Kindergarden

I was near my home today, teaching a kindergarden class. The younger the kids, the more work it is for me: guiding each transition from chair to floor, from book to hand, from drawing to writing your name. There usually isn't time for me to read. Just lunch where I was on hold with two phones trying to sort out my own distant business issues - so distant from blocks and stories about a little mouse name Chrysanthemum. But, it's easier too. In the middle of lessons, or story time, or songs - I get told by little fingers that they like my hair, or my necklace, or my earrings. And then I will have a few tangent stories told to me about pets, siblings, and skinned knees. We practice bus safety, we wash our hands, I taste a blueberry smoothy made in the play kitchen. And, at the end of the day I get a picture with letters that don't exactly spell words . . . yet. These are good days. Where life and love are given so freely.

Like my nephew Asher says after a long hug,

"Is your love tank full yet?"

"Yes, it's full."

"Is it flowing over?"

Yes, its overflowing.