Please Use Your Words @pleaseuseyourwords-blog - Tumblr Blog

Playing Doctor

Home Center's theme has once again changed, and our classroom is now the proud location of Colorado's most envied "Doctor's Office," complete with two entire sets of Fisher Price medical supplies. Nothing but the latest and greatest equipment for these ambitious tots....And I'll give you one guess who was selected to be the first patient at this fine establishment run by toddlers...that's right, yours truly.

Dimples was one of my main physicians. And much to my surprise, one of my quietest boys in the class also donned his white jacket to heal me of my ailments. I have nicknamed him Bashful, because he is very shy and reminds me of the bashful dwarf on Snow White.

I was instructed to sit down immediately...apparently my condition was more serious than I had anticipated. Dimples' interests were divided between syringes, reflex hammers, and thermometers, while Bashful wielded his skill with the stethoscope.

Placing the plastic earpieces into his ears and putting the diaphragm of the stethoscope directly over my bellybutton, Bashful instructed me to breath. Then he moved the stethoscope to my forehead. Then to my eye. Then to my cheekbone. Then back to my belleybutton. Then the cycle repeated itself. And with each new placement I was told to take a deep breath....the dizziness set in after about deep breath number six.

While Bashful was making a thorough check of my "vitals," Dimples had been busy filling syringes with my medicine...

"You need a shot, Miss Lisa," said Dimples.

"Ok," I said, pushing my sleeve up so that he could inject my arm.

"No," Dimples said. "In your neck." And with that he jammed the plastic syringe into my jugular. All I can say is that I'm glad I'm on this kid's good side. But even so, I wouldn't want to meet up with him in a dark alley.

"There. Now I need to put this in your ears." Dimples started to pump cold air into my ears. When I asked what it was, he said, "Water. It cleans out the spiders." (I may have forgotten to mention that Dimple's "R's" make the "Ah" sound, so the above statement sounded like, "Wata. It cleans out the spidas." Little Brooklyn baby).

"Hold still," Dimples said. He wrapped the blue, red, and yellow blood pressure cuff around my wrist and started to squeeze the pump again and again as fast as he could. The little plastic dial whirled around at lightening speed, but luckily I had a doctor who knew what that meant.

Dimples bent down and squinted at the dial, watching it finally slow to a stop. "Well, Miss Lisa, " he said. "You're almost dead. Here, drink this." He handed me a bottle of green liquid that he had taken off of our science table (it was green colored water mixed with oil...an appetizing combination).

I obediently pretended to gulped the concoction while my doctors looked on. They seemed satisfied with my improvement. However, just to make sure that I didn't have a relapse, they started to bind my entire body with an Ace bandage...

It was about the time that I had a bandage wrapped around my chest, a stethoscope over my eye, and a reflex hammer being tapped on my forehead that more parents started to show up to drop their children off at class...I was blessed with many "get well soon" wishes. And you'll be happy to know that thanks to the healing touch of my dedicated doctors I have made a complete recovery.

#doctorsoffice

Spiders

Spiders have recently become an object of fascination in our class, especially among the boys. Perhaps it is because it's summer and all of the creepy crawlies are out and about. Or maybe it's simply because little boys like things that gross out little girls. When three-year old girls see a spider, they scream, do a tippy toe dance, and run into the arms of other little girls who are doing the exact same thing. Once the danger has passed, the girls will remain locked in an embrace and recount the horrors of what they just experienced. Not so with little boys....

When a three-year old boy sees a spider it means the hunt is on. There are three plans of action that he might take. First, he might go into "squashing mode" where he immediately pulverizes the creature by smashing it into the ground with his foot. Second, he might poke at it for a while until its limbs get ripped off, and then he'll squash it. Third, he might capture it.....all three methods mean certain death for the eight-legged beast.

Dimples and Tigger are the main characters in this week's story, and when it comes to spiders, they prefer a combination of the second and third approach. I found the two of them bent over by the swing set, observing something of extreme interest. Before I could ask what they were looking at, Dimples spun around, held something up towards my face and said, "Look, Miss Lisa, a spider!"

Sure enough, pinched between Dimple's thumb and index finger was a three-legged spider....where the other five legs went, I'll never know. Luckily it wasn't a poisonous spider, just one of those nondescript type spiders that you find hidden in the corners of your house at times. But Dimples and Tigger were not concerned with the boring appearance of their spider. They were proud of their catch and ready to figure out what to do with him.

"Miss Lisa do you want to come to our work?" asked Tigger. "That's were we keep our spiders."

"Sure," I said. "Where do you work?"

"At our office," said Tigger, as if that answered my question.

Dimples grabbed my hand and led me to his work place, keeping a firm grip on the spider in his other hand. We arrived at the Fisher Price kitchen set on the other side of the playground.

"Here we are. Do you want some coffee?" said Dimples, handing me the rubber bulb of a turkey baster...nothing but the finest drinkware for their dear teacher.

