All The Days Are Special

I know how to get fancy, concocting elaborateness in our preschool classroom, at least a little piece of me motivated by the idea that I might knock the socks off the moms and dads who walk through our doors this morning to see something they've never seen before, like a milking cow, or a balloon cage, or a cookie tree, or a mat maze.

And the kids, especially the older ones, the Pre-Kers who've been hanging around this place for three years or more, they've started to get it, that this is a "special day" because it's the one during which we melt metal or pour concrete.

I'm ashamed to confess that I too often get lost in this grown-up head that I carry around up here where the children don't live, and forget that all the days are special.

These are the days on which I put one, then two, then three bears upon a red block.

And when I calculate there's no room for a fourth bear, I put it aside . . .

. . . and sit back to feel for a brief moment those emotions, and think those thoughts, about what I've just done.

Then we pile everything into our friend's stroller and she takes them away.

You don't have to hang out with 2-year-olds to be reminded that all the days are special, but it helps.