a sniffle and a sigh
Sunday, January 7, 2007 at 01:27AM
Today I am sad. My 27 three-year-old’s have left me for Sunbeams. My sad has surprised me somewhat, but it’s been sneaking up slyly over the past two months. Anyone who knows me has heard me complain about the chaos that is my nursery calling. We have 65 littles, with mostly no-show teachers, and I’m heading up the whole bunch (with my uncalled but extraordinarily helpful Jim). Every Sunday leaves me ragged, and more than I’ll admit to have left me in tears. So, when November came, I rejoiced at the relief on the horizon – January 7th – yes, the day when 65 would magically turn to 38. Nine more Sundays. I can do it. Remember making paper chains to count down to an especially awaited moment? I think JoDee had one when Shane was on his mission, but I can’t imagine it was days…I wonder. Well, I thought of taping nine rings into a freedom chain of my own. While I do love Shane, this would be better than waiting for any missionary I ever knew. Nine weeks to better Sundays.
Then came the start of sad. Out of town Thanksgiving weekend, I returned the next Sunday. We sat behind the McNamara’s. Little Tyler turned around, “Sista Scott, Sista Scott.” Insistent. “Sista Scott, I missed you last time.” And later, more insistence. “Sista Scott, I’m so happy you are back.” I pictured the grinch’s heart in the cartoon, growing, his eyes softening. My grinchy nursery heart grew at least two sizes. Then Whitney (who does not talk & hardly makes eye contact) came up to me in class with a stunning “Sister Scott”. One more size, for sure. 5 weeks to go & my enlarged heart begins to ache.
And through December I start to notice something. These children look for me. They wave, they smile, they yell, they beam. In sacrament meeting I exchange very few pleasantries with adults, but I always meet little eyes & smiles that have searched me out…looking for Brother & Sister Scott. I know these people & they know me. I know not to talk to Porter when he’s tired. I know that Jordan will wash her hands for 20 minutes straight if you forget to check the little bathroom. I know that Hunter loves dinosaurs & laughs when you call him Buzz Lightyear. I know that Rebecca is tickled by anything silly. I know that Tyler can be calmed if you hold a hand on his back. I know that Mackenzie wants to read story after story. I know that Emma understands far more than any 3-year-old I’ve met. I know that Claire has a crush on Karsen. I know that Karsen is a little scared of primary. “Will there be big boys & girls there?” They’re not that big. “Will they be wearing big shirts?” The shirts aren't that big, either. His lip quivered when we broke the news last Sunday. Mine does now. How do you tell them this is the end of all-you-can-eat snack time, bubbles, toys? Big shirts & big chairs next week and for life.
When I took them to visit Primary last week, they sat amazingly still. They never did that for my lessons…I often gave up entirely. But perhaps they’re ready now. We got back to nursery, ate snacks & played with toys. I told them to enjoy because there’s simply no turning back. They don’t understand. I never understand what moments mean until they disappear. But I do understand that I’ll have to wait months before the youngers give me melting “Sista Scott”’s. Perhaps my 27 will still grant me greetings in the hall…and smiles in the parking lot…and frantic waves in the chapel. I hope.
And my own Aidan will be leaving me as well. I know it’s not like he’s starting school or leaving home, or anything remotely close, but this is one small step to being more his own & less mine. Or sometimes that is how it seems. Sunbeam today, baptism tomorrow, passing the Sacrament next week, missionary next month. Ridiculous, I realize, but I’ve been around long enough to know that’s how it seems when you look back. I’ve never had my own little person do the growing & moving on.
With our Sunday separation, we can start the “what did you learn today?” conversations at dinner. And I know he’ll ask me in return. He’s just that type. Well, today I’ll say that I learned that the NOW is good, to be relished and rejoiced. I know I’ll forget that tomorrow. But perhaps I’ll sometimes see our little Sunbeams scattered all over and remember briefly. I hope that I enjoy their successors half as much. I vow to get to know them faster. I don't want to blink and find them gone.
Amy
I wanted to post the little gifts I made for our would-be Sunbeams, but forgot.
Jim punched holes all night Saturday - thank you!! I've been cutting & laminating for days (honestly couldn't live without my little home laminator). Still need to wrap & deliver, but I loved how they turned out.
I took the words to Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam, and made a little book that has a phrase on each page, ending with a picture of the child.
These pics aren't the greatest, but they give the general idea.
Reader Comments (18)
After months of complaining from Sunday headaches, feeling like I did more disciplining than teaching, and missing the spiritual growth in Relief Society, I was released last fall. It was hard to let go. I had them since they were sunbeams, through 2 ward splits and a class move-up, for 20 months. Those are my kids. I still wave at my kids in sacrament meeting. I know exactly how you feel. But 65? Wow. I am amazed.
Sniff, sniff. I missed my 12 Nursery friends too. The week before was an especially gooey day in Nursery, every single kid had a runny nose. I was stripping my clothes off as we pulled in the garage and took a very hot shower as soon as I walked in the door. The whole time thinking I couldn't wait til Sunbeam Sunday.
Today in Nursery was a welcome respite with the new class being mellow and quiet and engaged by the new-to-them toys. But I almost missed the boisterous kids!