them on pillows to read late into the night as the words carry me into another place and time. Words hold power like that.

My 1st graders don’t have current text books. Someone found it more prudent to use online programs and hands-on kits to teach Language Arts and Science. Needing and wanting a tangible book, I scoured the cast offs before school started and hit the jackpot. One more year, I can use a reading series appropriate for littles, even if it was printed in the early 200’s. The colorful pages full of stories and poems are enchanting. My students find them pretty interesting, too. I also scored Science and Social Studies books. My own private stash.

Yesterday, with dangerous levels of particulates in the air from the California fires, I spent one entire day with my class.

OY VEY.

By 1:15 pm, they were ready for a recess, so I showed an exercise video on the Promethean board. This is a large, television like screen covering part of my desert mural of six mustangs and local mountains. This screen does everything you could imagine. I can even write on it with my finger. It projects work from my desk onto the screen for the children to view and follow. It also projects my lap top images and videos. This exercise video was 7 minutes of high intensity exercises by a guy that was a cross of the Incredible Hulk and Superman.

While I sat in my chair trying to catch my breath for just a moment, my 19 kiddos did jumping jacks, push ups, and lunges. They never missed a step. It was a mass release of energy that I should have filmed. Outdoor recess is necessary for these kids. Yesterday, there was no fresh air for anyone in our desert home. Thank you, California fires.

Because our time together was extended by almost 1.5 hours, my plans lacked an activity for the last hour of the day. A grand day to break into the science books with a book for everyone. Brand new, although dated in the early 2000’s, it was apparent past teachers didn’t like science, or just didn’t have time. These books hadn’t seen much use.

There is so much to be learned by watching a class of 1st graders with new books. They stroked the paper, thick and rick. They looked at every picture of living things in the book. They had questions about the subject, Living and Non-Living Things. How rich and simple to hold a discussion with 6 year old’s about what makes something alive. One of those amazing and sweet moments I’ll take away as I journey back into the land of retirement.

The message was so pure and simple. Living things grow and change. Non-Living things do not. It was then I passed around my class roster with the sweetest kinder pictures of my littles. It was from this roster I first came to know them before school had even started. I looked at that roster many times a day while dreaming of all the fun we were to have over our year together. Looking at those pictures now, these children are certainly living organisms, because they’ve grown and changed. Some of the children could see and appreciate that, while others thought they looked exactly the same. What a moment salvaged from a day that ran out of work before the school minutes ended. Teachable moments are the best and not always written out on a lesson plan.

My littles are starting to write now. I did remind them that I am a real writer. I still feel I’m a fake when I say those words. A REAL writer. I still prefer the pencil and my daily journal, where ALL the stories of my life are jotted on blank pages. Dates, names, and all the juicy details are scrawled out in Number 2 graphite. Never to be copied or distributed on the web, they are just words that flow out of my fingers at the end of very long days. Yes, I’m a REAL writer loving written words as much as I love teaching them. For, we all know, writing IS life. A fifth grader once told me that.

Today, I begin the laborious task of administering THE TEST by computer. I’m not looking forward to it. Testing will take the entire day, covering Math and Language Arts. THE TEST is read aloud to the children. In the old day, that would have been my job. Now, it is just heard through headphones. I’m just the monkey in the room making sure the computers keep working. The old days were certainly more fun.

With pencils in my pocket and sunshine in my brain I’m off to the land of littles. It’s my last September 14th as Mrs. Hurt, 1st Grade teacher. The weather has changed to fall at last and with any luck at all, we’ll get recess today. Who knows, I just might sneak a swing under the desert sky if the smoke stays away.

Whatever you do today, consider journaling. Nothing to write about, you say? Then start out writing down three things for which you are grateful. And then, increase that by three more. The next day, do the same and write the “WHY” of your grateful nature on the pages. It just flows from there. In a year, you’ll be amazed as you look back at the journey. Writing has such healing powers. How far I have come since September 24, 2020. It’s all there for you to see. I kind of which some of it was in pencil.

More tomorrow.