"Do you like our office?" Tigger asked. He pointed to the built in microwave and said, "This is our computer, and this is where we keep the spiders." He pointed to the oven.

I opened the plastic oven door and saw that it was indeed where they kept their spiders. Inside was a graveyard of spider bodies, legs, and heads.

"We keep them there so they don't run away," Tigger explained.

Seeing as how most of the spiders didn't have any more legs, it seemed a bit unnecessary to keep them locked in the oven to prevent them from escaping, but I kept my thoughts to myself.

Dimples took the turkey baster bulb out of my hand and said, "I need your coffee cup for my spider. I think he's still alive."

He dropped the spider into the rubber bulb, covered the opening with his hand, and shook it as hard as he could. Then he stopped and peered inside.

"There. He's dead," said Dimples.

Since I was no longer welcomed to drink my coffee at their office, I decided to take my leave of the boys. But as I was walking away, I looked back to see what they were doing with their spider. Tigger had found a plastic pot and Dimples was dumping the spider into it. Then they both proceeded to vigorously stir the pot with sticks. Apparently they like their spiders shaken and stirred.

#spiders

"I'm Spiderman and I spray webs out of my hands! But don't worry, Miss Lisa, I won't spray you because I don't spray big people."

Three-year old boy

"I'm lucky I'm a boy because it's hard to be pretty, but it's easy being handsome!"

Four-year old boy

"Miss Lisa, I'm a ruffian! But I still ate all my green beans last night."

Three-year old boy who walked into class dressed in a black mask and cape.

A Day With The Ones

A change of pace is a good thing every once in a while, and yesterday was my change of pace. With quite a few teachers gone on vacation, and some unexpected illnesses going around the preschool, we were short staffed at work and had to shuffle some kids and teachers around in order to stay within ratio. I knew where I was needed, so volunteered to help out in the one-year old room.

I arrived in the one's just as they were finishing up their morning snack. They were all sitting around their ankle-high table eating crackers and drinking milk when I walked through the door. They turned to see who had come into their classroom and squealed with delight when they saw me....cracker crumbs falling out of their mouths and spewing everywhere.

Their vocabulary is somewhat limited, and it's even harder to understand the few words that they do know, but in the midst of the screams and table pounding I did catch the words: "Miss Weeesa" "cwackers" and "eat!"

I walked over to their table and was instantly offered handfuls of soggy crackers....they are a very generous bunch. Then they showered me with sticky hugs and kisses, covering my arms and shirt with cracker crumbs. It was a joyous reunion.

After getting them all cleaned up, it was time to draw some pictures. The other teacher and I gave them each a white piece of paper and a Crayola marker to create their own masterpieces. More ink got on the table than the paper, but what else is new?

One little boy, Floppy, as I will call him (because he's not very stable and is always falling down), had a very mischievous look on his face when he was coloring. He seemed more interested in the marker than in drawing a picture. And there was a blue smudge on the tip of his nose which told me that he had been sniffing the marker...not a good sign.

"Floppy," I said. "You need to put the marker on the paper, not on your nose."

I bent down and helped him make a few circles on his paper. However, while I was kneeling at his level I smelled something sour....something was amiss. My suspicions were confirmed when I discovered that Floppy's neighbor needed to be changed.

I silently chastised myself for volunteering to work in the one-year old class and wished that I was back with my three-year olds who could take care of their own potty needs....But it was too late for regrets. I picked up Floppy's stinky friend, pried a yellow marker out of his hand, and took him to the changing table. When the deed was done, I returned to the coloring table with a clean bundle of joy.

It was almost time to go outside to play, so I started collecting the kids' artwork and markers. When I got to Floppy, he handed me a paper with blue scribbles all over it and a marker with a clear tip....

"Are these magic markers?" I thought to myself. "Maybe these are the kind of markers that have clear tips and then color comes out of them when they touched paper...."

I looked at Floppy's blue marker again, and upon closer inspection I found that the marker did not actually have a tip...just a clear-colored stub.

I spun around to face Floppy. His entire mouth was bright blue. Not only had he chewed off the marker tip, but he has sucked out every ounce of blue ink....hence the clear stub.

He smiled at me and giggled, exposing his dyed tongue. Little chucks of the marker tip were still stuck in his teeth.

"Floppy, why did you eat the marker?!" I asked.

He laughed again and said, "Blue!" Apparently the baby Einstein knew his colors.

Well, what was done was done. I cleaned up Floppy, and threw out the marker whose life had been cut short by a ravenous toddler. Thankfully, Crayola markers are not toxic and are washable, so Floppy spent the rest of the day sporting a slightly blue five o'clock shadow.

Yes, a change of pace is good every once in a while. But after a day in the one-year old room, I am ready to get back to my three-year olds on Monday!

