She loves September (and synonyms, too).
She is intuitive. Sensitive. Inspiring. And true.
She makes the greatest kind of difference.
She is a teacher. She leads with her voice.
She believes in the alphabet.
She cares about language.
Her strength is her listening.
The number line is where she stands.
She knows the rhythm of syllables.
She opens the imagination.
She discovers new ideas.
Visual displays make her smile (interactive projects and world maps, too).
Her commitment is her classroom.
(from a notepad I bought years ago in AZ)
It is a little bittersweet to turn the corner into my neighborhood at 2:40 p.m.
Vehicles line the street up one side and down the other waiting for the 6th, 7th, & 8th graders to come out of school. My school day used to end at 2:50, also, and I do have nostalgia for those days. Those days of reading my favorite junior high books, teaching the parts of speech, shaking my head with disbelief when students couldn't remember which to use: there, their, or they're, laughing at their crazy antics, and breaking through their I'm-tough-and-obnoxious-and-I-think-I'm-smarter-than-you attitudes. Teaching 8th grade was fun.
Now my only "student" brings tears of joy to my eyes on a daily basis with her sweet laugh, sparkly smile, and twinkling eyes. She can't speak real words, but she doesn't need to. I don't need to carry on a conversation to be able to communicate with her. It is delightful, special, and too amazing to put into words. I wish I could because let me tell you, I've tried. Pictures can't capture either. I've tried. I'm her mother, and I'm in love with her.