Another new crisis is forming. When dealing with small children, one can’t be too careful. Today will be a bit different from the norm due to raging California wildfires. Here in my little town, we’ve been lucky this year to only experience extreme heat until now. Add dense, choking smoke to the mix, being outside is anything but pleasant.

First for some great news. The school AC system is limping along better than it has the last six weeks I’ve been in my district’s employ. It’s almost cool in the morning when I arrive and the afternoons are not half bad. I’m so thankful to the men that worked so hard to fix the unit, as it is an antique and parts are hard to come by. If you’ve tried to have repairs done lately, you know things aren’t what they used to be, for sure. My students and I are grateful for a cooler room.

The kiddos are coming along in grand fashion. I can read their first names now. There are fewer backward numbers. I usually have 18 sets of eyeballs glued to me during a lesson. Very little tattling and telling. All in all, we’re becoming the family that works together in the Room down the very long hall. Every morning I help them with juice boxes and muffin wrappers. They are responsible and respectful at 6 years old. Now, what teacher could ask for more?

We are just beginning our major computerized testing today. I’m a bit nervous, because these guys are little and I hear that any stray button pushed causes a nightmare. They are removed from the program and it is a lengthy process to get them back in. I plan to test them in small groups. I wish these children didn’t need to take so many computerized tests, but that is the world in which we live. At six, these kids know more about the computer then I will ever live to learn. It’s a miracle that one old lady can capture their attention while reading a chapter book with no pictures. I’ll take that as a win, as well.

As far as our reading material. It was my greatest desire to read CS Lewis’s The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe just one more time to a group of littles. Selfish, I know, but there is just nothing better than capturing the imagination of students during a read aloud. If you haven’t read the book and like a bit of fantasy, do. The story is about four children that spend some time with a professor in the country side because the war is raging in England. He has a mysterious house with a strange wardrobe. The story goes on from there.

So far, my students are following the story, recalling every main idea the following day. I’m impressed. Reading to them is the best part of my day. With the overhead lights off, a blind cracked for light while sitting on the floor with my class, we all travel to a different land. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t have endured to have taught just one more year. But, as each day passes, I know these classroom experiences will be my last. I need to make this year shine brightly and take lots of memories with me because they’ll need to last the rest of my life.

Picture Day is around the corner. The children know the Pledge and say it proudly every morning. They line up and can walk in a straight line when we need to move from one place to another. Now, it’s time to get into teaching them the finer points of reading, writing and math. Slow and steady will get us to 2nd Grade and beyond now that I have their attention.

Today, the recesses will be inside the hallways of our school. The playground will be an empty space of smoke. School is never cancelled on these days so I’ll be making sure kiddos with asthma are comfortable and quiet.

The smoke reminds me of the times I had to evacuate my home because of fires. For 30 days, an arsonist and his wife terrorized our little community in the foothills below Yosemite. Each day at precisely 4 PM, another plume of smoke would billow up, with helicopters full of water trying to douse the flames. 30 fires in 30 days before they caught the monsters. On two occasions, the fires were set very close to our beautiful mountain home. It’s hard to know what to take when the only space you have is a small car. The monsters went to prison for decades. Only in California, they spent ten years behind bars and then were released for “Good Behavior”.

Arsonists should be helicoptered in to the bowels of New York City, or some other concrete jungle and dropped off on their heads. No one so demented to start a forest fire deserves to ever see another tree or deer again. Yes. The bowels of New York City.

Smoke carries me back to those days. Even though Winterpast isn’t in any path of wildfire, it still upsets the day when our beautiful blue desert skies are heavy with smoke while the sun glows deep reddish-orange at sunrise.

Whatever you do today, have some fun. If you are lucky enough to breathe fresh air, you are lucky enough! Pray for our firefighters and the unluckies that are in harms way.

More tomorrow.

There are just some weekends so special and rare, they are for the history books. Dinner company so compatible that one wonders where the time went when the check arrives way before the night should be through. Thoughtful gestures so kind that it makes one happy to be alive. This last weekend was full of those things, overflowing with one special moment after another.