#adaywiththeones

Gone Fishing

Changing the theme of the centers in our classroom always guarantees a thrill for the little tikes. This week did not disappoint as we changed our Home Center theme to "Picnic" in the spirit of celebrating America and summertime. The Fisher Price picnic baskets, fishing poles, plastic food, and lanterns (which the kids call "lightsavers") were the talk of the room. I even caught one boy trying to smuggle a fishing pole onto his sleep mat during nap time.

With so many families gone on vacation for the 4th of July, we had a fairly quiet week in our class. But that doesn't mean that things were uneventful...

Tuesday morning came, and only Muscles, Fungi, and Dimples were at school when I got to work at 7:30. All three are avid outdoorsmen and they were very anxious to get to work playing in Picnic. There was much to do....catch fish, clean fish, start a fire, cook fish, eat fish, catch more fish. Serious business.

"Miss Lisa will you play with us?"

"Sure. What do you want me to do?" I asked, thinking that they wanted me to play the mom (like I always have to do when playing with the girls).

"You be the fish and we'll catch you," said Muscles.

I didn't know whether I should be relieved that I didn't have to play the mom where I am always forced to clean up imaginary vomit, or concerned that I had been demoted to the role of the fish....I suppose, in a boy's eyes going from mom to fish is not a demotion, but an honor.

Apparently I put on an excellent performance as the fish because the boys were delighted and wanted to catch me over and over and over and over again....Eventually I got tired of being noodled out of the imaginary lake, placed over the miniature plastic grill, and chomped at by three-year old boys with very sharp looking teeth, so I suggested a change.

"It's getting dark, boys, aren't you going to drive home?" I asked, knowing that the mention of anything mechanical would divert their attention away from fishing, at least temporarily....

"I'll drive!" shouted Muscles, and we all jumped into the car. "Seat belts!"

It's a good thing we had those seat belts on because it was one wild ride. Evidently, you can only get to some destinations by doing donuts and pinpoint turns the entire way.

"We're here!" said Muscles.

"Wait," said Fungi. "Before we go home, we need to get our hair cut."

"Oh yeah," said Muscles. "I'll pack us some food."

We all got back in the car, buckled up, and sped off to the barbershop. We parked next to a new lake to eat our pre-haricut meal. Dimples immediately started unpacking the fishing gear...I realized I would probably have to be the fish again.

"Time to eat," said Muscles. "You can have cereal cheesecake with coke. Or marshmallows."

I opted for marshmallows. Then Fungi came over to me with a plastic knife and fork.

"Ok, I'm just going to cut your hair now," he said, walking closer with the knife and fork outstretched.

"I thought the barber was going to cut my hair," I said.

"No, I am."

I was wearing my hair up, so I assumed he would simply fiddle with the ponytail and declare my hair to be cut. Oh no. I was sitting with my back to a wall, and he planted himself right in front of me...trapping me in. Then he reached out with his knife and fork and yanked all of my pulled back hair into my face. When he was finished, I had half a ponytail left and a frizzy mess of hair piled on top of my head....a glorious sight to behold.

Muscles came to my rescue when he said, "No more time for haircuts, there's monsters coming!" We scrambled back into the car and drove away, with Dimples in the backseat stabbing the monsters with his fishing pole.

All in all, it was a good morning at work: I got to play the fish, eat marshmallows, get my haircut by a three-year old boy, and flee from monsters. Not a bad way to start the day.

#gonefishing

Princess Drama

For the most part, our preschool boys far outnumber the girls. However, there are times when their numbers are just about even, and this always means trouble for the boys. You see, the boys work against the girls as a team. If one boy is in trouble with a girl, then the whole male team bands together and rushes to the aid of their comrade. It's a strength in numbers kind of thing. And the girls understand that they cannot go up against all of the boys at once. But preschool girls are a cunning species, and they bide their time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce on their prey...

Thursday was apparently the day the girls had been waiting for. When I got to work at 7:30 there were only five kids...three boys and two girls. Here is a list of the characters: Fungi (the boy with a haircut that makes his head look like a mushroom), Cinderella (the girl who forced a boy to dance with her in a previous blog), T-Rex (obsessed with dinosaurs, very loud, oh and he recently cut his own hair...or should I say shaved his head...well, half of it), Muscles (a very expressive boy who is always showing me his muscles), and Miss Bossy (a little girl who always has to have her way and tattles a lot...we all know the type).

The boys knew they were in trouble, being few in numbers and having two very strong female personalities in the room, but what could they do? They had to carry on as if they didn't have a care in the world....little girls can smell fear.

The real trouble started when the kids picked centers to play at. Fungi went to play in Farm, T-Rex chose Legos, and Muscles opted for playing with his toy from home...a stuffed tater-tot dressed like a Superhero. Little did he know that this choice would lead to his doom. Playing with a toy from home must be done on "the letter line" (the huge blue rug, bordered by a colorful alphabet, that we sit criss-cross-applesauce on when we have our group learning time). The problem with this is that the letter line is also the "dance center" if students choose to dance during free-play....and what do you think the girls chose to do during free-play? Dance.

