Slime

One of the things I said I hoped to start doing more was to write about the activities I do at work with the children I work with. This past week, we made slime (recipe found here). It turned out really well, and I think all of the kids enjoyed it. It took a while to get everything ready for the forty or so kids in my class and in the class a grade lower, but with the help of two fantastic fifth graders who helped me fill bags with glue and water, everything went smoothly.

We put half a cup of Elmer's school glue (we used white, but clear should work too) and half a cup of water into a Ziploc bag, got most of the air out, and sealed it. Once it was sealed, we mushed it around some to mix the water and glue. Once the kids were ready, they each got a bag with the water glue mixture. They opened their bags, and we put about four drops of the food coloring of their choice in the bag followed by 3/4 C of borax/water solution (1tsp borax for 3/4 C water). After that, they sealed their bag back, getting most of the air out, and kneaded it until it became mostly firm. After that, they could play with it. Out of all the kids, we only had one whose mix just didn't turn out, so we started over. We aren't sure exactly what happened, but it worked just fine the second time.

The kids loved it, and it could easily be done with younger children. Just make sure they know that the slime should not be in or near their mouth and that it is not okay to eat it!

Thirteen days

I have thirteen days left with the seventeen children I have grown to love. It could be thirteen hundred or thirteen thousand, and it still wouldn't be enough time with them. I love each and every one of them more than I could have ever imagined, and I am so thankful for the time I have shared with them, and I am so thankful that their parents were willing to share them with me. With us. When I think back to my first days with them as small third graders, and look at them now as (mostly) mature, responsible, incredible pre-teens who have their lives ahead of them, I can't help but be proud and hope that, in some small way, I made an impact on their lives. I know I will miss them so much it hurts. Children will do that to you. They grow up, and you learn to love them, and just like that, they're gone. They grow up, literally, in the blink of an eye. The thing about working with children is you think you are going to help them, teach them, be there for them, and while those things happen, I can absolutely guarantee that they have helped me, taught me, and blessed me far more than I ever did for them. Thirteen days just aren't enough.

Stomach flutters

My best friend, you know the one who I wrote about being my ex best friend here and here, have been hanging out a lot lately despite the fact that he lives an hour and a half away. Most of his family lives here so he ends up being here a lot for a variety of reasons. And truthfully, it has been lovely. More than lovely, really. It has been perfect. Two Saturdays ago he was in for a family members birthday. We just went to a few stores at a shopping center a few miles from my house, but spending time together was wonderful. Last Saturday he was in for a baby shower, and we returned to the shopping center and then went to the mall. Again, it was wonderful. Before I get to what happened last night, let me back track to (I think) high school or maybe our early college years when we agreed that if we weren't married by the time we were 30, we would marry each other. We have talked about what we would name our kids, where we would live, the whole nine yards. Last night we were talking about the fact that I don't mind laundry and he doesn't mind cleaning but that I don't like cleaning (usually) and he doesn't like doing laundry. I jokingly said that maybe we should just go ahead and get married. One thing lead to another in this rather lengthy conversation and we somehow came around to the fact that, oh hey, he has feelings for me other than just as a friend. Which is quite convenient because I had recently come to realize the exact same thing, I just refused to admit it. One might think things from here on out would be simple, but they are anything but. We don't live in the same place now and will live even further away in less than a month. He is starting a new job, and I am starting grad school full time. Plus there are things we both know we need to work on before we're together. The conversation from last night keeps playing over and over in my head and every time it does, my stomach flutters and my heart skips a little faster.

Papa

Eight years. Time is an odd, odd thing. It simultaneously feels like last week and about 15 years ago. Since what? Since my Papa died. Brain cancer. Took him from me. From us. There is no doubt in my mind that he would still be alive if he hadn't gotten brain cancer in the Spring of 2004 only to die three months later. If I pause and am quiet for long enough, I can still see him sitting in the same place I'm sitting now. Head tilted back, newspaper in lap, TV remote in hand, snoring. When I think about him, it is impossible not to think about what he missed. My high school graduation. The college graduations of brothers 2 and 3, as well as mine. Brother 3's wedding. Brother 3 becoming a doctor. Not that he had any control over it or that I fault him for it. He didn't do anything to cause his brain cancer, it just happened. But when a 79-year-old man who played golf on a weekly basis, and was healthy enough to travel the world is robbed from watching his adolescent grandchildren become adults, it's hard not to get angry. But mostly, it's just hard not to miss him.