Friday afternoon at 3:30 the weekend was ripe was possibilities. Starting things off by sharing a meal, surely the next few days were headed in a wonderful direction.

On an given Friday night, there’s nothing better than pizza for dinner. On Friday, that certain Marine hand-delivered a Take and Bake pizza to one exhausted teacher. With the correct ratio of cheese to sauce to meat, the dinner was the perfect ending to a wonderful week with students. Of course, the quality of the pizza wasn’t the focus. Laughter and great conversation filled Winterpast. If a house could smile, she was, but not as happily as I was.

On Saturday, Oliver and I took a trip across the desert to see his girlfriend, Sam. She’s the one that trims his nails and cuts his curls. On his last two visits, he’s come home with a bow tie looking absolutely adorable with his new haircut. It was a good thing because Oliver needs to look his best for new a friend. With her very long legs and golden hair, she has turned Ollie into a blithering idiot. She’s much younger at 1.5 years and her antics remind me of how much Oliver has matured every time they romp and play. It seems they’ll have many more playdates. It just wouldn’t be fair to keep such a budding romance from blossoming.

Saturday night, my presence was requested on a real, honest-to-goodness, old-fashioned dinner date. How refreshing to know that chivalry is not dead. That a certain gentlemen might still ask if you are available, and then drive you to a restaurant where you’re invited to order your choice of meal. The Tri-Tip platter, complete with mashed potatoes and cold slaw was mine. So darn tender and delicious. I can’t really tell you if the place was busy or not. I was a bit distracted by great conversations and some very blue eyes.

Yesterday was a day of remembrance of 9/11 at the firehouse. How nice to join hands with a group of friends on such a sad day. The firehouse was cleared of trucks and covered with a sea of 508 beautiful flags (the number of first responders and Flight 93 passengers and crew). Each one had a paper attached with the name of a Fireman (343 died that day), Police, Military, and members of Flight 93 with a small story about how they died. I read about a man that ran into the Pentagon several times to bring others to safety. His mother was told he would have lived if not for Carbon Monoxide poisoning. How senseless. We can NEVER FORGET.

The evening ended with an annual viewing of “Come From Away”. If you haven’t seen it or don’t know about what happened at Gander, Newfoundland, please do some research. “Come From Away” is an award winning Broadway musical written about something wonderful that happened on 9/11. Research some of the characters that were involved that day. I found it on Apple TV. It is not typical in any way and a story you won’t soon forget.

This weekend showed me that I’ve finally found the balanced life for which I’ve struggled to attain and achieve. I love my work and students. Winterpast is the coziest of nests. Oliver is coming of age to be a great dog. I’ve made new friends in the dusty little wide spot along the interstate that I call home. Now, the biggest hole in my puzzled existence just might be filled with a true companion.

Be thankful for all the good thing that happens each day. Life throws plenty of downs coming with certainty. But along with those heartaches, there are plenty of moments that are absolutely golden. Focus on them. String them like pearls in your day. It looks just like happiness when you’re through.

More tomorrow.

The dreaded Week 6 waits just around the bend. Throughout my teaching career, I’ve observed that the worst happens during Week 6. Everyone has usually had enough and finally has the courage to say something about it. I’d hoped that the Zephyr winds would blow away past experiences, leaving me to truly enjoy my last year of teaching with littles. Week 6 is just part of my teaching experience. It will come and go.

Yesterday, my room was in the 90’s with only two small household fans to blow a little air. You. Cannot. Imagine. By the end of the day, 6 kids were missing for one reason or another. I wish I had a mom that would take me out of the heat. The only escape is the Office. Sad, but true. The only place in the main building with air. Go figure. Even 15 minutes of AC would help to lower my core temperature. But, that isn’t to be.

Along with the heat, we are coming up on a huge test. Computerized, it is a big one. Hours for littles to sit and think, typing their answers into a glowing screen. 6 year olds. Something isn’t right with this. A few of my kids still don’t know their letters. Such is school in the 2,000’s.