Fluttery fairy-like music started to play and Cinderella and Miss Bossy took their positions. Twirling around like ballerinas, they headed straight for Muscles who was sitting huddled in the corner, gripping his stuffed tater-tot.

"You'll be our prince," Miss Bossy said.

Poor Muscles knew that he couldn't win a verbal argument, so he went into defense mode and dropped to the ground, arms and legs spread out like a starfish.

"Let's pick him up," said Cinderella.

Each girl grabbed one of Muscle's arms and tried to pull him to his feet. Muscles attempted to make himself heavier by pressing his body to the floor. He looked pleadingly at his two male companions across the room. They returned his gaze with looks of sympathy, but they all knew the numbers were not in their favor. Nothing could be done.

"He's up!" said Miss Bossy when the girls finally yanked Muscles to his feet.

"You're my prince," Miss Bossy told Muscles. This however, triggered a heated discussion between Cinderella and Miss Bossy. They had originally intended to share Muscles, but Miss Bossy had made other plans. Not surprisingly, she got her way and took sole ownership of Muscles.

"Fine!" said Cinderella. "Well that's my prince over there!" She stomped over to Fungi who was surrounded by plastic farm animals, barns, tractors, and silos...oblivious to the argument that was taking place. Cinderella knelt down by him, stroked his shoulder, and then glanced back to make sure Miss Bossy was watching. Miss Bossy was watching, but soon both girls turned their attention to their new relationships. Muscles was led to the center of the letter line rug and told to dance, while Fungi was informed that he was was now Cinderella's prince.

"I'm not a prince," said Fungi. "I'm just Fungi."

Cinderella did her best to persuade her new catch to dance with her and take her to their castle. But Fungi held his ground, demonstrating an uncharacteristically cool attitude in the heat of battle. He insisted that he needed to farm. He would not abandon his duties. Cinderella, although quite upset by the situation, smiled and giggled at nothing every time she saw Miss Bossy look her way. She had to keep up the appearance that she had snatched the better man.

In the end, Cinderella accepted the fact that she was destined to live the life of a farmer's wife. And so, giving up all thoughts of castles and pretty dresses, she sat down and helped Fungi shove pigs, sheep, chickens, and cows into the silo...where they apparently belonged.

Poor Muscles didn't get off as easy as Fungi. He was forced to dance the morning away, leaving his Superhero tater-tot alone on the ground where the two of them had fallen attempting to avoid the girls' romantic advances.

#princessdrama

T-Rex

If you are the parent of a three-year old please be advised: check their pockets before they leave the house...especially if your three-year old is a boy.

T-Rex (the boy from the Sensory Table story who loves dinosaurs and doesn't have an inside voice) once again enters the scene. Allow me to give you a little background about this kid...One day when he came to school, his parents told me that T-Rex had climbed out of his window during the night. They had gone into his room to tuck him in and found his bed empty and his window open. Panic stricken, they looked out the window and saw him calmly playing in his sandbox by moonlight....digging up dinosaur bones.

He is not shy and has quite a way with the ladies...in fact, he calls the girls in our class "ladies." I often hear him saying, "Hey ladies, do you want to play tag? I'm it!" (Tag usually ends with "the ladies" crying because T-Rex is not a gentle tagger...you're lucky if you don't end up on the ground by the end of the game).

One more thing about T-Rex is that he is a surprisingly excellent sharer. Most three-year olds are selfish and they don't like other kids playing with their toys, but not T-Rex. Everyday he raids his bedroom and brings his favorite toys to school to share with his classmates. And even though most of his toys are missing body parts, have chewed off pieces, and are covered in permanent marker, T-Rex's arrival is always greatly anticipated because it means that exciting new toys will be introduced.

Wednesday was no exception. As T-Rex and his parents walked into class, his mom told me, "He brought quite a few toys today." As if on que, T-Rex unzipped his backpack, grasped the bottom of it, held it high above his head, and dumped the contents onto the ground. Toys clattered to the floor. Dinosaurs with missing legs, tails, and horns. Spy glasses with only one lense. Wingless plastic bugs. Toy cars with no wheels. And a headless bobble-head baseball player. The rest of the students dove onto the pile as if a pinata had burst open.

T-Rex walked over to me while he let his friends enjoy the splendor of his delivery. His mom hung up his coat, and his dad put his lunch box on the shelf with the others. While they were busy with their various parental tasks, T-Rex apparently thought it was a golden opportunity to show me what he had in his pocket (always a highlight of my day).

"Miss Lisa, guess what I have in my pocket," said T-Rex.

"What?" I asked, genuinely curious...I never know what each new day will bring.

T-Rex immediately whipped out an expensive looking digital camera, pressed the power button, and snapped a picture of me. I had just been about to ask if it was a real camera, but the blinding flash answered my question.

