on the boys I work with

They speak of penguins and pirates. They do puzzles for hours. They play alone. They pick their noses. They put their hands down their pants. They repeat. They never wash their hands. They never think before they speak. They paint their hands, not the paper. They eat the crayons. They throw the pencil. They throw the paper. They throw the chair. They laugh with their faces pointed to heaven. They never hug their mom. They eat the play doh. They never play pretend. They repeat. They touch the door handle. Then they touch it again. They say "no" when they mean it. They never hug their dad. They growl, they grunt, they sigh, they scream, they smile. They speak in tongues. They repeat. They hum. They hurt themselves. They rock their bodies. They never look you in the eye. They repeat. They won't do what they don't want to do. They repeat. They speak of dinosaurs and dentists, of spiders and schlock. They don't respond to their own name. They never lie. Someday they will grow a mustache. 

SPECIAL

A couple of years ago, a construction worker came to our school to fix the wall that one of our students with autism, kicked a hole in. The hallway was demolished; it had been a rough day. After I walked the rest of kids through the hallway to get on their buses the construction worker stopped me. He asked, "All those kids coming through are special, right". I didn't know how to answer correctly, and like I said, it had been a rough day. So I just nodded. He said, "O, well then... I guess that means that well... you're quite special too". I told him it was so very nice of him to say. 

33 ways to stay creative Author: Unknown, point: taken

Wedding Vows

From “The Oyster Bed,” Gift from the Sea, by Anne Morrow Lindbergh

Love does not consist of gazing at each other (one perfect sunrise gazing at another) but in looking outward together in the same direction. For, in fact man and woman are not only looking outward in the same direction; they are working outward. Here one forms ties, roots, a firm base. Here one makes oneself part of the community of men, of human society. And here the bonds of marriage are formed. For marriage, which is always spoken of as a bond, becomes actually, in this stage, many bonds, many strands, of different texture and strength, making up a web that is taut and firm. The web is fashioned of love. Yes, many kinds of love: romantic love first, then a slow growing devotion and playing these through, a constantly rippling companionship. It is made of loyalties, and interdependencies, and shared experiences. It is woven of memories of meetings and conflicts; of triumphs and disappointments. It is a web of communication, a common language, and the acceptance of lack of language, too; a knowledge of likes and dislikes, of habits and reactions, both physical and mental. It is a web of instincts and intuitions, and known and unknown exchanges. The web of marriage is made by propinquity, in the day to day living side by side, looking outward and working outward in the same direction. It is woven in space and in time of the substance of life itself.

"On Marriage"

 from The Prophet by Kahil Gibran
You were born to be together, and together you shall be forevermore.
You shall be together when the wings of death scatter your days.
Ay, you shall be together even in your silent memory.
But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.
Love one another, but make not bondage of love.
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other’s cup, but drink not from one cup.
Give one other of your bread, but eat not of the same loaf.
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone, though they quiver with the same music.
Give your hearts, but not into each other’s keeping,
For only the hand of life can contain your hearts. And stand together, yet not too near together,
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow.

PreSchool

After I got my Bachelors degree in 2007, I decided to stop pursuing my credential in English Education and get a credential in Early Childhood Special Education. Then, I had to mourn my dream of sitting in a stuffy classroom and teaching too cool high school students to fall in love with what I love: books, writing and poetry. I had to convince myself I wanted to teach PreSchool. So I wrote about it:
 "I have decided I do not want to teach English. Dichotomy; but it is not creative enough. I want to teach PreSchool to children with special needs. I want to play music and bang on pots. I want to freeze paint in ice cube trays and then paint with it in the sun. I want to buy sensory toys at Lakeshore for Autistic PreSchoolers. I want to explore art therapy. I want to change their lives. And, I hope I don't hate it when I start.."
Because I live in California, there are no current job opportunities for me. I have a credential, and a master's degree and I am a teachers' assistant. No complaints, I have a job, get a paycheck, but the classroom is not mine. I have no real say. While I do my best everyday, it is not my dream, it's someone else's. I assist so I can't always create or dictate the mood in the classroom.
Reading what I wrote in 2007, makes me realize without a doubt my goal is to have my own classroom. So I try to remain hopeful for the future, thankful for what I do have, to sit tight and to paint in the sun this summer.