I’ll be gone until next Monday to regroup. A certain gentleman suitor is taking up some of my free time these days. Papers need correcting. My Friday Newsletter needs writing. Oliver needs his ears scratched. And, quite frankly, I need a moment to regroup.

Of course, everything will settle. Week 7 is always a glorious affair. This year will be no different. It’s the Dance of the School Year.

If you have a spare prayer, please send it my way. Cover the teachers and children in my school with good wishes. Please pray that everyone lives through this heat.

More on Monday.

It’s all come back so easy. Every mentor teacher I’ve ever known whispers to me throughout the day, reminding me of helpful little tips to make the day go smoother. My kiddos are coming right along, learning that our minutes are valuable. High expectations produce wonderful results and I’m amazed at how fast the littles I started the year with are growing into real students.

At this point, we are a classroom family. Yesterday, the sweetest thing happened. It has every year I’ve taught.

A very active little boy was having a hard day. An impulsive 6 year old, he’s one of my youngers. For the first three weeks of school, his name is one blasted through the room.

“Davey.”

“No, Davey.”

“Please sit down, Davey.”

“Davey, we’re waiting.”

DAVEYYYYYYY.”

His mom contacts me every evening to check on his behavior for the day. A teacher needs to be gentle when talking with parents. My expectations are extremely high, as I mentioned. These littles are going above and beyond as they follow my lead. They are kind and funny. I’m expecting them to turn into scholars (which, by the way, they will by the end of the school year).

Good Lemonade has a little lemon for flavor and a lot of sugar for sweetness. I think of that ratio when making a call to parents. Sandwiched thoughts come out in a certain order. Good traits. The problem. Suggestions for a better day. A final compliment. The conversations usually go well.

I always reassure parents that their child is a unique creation. A wonderful work of art. Face it. They all are. Every single one of them. If a teacher doesn’t believe that in her soul, she shouldn’t be teaching. My conversations with Davey’s mom are that way too. Davey is one of my kids, now and forever more.

Yesterday, I was helping my class with their laptops. Consider that picture. 20 littles each with a laptop, working on programs leveled to their ability. Silence. Focus. Learning. Davey needed something but I was helping another child with a problem.

With a little tug on my sleeve, I heard, “Mom……….I mean Mrs. Hurt.”

There it was. Just once more in my life, I was waiting for the sweetest of little slips. Yes. We are a family. Our relationships are intense and critical. Smiling, I turned to help Davey for another time. He is growing into a responsible and respectful Eagle even if his daily Mom reports have a little more lemon than sugar on some nights.

Teaching is full of surprises. Just when I had our day planned so carefully, a wrench was thrown into the works. One of my teaching partners called in sick. There were no substitutes to be found. Yesterday, I had four guests and a ghost (absent student). Five names added to my roster. Five more children added to my class at a critical time for behavior. My students are just getting to know what I expect. Distractions are not helpful.

My room yesterday was the hottest it’s been. Hot air was adding to the sweltering temperature. Not much better than a classroom in India. At least those classrooms have windows that open.

With an afternoon of frazzling complications, recess outside on the gravel playground was a welcome relief. The kids were running off their own frustrations while catching up with the latest news from their friends. All of a sudden, my gal pal teacher friend came quickly, telling me to go look in my room.

There, on my desk, sat the most exquisite bouquet of delicate flowers imaginable. Star Gazer Lilies. White roses. Babies Breath. A work of art. In this sweltering, messy little classroom sat something from the outside world. Delicate, fragile, and right from the florist.

I won’t share the words on the card. Just know, it’s something I will keep forever, the message now etched in my heart.

The rest of the day, I got plenty of questions about my flowers.

Was it my birthday?

No.

Anniversary?

Uh, think again on that one.

Late Labor Day?

Early Columbus Day?????

Younger women would never consider the possibility that a old veteran teacher with her hair in a bun just might have an admirer. My mentor teachers stood open-mouthed and in awe as I left for the day tightly clutching my vase of flowers. The heat in the room was too much for them. They needed to come home to the cool oasis of Winterpast.