His parents' expression was priceless. Their mouths dropped open and they looked at each other, speechless. Then they looked back at T-Rex and were no longer surprised. Of course he had snatched it from them when they weren't looking....he has a way of finding things that aren't meant to be found.

His dad grabbed the camera out of T-Rex's hand and said, "What else do you have in those pockets?" After searching through all of T-Rex's pockets the three of us found a set of crystals that had been on display at their house, a few dinosaur toys (what was left of them), two deflated balloons, a horse fly (wings still intact....he must have been saving it for later), and the head of the bobble-head baseball player.

T-Rex's parents confiscated some of his loot and then left, shaking their heads. I was going to ask T-Rex why he had so much stuff stashed in his pockets, and why he had swiped his parent's camera, and why he had climbed out of his bedroom window in the middle of the night to dig for dinosaur bones. But I figured out the answer before I had even asked the question. It's because he's a boy. And that's just what boys do.

#t-rex

The Cinderellas

Finding the right man is hard at any age, but three-year olds might have it the worst. You see, three-year old boys do not have that little thing called tact...a trait that gradually develops with age. So when a three-year old girl asks a three-year old boy to be her boyfriend, he doesn't politely say, "I think we should just be friends." Oh no. Instead he says, "No way! I don't like you!" But girls are tenacious creatures, and they won't stop searching for that special someone until they find him.

This week during our playground time, the girls in our class decided to play Cinderella, and they were determined to find a Prince Charming to take them to the ball. (Please note, the girls couldn't agree on who would be Cinderella and who would be the ugly step-sisters, so all three of the girls decided to be Cinderella...the man-hunt starts early, and so does the drama...)

Since we have so many more boys than girls in our class, the odds were in the ladies' favor. The girls set off with high spirits in search of Mr. Right. The scene looked like this:

With each attempt, the little girls would say to the boys, "Prince Charming, will you take me to the ball?"

And here are some of the boys' responses:

"Nope. It's too hot."

"I can't. I have to swing."'

"I need to work." (He was operating heavy equipment...a Little Tikes dump truck).

"RAWR!!!"

The harsh reality began to set in. Maybe finding a boy to take them to the ball wasn't going to be so easy after all. I found two of the Cinderellas huddled under the slide after being scared off by the last "Prince Charming."

"What's wrong, girls?" I asked.

"We can't find any Prince Charmings," they said. "Boys are mean."

But one Cinderella was not willing to give up the fight just yet. She would have her Prince Charming, and he would take her to the ball.

"Hey!" she shouted to a little boy on a tricycle. "You're going to take me to the ball!"

He didn't have time to reply because she had already wrenched his hands off the handle bars and was pulling him over to the chalk-covered "dance floor." She grabbed his hands and held them firmly on her waist. Not letting go of his hands, lest he try to make a run for it, she led them around in circles while humming a romantic tune. With his plastic helmet still on his head, the little boy did as he was told. He looked longingly at his tricycle, but knew that it would be futile to protest.

As suddenly as it had started, Cinderella ran away from Prince Charming yelling, "It's midnight, I have to go!" She skipped back to the other Cinderellas who had been watching her from under the slide with jealous admiration, leaving Prince Charming still standing there with his hands stretched out to where her waist had been. He looked confused for a moment, but then realizing that he had been released from bondage he dashed back to his tricycle.

The Cinderellas stayed away from the boys for the rest of the afternoon. But their days of hunting down Prince Charming aren't over, in fact, they're just beginning.

#thecinderellas

Sensory Table

One of the most popular centers we have in our classroom is our Sensory Table. This is simply a table with a long, twelve gallon bin that rests inside of it. The bin can be filled with all kinds of hands-on wonders, such as sand, snow, cloud dough (flour and baby oil...so fun!!), and goo (cornstarch and water...so so fun!!!!). This week, Sensory Table is filled with uncooked rice and beans. Not so exciting you might say. Well throw a few dozen plastic bugs into the mix and you have a match made in heaven....according to three-year olds.

Only two people are allowed to play at Sensory Table at one time, therefore, I have two main characters in today's story. The first character is Dimples, who was mentioned in a previous post (and just in case you're wondering, No, he has not gained an ounce of modesty. If anything, he has become even less conservative with his body, and is still just as dimply as before).

The second character in this story shall be nicknamed T-Rex. This little boy lives to hunt, capture, talk about, and imitate Tyrannosaurus Rex. For instance, yesterday during circle time we were singing Old McDonald. I sang the beginning portion: "Old McDonald had a farm. E-I-E-I-O. With a....." (at this part I point to a specific child and they announce what kind of animal is on Old McDonald's farm, then we all make that animal noise together). So I pointed to our main character, and he immediately shouted, "T-Rex! With a RAWR RAWR here! And a RAWR RAWR there! Here a RAWWR! There a RAWWR! Everywhere a RAWWR RAAAAAWWWWWR! Old McDonald had a farm E-I-E-I-OOOOOO!" (I probably don't need to mention that he's not shy, and he does not have an "inside" voice).

