It's the little things that make this job so worthwhile.
I'm standing on the playground, watching the kids. Tlalane and Didi come up to me, Didi with tears streaming down her little face. They're my last-year's Bambies, now in the Teddy class, all of three and a half years old.
"What NOW?" I say, exasperated. These Teddy girls... every five minutes, one of them smacks another one, or takes her place on a swing and the wails of indignation are commonplace.
Tlalane says something, but I can't quite make it out. "BJ *something something* Didi's phone!"
"What?" I ask. "Didi, what's the matter, sweetheart?"
"BJ took my phone!" she wails.
"Your phone?" I ask, perplexed. "But... what are you doing bringing your toys outside? Honestly..."
Toys from home live on the lockers for the day, out of reach. That way, they don't go missing and they don't get broken. The kids are certainly not allowed to bring them outside. So, I'm now imagining putting two kids in time-out: one for bringing the toy outside and the other for taking it. I sigh.
"BRIAN!" I call. "BRIAN! Come HERE!"
Brian (aka BJ) is running around the jungle gym. He stops in his tracks and guiltily, meekly makes his way over to me. I meet him halfway and look down at him sternly, arms folded. It's my best "disapproving teeacher" look.
"Brian, did you take Didi's phone?" Silently he nods. "Where is it now?" I ask. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out... nothing.
"Brian, where is the phone?" I ask him again, annoyed and somewhat puzzled.
"In my pocket," he replies. I lean over and dig in his pocket. There's nothing there. Realisation dawns. I pull out thin air cupped in my hand. "Is this it?" I ask him, amusement rising. He nods, still looking worried, waiting for me to make him appologise, or put him in time-out. I do neither. Grinning, I hold up the imaginary phone. "Is this your phone, Didi?" I call to her. She nods.
I walk over to her and hold it out to her. She smiles happily and takes it, running off with Tlalane to play and probably cause more mischief. As for me, I pack out laughing so hard I need to sit down lest I wet myself.
It's moments like that which make this whole job worthwhile. It's moments like these that make life worth living.
"What NOW?" I say, exasperated. These Teddy girls... every five minutes, one of them smacks another one, or takes her place on a swing and the wails of indignation are commonplace.
Tlalane says something, but I can't quite make it out. "BJ *something something* Didi's phone!"
"What?" I ask. "Didi, what's the matter, sweetheart?"
"BJ took my phone!" she wails.
"Your phone?" I ask, perplexed. "But... what are you doing bringing your toys outside? Honestly..."
Toys from home live on the lockers for the day, out of reach. That way, they don't go missing and they don't get broken. The kids are certainly not allowed to bring them outside. So, I'm now imagining putting two kids in time-out: one for bringing the toy outside and the other for taking it. I sigh.
"BRIAN!" I call. "BRIAN! Come HERE!"
Brian (aka BJ) is running around the jungle gym. He stops in his tracks and guiltily, meekly makes his way over to me. I meet him halfway and look down at him sternly, arms folded. It's my best "disapproving teeacher" look.
"Brian, did you take Didi's phone?" Silently he nods. "Where is it now?" I ask. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out... nothing.
"Brian, where is the phone?" I ask him again, annoyed and somewhat puzzled.
"In my pocket," he replies. I lean over and dig in his pocket. There's nothing there. Realisation dawns. I pull out thin air cupped in my hand. "Is this it?" I ask him, amusement rising. He nods, still looking worried, waiting for me to make him appologise, or put him in time-out. I do neither. Grinning, I hold up the imaginary phone. "Is this your phone, Didi?" I call to her. She nods.
I walk over to her and hold it out to her. She smiles happily and takes it, running off with Tlalane to play and probably cause more mischief. As for me, I pack out laughing so hard I need to sit down lest I wet myself.
It's moments like that which make this whole job worthwhile. It's moments like these that make life worth living.