Hopefully today will be a better day. With a few more hours of testing, my littles will learn more today. It’s kindness day, so I’ll be wearing my jeans and kindness t-shirt. The one that says, “Kindness is my super power.” I need to make sure my shirt doesn’t lie. It’s all about patience, love, respect, and kindness. Being back in the groove is a delightful place to be.

More tomorrow.

A Letter from a grateful heart.

Dear God,

Thank you for the amazing miracles and blessings you have given me this summer. Scales have fallen away from my eyes, allowing me to see my world as it really is. You have blessed me with countless friends this summer, and now, I have a solid and beautiful foundation on which to place the bricks of my life, one by one. I belong in this desert town, as sure as the desert heat, Zephyr winds, and the mustangs you send to greet me in my yard.

My summer of miracles started with something as simple as renewing my Driver’s License. Such a silly task. Shouldn’t have been a game changer, but it was. I learned I could still focus and retain facts not becoming bogged down on the “What If’s” because 95% of them never happen anyway. I was so scared I wouldn’t pass a test, written or otherwise, that I was ready to be an Uber customer forever. How silly was that? Of course, my license arrived in the mail four days later, renewed for more years than I care to drive.

You brought me my new set of girlfriends, all giggly and wonderful. An assortment of women that share similar traits and goals. We fear the same things and yearn for the same knowledge. The same, yet uniquely different, together we shine like jewels on a crown. These days, wherever I go in this dusty little wide spot in the road, I find them. They text often to check on me. I go to lunch and get plenty of hugs. Your blessings have overflowed and grown me a garden of girlfriends.

I’m getting good at realizing when a miracle really truly occurs. Like finding the energy and organizational skills to run herd on 20 littles at 66 years old. You’ve given me the sweetest kids in town. Even the difficult personalities are beyond adorable with their clear little eyes and amazing hearts. You wanted me to experience the classroom one last magical time, and now, here I sit in a sea of papers. So tired every night, I drop in my tracks at 7:30 to do it all again the next day. Although physically tired, my brain has needed this assignment. Of course, you knew that. These kids will be my 1st Graders long after they have 1st Graders of their own. It just works that way.

You healed my God Mother when she was so darn sick she almost died, not once but on many occasions this summer. You saved her so I can go to her side one more time allowing us to share more secrets and laughs. You gave her the strength to phone me yesterday, making my summer of miracles almost complete. You knew I still need her wisdom and caring. I still need to visit the ocean I love so much to hug the best Auntie in the world.

Now, you’ve introduced a new character into the mix. Someone I have yet to name in this blog made of two years of healing words that have mended my broken world. This person’s life is built on the same solid foundation as mine. Both healing from losses that shook our worlds. Both kind, compassionate, and funny. Both recycled teenagers ready to tear up the town. Appearing out of thin air, perhaps the final miracle in my summer of miracles.

You sent someone that mirrors much of my life. Blending our families from a very early time while both enjoying long term marriages to high school sweethearts. One from a family of five boys. One from a family of five girls. Both from exceptional country families that know how to fix things and make them new again. Both dog lovers, although both severely bitten in the face as children, with almost identical memories of the medical treatment we needed.

God, my life looks a brighter now. New door are opening to experiences for which I have been praying.

My summer of faith, acceptance, boundaries, and patience is about to hand over the reins to my favorite season, autumn. This time around, the season will be brighter. Of this, I have no doubt. Never did I imagine a life could transform as much as mine has during this, my Baptismal year. And I’m only in month 9!

God, you’ve given me more than my share of miracles this summer. I’m blessed beyond measure. If I never received another until you call me home, I would’ve received far more than I ever deserved, the last the one being the one I’ve prayed about the most.

God, in Jesus name, watch over me and the kids today. Our school needs hallways of angels flapping their wings because it’s so very hot. Please let me find a smile for every child in my room, even when they are so 6-ish. Let me find patience for my co-workers and be the good in my world. Take bitterness and hardness out of my heart and let me turn on my light for everyone to see. A smile costs nothing. A hug, the same price.

Thank you, Lord, for this amazing life. Can’t wait to see what’s next!