And so, to get back to our Sensory Table story, here is how things played out. Dimples and T-Rex were busy shoving their arms elbow-deep into the rice and beans when I came over to see how they were doing.

"Miss Lisa, look out!" T-Rex said. "The snake is going to get you!" (In addition to enormous, plastic beetles, centipedes, flies, and spiders, there are also plastic snakes hidden throughout Sensory Table). I was then briefed on each type of creepy-crawler and cautioned not to get close because they were all poisonous and they would kill you if you got bit. Thanking them for the advice, I bid them happy digging and went off to make my rounds to the other centers.

Finding that things were fairly peaceful around the classroom, I returned to Sensory Table. At first glance, everything was the same as when I had left, but then I realized that something was missing. Every single bug, snake and spider that had been buried in the rice and beans was gone.

I was just about to open my mouth to ask Dimples and T-Rex where the bugs were when I got my answer.

"He bit me!" yelled T-Rex.

"Me too!" said Dimples.

Then both boys began to jump around and swat at their bodies. They shook their shirts and dozens of plastic insects started to fall around my feet. How they hid so many creatures inside their clothes, I'll never know. Eventually, the last bug fell to the ground, and the boys (weak from sustaining so many poisonous bites) crumpled into pitiful heaps on the floor.

I could see they didn't have much time left, so I knelt down to see what I could do to help. T-Rex warned me in a hoarse whisper to step back, but it was too late. A fuzzy tarantula bit me on my foot. After smashing my attacker, Dimples told me to run.

So to my shame, I hobbled away leaving the boys to fend for themselves. But don't worry, they survived the poisonous encounter and are still alive and well, fighting off whatever menace comes their way.

#sensorytable

"Miss Lisa, come swing with us!" Four-year old boy looks me up and down. "Well...if your butt will fit..."

Bug Catchers

Three-year olds think that just about everything is fascinating. For instance, last week our class was outside on the playground when the paper products delivery truck arrived and started to back into a parking spot. Upon hearing the truck's "backing up" beeping noise, one of my boys stopped playing, ran to the center of the playground where most of his classmates had congregated, and shouted at the top of his lungs, "Guys! The paper truck is here!!" A great cheer went up and then a stampede of chubby children headed for the front gate as they raced for a front row spot where they could watch the paper delivery man unload his long awaited gifts.

So, although children are easily amused, I had my doubts about their interest in a recent change we made in our classroom. This week we changed our "Space Center" (complete with a walk-in cardboard spaceship) in to a "Flower Shop." I wasn't worried that the girls would like the Flower Shop because they could water the plants, and create pretty arrangements with silk flowers. But I was concerned about the boys. Would the boys be able to keep themselves entertained in a Flower Shop? The answer is Yes. Boys will always find a way.

And this is how my doubts were relieved. In the mornings, before school officially starts, all of the kids play at different centers around the room. Obviously, Flower Shop is the most updated center, and is therefore, the most popular for the time being. I watched as a few boys who were looking through magnifying glasses insisted that they saw snakes burrowed deep in the soil of our potted plants (complements of teacher appreciation week). I thought, "Those poor boys are going to get bored of having a Flower Shop instead of a Space Center." Silly me.

Seeing that all of the students were content for the moment, I turned my attention to some paperwork. I busied myself with sorting through art projects and filing assignments into each child's folder. Then I realized that I hadn't had to referee any arguments in the last minute or two, so I turned around to see what kind of mischief the kids were up to.

I should have been shocked, but I wasn't. Flower Shop was still the busiest center in the room, but no one was looking for snakes in the flower pots anymore. Instead, two satisfied looking boys were standing next to a little girl in a chair who seemed rather uncomfortable. And rightfully so, since she was tied to the chair....

I rushed over to free the captive. "What are you boys doing?!" I asked, as I do everyday. A third little boy who had been kneeling next to the girl stood up (I hadn't seen him because he had been busy on the ground...working on binding her feet to the chair). He appeared to be in charge of the band of ruffians because he wore the sign of leadership over his head: the purple and neon green bug-catching net...the most coveted of toys in the Flower Shop.

"We tied her up," he said, showing no sign of remorse for what he had done.

"Why?"

"She let the butterflies out of the fiery trash can."

He then proceeded to show me the plastic flower pot, meant for housing delicate bouquets, that they had been using as a trash can that burned butterflies (apparently bugs catch on fire once they are cast into the dreaded pot).

The little girl had been moved to action by the boys' cruelty and tried to save the innocent butterflies. But her courageous act of kindness led to her capture. And I must admit, even though none of the boys actually knew how to tie a knot, they did a pretty good job of keeping their prisoner secured. (It took me minute to work with the string before I was able to release the little girl into the free world again).