Forever yours,

Joy

It’s hard for me to accept that 35 years ago today I again met VST on a warm summer evening in the Central Valley of California. Not intentionally. Just a random dinner meet-up at our 14th and 15th High School Reunion. Two very wounded people who happened to be good friends in choir sat and sparred over dinner. Who could have predicted the love story that would follow?

I hadn’t wanted to attend the shindig. After all, at that time, I owned and operated a one person house keeping business. As a single mother of two very active and sweet little boys, my dance card was full with school assignments and clients. On the side, I cared for our own little hovel in the barrios of Fresno on a street where the police used my front yard to lob tear gas at the apartments across the street.

On the good side of town, VST had just finished building his own bachelor pad across the street from a school chum we had in common. Peter Ambrose. What a character he was! Smooth as aged cognac, and about the same color, Peter worked the ladies. He had a different date every night of the week, with a steady chain of women in his stable. Peter was never at a loss for companionship. He was a “wealthy cattle baron”, or so he pretended in his mind.

Fast cars and fast women. That was Porsche Peter.

Peter and his family didn’t own a herd of pedigree angus on a huge California ranch. They simply found cheap cattle and fed them out. Dairy calves or cast offs from other herds, the cattle down the street never came to the Ambrose farm in the best of health. To the family’s credit, they healed and fattened their cattle, later sending them to market. They did alright, that crew. Living in a simple farm house in the middle of 20 acres, everyone knew the Portuguese family.

On the evening of reunion, I sat in clothes only hours mine. Hitting Macy’s at 3:00 pm, I put together a cute look of a straight denim skirt, long-sleeved cream cotton blouse, and a red bandana scarf. On my feet, I wore my very first pair of bright red heels. Never had I worn red shoes, but I did that night. It symbolized the anger I felt towards myself for wrecklessly spending $25 hard earned dollars on a party I didn’t even want to attend. At that time, I would collect Coca Cola bottles for the $.05 refund, often being the grocery money I needed to feed my family.

VST, on the other hand, was seeing someone. She had begged and pleaded to be his date to the reunion. As VST would later tell the story, he had one thought in mind.

“Why take sand to the beach?”

VST was learning about the hardcore bachelor life of his bestie, Peter. Thank goodness the high school bass singer I liked so much in high school was still there. He would never get down the bachelor moves because he was stopped in his tracks. He proposed 11 days after the dance. Of course I said “Yes”, never looking back.

So many wonderful things came from that night under the stars. A night that seemed to have crashed and burned before it began. Two people, closed off and angry at the world found each other and a new life. Best friends bloomed into lovers. Two beautiful people found that love was possible again after the pain and sadness of divorce. We lived. We really lived.

$25.00.

A mountain of money to both of us on that night.

$25.00

The best money we ever spent.

On the first anniversary of VST’s death, I chose happiness on that entire day. Setting down the Kleenex box, I put on the very shirt he wore the night we met and danced around the house. I fixed a special chicken dinner, remembering our awkward and angry dinner conversation. Closing my eyes, I remembered his arms around me during our first very slow dance. Every possible memory came back to me that day bringing comfort through a few tears.

VST, I know you’re up there smiling. I hear your slow, deep southern drawl calling me “Darlin'”. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t mourn your absence deep in my heart. That night was one that plays like a current movie in my head whenever I need to remember. We were something together, Dr. H. A force to be reckoned with. Two team mates. Business partners. A married version of “Thelma and Louise”. A couple full of dreams. A connection so deep, even death hasn’t taken you away. It never could.

Life has slowed to rest a moment at the corner of Happy and Content. Each day, I choose happiness in honor of the life we shared. You showed me how to be a great “other half”. You were the “One In A Million Guy” that fell for the prettiest Skoegard girl with the bluest eyes.

Happy Anniversary, VST. As always, I send you my love. Everything is good here on the mortal side. I hope you dance today. Save the last dance for me when I get there. Mrs. H

More tomorrow.

I need a serious vacation. I’ll be back on Monday with some good stories about picnics, ponies, and parades.

Whatever you do, wherever you go, bask in some Aloha spirit!

Mahalo for understanding. Every girl needs a good rest sometime.

More on Monday.

Oy. Vey. What a tale I have to tell.

Yesterday was another blistering day in the desert. The morning temperatures were not that bad. It does seem the AC keeps up until it doesn’t.

Then. It doesn’t.

By the time recess came, I was ready to go stand in the shade with the very dry 102 degree breezes to blow away trickling sweat. Of course, vanity would never let me wear a sleeveless dress without a sweater. Those of you that understand do. Bat wings are more appropriate for bats than ladies.

Yesterday was an active recess duty. The tetherball rope suspended the ball above the reach of the littles. Thankfully our newest teacher, who is only 18 year old, was nimble enough to release it. (She is already one heck of a teacher.)

There were the random cases of bumps and the blues. Racing littles. Hot littles. All very tiny and extremely active. It takes five adults to watch 100+ 1st graders. Even then, we had a boy breach the girl’s bathroom. The bathroom is the only respite from the heat and a great place to play when you are 5 or 6. The echoes are amazing when screaming during true play. And then, there is always the water which is cool and inviting.

Yes.

Yesterday was quite the busy afternoon on the playground.

As a grade level, we made the executive decision to decrease recess minutes from 30 to 20. Being so hot, it made sense to shorten time in the sun for everyone. At 1:35 on the dot, the first whistle blows and everyone freezes. When the second whistle blows, everyone trots off to their designated spots for pick up.

My class lines up in number order. By now, they know their numbers and count off as we enter the room. It’s important during events like fire drills, when stress levels are high. The lunch ladies love it, because the numbers place the children in alphabetical order. It makes everything easier. Number order is a wonderful thing.

Well, I was listening to the hot and tired children count off.

1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

7.

S.T.O.P. RIGHT. THERE.

There must be some kind of mistake. Hot? Yes. But we are missing 6.

Try it again.

1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

7.

Immediately I counted heads.

20 total. One absent. I needed a head count of 19, but only 18 were present.

18 little heads.

One missing!!!!!!!

Scanning the playground, my heart sank. I was on duty. #6 had escaped. The playground was empty. 100% empty. My students and I needed to get out of the heat.

Being in charge of 18 littles is not a post I could abandon. I closed the door, while one remained lost at sea.

Immediately, I bolted across the room to the intercom.

“Yes, Mrs. Hurt.”

“We have a missing child. Girl in pink. Did not return from recess. Please help.”

The other littles were oblivious. This was snack time with a touch of soft music. The overhead lights would be off for 10 minutes, making things feel a little cooler, if only in our imagination. I couldn’t believe there was an empty seat. One little empty seat. My heart was racing.

Continuing to check the playground through the window, the view remained the same. Empty. Gravel filled. Hot as anything. Still swings. Vacant basketball court. No one at the covered tables. My little had vanished.

Morning headlines were racing through my head.

“Mrs. Hurt Loses Her Little”

“One Little on the Run. Last Seen Playing Hopscotch.”

Just then, a heavy knock shock the playground door.

Upon opening it, I found a very tired Vice Principal and one tiny little holding a stolen flower. From where this flower was picked, I haven’t a clue, but it was already wilted. The lost was found.

Where did she go?

A friend can be a friend sometime. Sometimes, it’s straight up “Thelma and Louise”.

Two little girls decided to purposely hide and then go hunt for flowers. School and learning just wasn’t what they had in mind for the afternoon. Flower picking was a better idea.

Thank goodness all ended well. I counted heads frequently until 3:05. Thoughts of a fall fieldtrip to the pumpkin patch are on hold for now. Thankfully, my little Houdini was lost in a locked playground. The pumpkin patch would be another story entirely. We’ll try for a fieldtrip to the Christmas Tree farm. That will give everyone a couple more months to grow.

Whatever you do today, please keep eyes on loved ones. Hold hands crossing busy streets. Don’t lose anyone you love.

Yes. It’s a fact. I’m falling for my littles. But, after all is said and done, they really had me at “Hello”.

More tomorrow.