I am no longer concerned about whether or not the boys in our classroom will be able to find ways of entertaining themselves in the Flower Shop, or anywhere else for that matter. I will never doubt again.

#bugcatchers

Teacher Appreciation

Teacher appreciation week is one of those times when you are reminded that you are actually making a difference. This week my chubby little cherubs have showered me with candy, flowers, and sweet hand drawn pictures of me standing next to them. Nothing warms my heart more than to know that all of my kids think I look like a VERY big, round blob...but of course, I will cherish those drawings forever.

Friday is a busy day in our classroom. Having 18 three-year olds in one room is....a unique experience, and being productive on top of controlling the madness is quite a task. This Friday, in addition to the usual craziness, all of the kids were scurrying about trying to finish up their Mother's Day projects to bring home for mom's special day. Knowing where I was needed, I gathered gallons of paint and settled down to assist the young artists with their creations.

While my attention was diverted, several boys decided they wanted to give me their own teacher appreciation gift...and only handpicked flowers would do. In the midst of scrubbing paint off of a boy's face and telling him that it was not okay to put the paintbrush in his mouth, I felt a tap on my shoulder and heard, "Miss Lisa?"

I turned around to face a group of boys who were holding little white flowers with tiny little stems.

"These are for you," one boy said as the group proudly held out their tokens of appreciation, waiting for me to smell the delicate blossoms.

I took a courtesy sniff and then said, "Thank you boys, they're beautiful. But where did you get them?"

"We picked them."

I glanced behind them, trying to figure out where they had gotten the flowers. Mystery solved. There on the Writing Center table was one of my potted flower gifts....without the flowers. The leaves were there, but the decorative butterfly insert was simply hovering above naked flower stems. Not one bloom was to be found.

Obviously we had a little talk about not touching things that don't belong to us, but I must admit it was all I could do to keep from laughing. And even though my potted plant is just a flowerless bunch of leaves now, I'm still flattered by my gifts. After all, appreciation is the most appreciated thing.

#teacherappreciation

Save Yourself

The boys in our preschool class far outnumber the girls. Yesterday we had fifteen three-year olds.....three of them were girls. Therefore, when the boys and girls both want the same thing, the boys usually win.

Yesterday, the desirable object on the playground was the "life-size" Little Tikes house, complete with plastic shutters, windows, and a door that opens and shuts. The girls had it first, and as I walked by I heard talk of baking cookies and putting the babies down for their naps. Their conversation seemed a bit bossy, but at least it was peaceful.

Then I saw a pack of wild boys run around the corner and head for the house. I knew confrontation was inevitable. Without knocking, the boys invaded the house and demanded that they needed to use it for an important mission....this was their way of telling the girls to get out. The girls saw through their clever plan and put up a good fight for the possession of their home. But as usual, the sheer volume of boys was ultimately too much for the girls to compete with. They flounced out of the house and proceeded to stroll about the grounds arm in arm.

Meanwhile, there was a kerfuffle in the plastic house. Shutters were being flung open and commands were being shouted out. Then suddenly a countdown began.

"She's gonna blow in THREE! TWO! ONE!!!!"

The sound of an "explosion" could be heard, and at that moment a dozen three-year olds started diving head first out of every window in the house. It looked like they were competing in a belly-flop contest. They sailed through the windows with arms outstretched. They hit the ground and lay in motionless heaps, stunned that they had survived the attack. There was a moment of silence once the last boy had jumped out of the fiery inferno and landed on the tangled mass of bodies. Then the boys patted themselves to make sure no limbs were missing, and jumped up with renewed vigor to retaliate against their enemy.

A few boys grabbed ropes with buckets attached to the ends (used for making sand castles during peace time). But desperate times call for desperate measures.

"Miss Lisa, will you tie these to the top of the house for us?!"

"Why do you need them tied to the top of the house?"

"We need to climb onto the roof to get the bad guys!"

The thought of a bunch of three-year olds rappelling off of the plastic house in the name of glory and justice made me laugh, but I forced myself to be the responsible adult who told the boys that it would not be safe for them to climb onto the roof. I know, kill-joy. Luckily their spirits were not daunted, and they ran off in search of other foes that could be thwarted.

And of course, those "foes" ended up being the girls....

#saveyourself

Trike-A-Thon

We had a scare at the preschool this past week. It was cold and snowy on Monday and Tuesday, threatening Wednesday's greatly anticipated Trike-A-Thon. However, Wednesday dawned into a radiant morning of sunshine and rising temperatures. The Trike-A-Thon would go on as planned.

For those of you who have not already guessed, a Trike-A-Thon is like a marathon....only with the never ending sound of squeaking, grinding, honking, crashing tricycles, manned by three-year olds. What a glorious event it was to behold....

The Trike-A-Thon participants were the envy of the whole school. The snow had melted, the sun had come out, and the whole world was their's to explore and conquer. The three-year olds pedaled around the sectioned-off portion of the parking lot with an air of superiority, as the younger members of our preschool looked on with awe and wonder.

The front of the school faces the parking lot, and off to the side of the building is the playground for the two-year olds. Their playground is enclosed by a chain-link fence, so most of the two-year olds who were out to play pressed against the chain-link to watch the three-year olds flaunt their freedom.

My job during this time was to try to maintain some kind of order in the midst of the madness. Most of the time I was helping crash victims back onto their trikes, steering kids away from the temptation of puddles, and encouraging those who had collapsed into a heap of exhaustion to keep pedaling.

As this was going on, I started to notice something peculiar. I looked closely at some of my students and sure enough, they had water droplets glittering off of their plastic helmets. I wondered how they were getting wet since I was making sure they stayed out of puddles, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky....and then I saw it.

Huddled against the chain-link fence was a line of two-year olds spitting steady streams of water out into the parking lot as my three-year olds rode past. Their cheeks bulged like chipmunks as they prepared to empty their loads on innocent passers by. Apparently not all of the two's were happy that the three's were allowed to experience the exhilaration of trike riding while they were cooped up inside of their playground.

But where was their source of so much water? My question was quickly answered as a few of the spitters snuck out of line to reload. They waddled over to the corner of their playground where a Little Tikes kitchen set was stationed and dipped their heads into the plastic sink. The warm sun had melted two days worth of snow, leaving those little stinkers with all the ammunition they needed. They slurped up another round of melted snow, returned to their positions at the fence, and waited for the next opportunity to strike.

Their chance came before I could put an end to what was happening. One of my little boys had already pedaled within spitting range and the two-year olds let loose, spewing glacier water into his unsuspecting path. Taken unawares by the onslaught, the little boy lost control of his vehicle and crashed dramatically onto the pavement.

I ran to his aide and inspected the damage. His Elmo helmet, knee pads, elbow pads, and wrist guards had ensured that no part of his body ever even touched the ground, so fortunately he survived the ordeal.

The culprits were herded away from their fence where they could do no more damage, but the look in their eyes was clear. They weren't sorry. They'd do it again if they had the chance. Never underestimate the mischievousness of two-year olds. They're not called the Terrible Twos for nothing.

#trikeathon

To Grandmother's House We Go

I love starting work at 7:30 because things are usually quieter and less chaotic in the early morning. Wednesday was a particularly quiet morning because I only had five kids in my class during my first hour of work. However, they were all boys so the time we spent together was not exactly quiet and peaceful...

Two of them were involved in a catastrophic accident when their spaceship crashed while blasting off into space. Luckily I was able to pull them out of the debris and they walked away unscathed. An other boy had eaten a bug earlier and said he still felt it crawling around in his tummy...I told him that playing with blocks would help keep his mind off of it. Afterall, the bug wouldn't last much longer in that hostile environment.

However, the majority of my amusement came from the time I spent with the remaining two boys, Squints and Fungi. One of the boys has big brown eyes, and when he smiles his eyes disappear in a squinty grin. Hence the name Squints. The other boy has a haircut that makes his head look like a mushroom, so he gets the slightly less endearing nickname of Fungi.

Squints and Fungi were playing with our classroom's overstuffed dog, Puppy, when they suddenly discovered he was sick. They rushed him over to me, the doctor, and upon inspection it was determined (mainly by Squints) that Puppy had two broken legs, two broken arms, a tummy ache, a headache, and a sore throat....when it rains it pours. Unfortunately, Puppy did not have time to recover from his life threatening condition because Squints and Fungi were already late for a party at Grandma's house.

"Quick," Squints said to Fungi. "Get a present for Grandma, and we'll bring the doctor in our car in case Puppy gets sick again."

Fungi snatched the only thing in our classroom that made a suitable gift for Grandma, a basket full of hole punchers, and then he jumped into the car. I was instructed to take the seat behind Squints, our driver. Puppy was carelessly shoved onto the dashboard, and then Squints yelled, "Hang on!"

He thrust both arms straight out in front of him as he gripped the imaginary steering wheel. Then with a loud "Vroom VRROOOOOOOM" his head snapped backwards as the g-forces plastered him against his seat. Grandma obviously didn't live far away because two seconds after the car ride started, it was over.

"We're here," Squints said, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Wait! Don't move! SPIDERS!"

He pointed to the ground where he and Fungi apparently saw scads of eight-legged creatures blocking our advance to the party. The two of them jumped out of the car and heroically fought off the beasts. Once the danger had passed, we walked up to Grandma's front door, bearing our gift of hole punchers. Squints knocked, but no one answered.

"Where's Grandma?" Squints asked. And then as if the answer was clear, he said, "She must be in the potty."

So our adventure came to an end as the three of us waited patiently for Grandma to finish her business in the potty. Because as we all know, when you gotta go, you gotta go.

#tograndmother'shousewego

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