Hard to believe it’s Wednesday and August 31st. Good riddance to my least favorite month other than January. August is hell in the desert. At least in January, I can add layers of clothes. Heck in January, there’s always the chance of a random snow day.

Big plans are brewing for our Nevada Day Celebration as well as Veteran’s Day. I need to volunteer for some committees, but right now, I’m dancing as fast as I can just staying graded and prepared for the next day.

Nevada Day was officially celebrated on October 31st for years until the date was changed to the last Friday of October. Not every state has their own day, but we do. It’s a big celebration with parades and parties. Our school will be celebrating Halloween AND Nevada Day on the same day. That’ll be a no brainer for my littles. It’s Halloween. To heck with anything else.

In my neighborhood, there isn’t much action on Halloween. I guess that’s because I leave my lights off and hunker down in my bedroom. It isn’t much fun to wait for kids that don’t come because of the secluded nature of the neighborhood. Night in the desert is extremely dark. Our neighborhood is short on street lights. Thank goodness.

School has been hopping and it’s something to behold. Children treating property and adults badly. Never have I ever. So far, all onboard my ship are doing fine. There’s no time for disrespect, as I’m keeping them fully occupied while EARNING their respect. They are earning my respect, as well. But, other situations have arisen outside our classroom that are disheartening. And yes, some of mine were guilty.

People, even the little ones, are full of rage these days. Tied up inside and ready to explode. Littles lash out. Cry. Scream. They show signs of anxiety and fear. The world we live in is taking a toll. For that sadness, my heart hurts. They are littles and should be able to enjoy being just that. Little.

For this year, I’m in charge of teaching my littles to imagine. Today, we are going to take the afternoon and write an imaginary story about taking a trip to Disneyland. Half of my students have not been. Today, I’m going to front load them with images of Disneyland and maybe a couple videos. Then, we are going to write our story together. They will illustrate. Each student will add a part. It should turn out really cute. One for the wall on large colorful chart paper.

It’s time to change up my bulletin board outside my door to a fall theme. So many to choose from, Amazon will help me out. I just want this year to be full. Full of everything I’ve loved over the years. Mostly, full of children that learn so much it fills them up and spills out their ears. I hope I can get them to LOVE school. So far, they’re learning they can’t just race around like feral kittens. This is taking a toll on our learning minutes, but if not now, when?

Yesterday, after an extremely tough time with one little, we were together at the bus. There are some children’s names that wake a teacher up with a start during the night. After saying said name 56 times in a two hour period, a teacher gets a bit affected. Anyway, she looked up at me with the clearest and sweetest eyes.

“Mws. Huwt,” (her R’s are not strong yet), “I’m will-ly sohr-we about today. I’ll do bettew to-moh-wo.”

Now, that’s a total win.

Working on towards Week 6, which is my witching-week, I see activities occurring that must be squelched. A frisbee and the girl’s bathroom are a terrible combination on a hot day resulting in a lot of cleanup for the students involved. Actually, the same frisbee was also used as a weapon during afternoon recess resulting in an investigation by the Vice Principal. Frisbee is now history. Maybe in the spring.

The new shoes are a little dustier. The back backs are starting to lose their zippers. Mandatory bus pass zipper tags are being removed by parents, causing tears and frustration at the bus line. Kids are starting to go on fall vacations, causing extra work for teachers with the need for vacation packets. School is in full swing.

In a sea of 700 littles, the energy level is incredible. Everything from Kindergarten melt downs to 4th grade shenanigans, our school is a very busy place. I’m just in charge of making sure 20 littles move quietly from one place to another in a straight, quiet, and single line. Try that on for size. A lot can happen at the back of the line if you lead the front. If bringing up the rear, the front has a tendency to wander.

Oy Vey.

Onward and upward. I must run. Time for breakfast and some quiet work time before another day begins.

Whatever you do today, thank a teacher. Think back to your own school days and quietly bless the women and men that helped you through your childhood. I am sure mine are looking down from heaven. I hope they are saying, “Well look at that one. She’s doing alright.”

More tomorrow.