Preschool Reflection

After spring break this past year I was laid off from my job as an assistant pre-schoolteacher at a place that I loved with my whole heart, with kids that I loved even more, with no warning after a transfer in ownership. I never got the chance to say goodbye to those kids, I still wonder about them. I had worked for the preschool for almost a year and had been with the same group of toddlers that whole time. I hope they’re doing okay. I hope they know that I didn’t want to abandon them.

Working at the past preschool taught me that my passion lay in teaching young children. There’s something magical about toddlers. Their smiles seem to swallow their small face in joy. Their hands clasp tightly around my fingers. They pull me along for adventures. Their laughter reminds me of a quote by Antonie Saint-Exupéry in one of my favorite books, The Little Prince.

There is sweetness

in the laughter of all the stars….

and in the memories of those we love

Antonie Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

Unable to exist contently in the world without the laughter of the stars, I found a new job within a few weeks working at another preschool. More extensive than the last, with more kids, teachers, a more comprehensive age range, and more campuses. Just, more in general. It was overwhelming at first, but I quickly did what I always do, and adjusted to the norms of the environment. 

This new preschool had two campuses, and I soon found that the different campuses were entirely different schools. One campus lay shaded among tall juniper trees, with a sprawling beautiful playground complete with a water feature and a garden teeming with ladybugs. This campus fits my past experience with Waldorf education, and as a result, I felt I fit there better too. Most of our time was spent outside, even on the swelteringly hot days, because we could easily exist tucked away under the shady trees. 

The other campus seemed much more sterile because it shared space with the Unitarian Fellowship. Much more modern, less character, and less like the Waldorf teaching style I had been familiar with. An unfortunate downside of this campus was the lack of shade. The fellowship plants exclusively native plants on their property, and living in the high desert, means no shade whatsoever. I was unfortunate enough to be on this campus on the hottest days of the summer when all the teachers and children would crowd under the small shade we had at the picnic table. All of our body heat together negated any relief the shade would have given us, but it gave me plenty of time to get to know all the kids.

Having spent the majority of my time at this preschool working at the second campus, I felt much closer to the children there. Every day I would wake up so excited to see big smiles, watch toddler escapades, and read the same children’s books a thousand times. Watching two-year-olds turn into three-year-olds, watching new words being collected by their sponge brains, watching friendships form, and feeling tiny fingers wrapped around my own, all of it is such a magical experience. To be trusted so entirely by another human, no matter how small, is a feeling unmatched.

Even now, having been off work for several weeks, I still find myself thinking of the kids every day. Glancing at the clock and thinking “oh, they’re napping right now”. Wondering if they’re having good days. If the kids that so regularly struggled and needed extra hugs are getting the compassion they need. If two kids are still inseparable friends, and if others have managed to find their crowd. Part of me wishes I had taken a gap year, a year to watch the now three-year-olds turn into four-year-olds, and the now four-year-olds turn into five-year-olds and go off to kindergarten next fall. But eventually, I would still have to move on. There would be a new class of two-year-olds whose small voices and small words would tug on my heartstrings, and I would eventually have to leave and move on again. The kids don’t stay kids forever. 

On my last day of work, one of the sweetest two-year-olds sat perched in my lap, playing with my many necklaces as they so love to do. She looked up at me with the biggest blue eyes you’ve ever seen (rivaling even my own) and spoke in her small voice. “I’m going to hold your heart in my hands, Ms. Lilah”. I nearly cried. All of the kids I’ve ever gotten to work with seem to hold my heart in their hands. The two girls I babysit every weekend hold a bit of it. The children at the first pre-school I work with hold another tiny fisted handful. And now the kids at the most recent preschool do as well. I wish I could share all the stories from all of these kids, but I’m afraid I neither have the time nor the permission to use the names of toddlers in my public blog, but I have so many small moments to share. So many small moments that stick with me day after day, reminding me to be a little kinder than necessary. 

I already have a new job lined up in Olympia, working at the on-campus Children’s Center. It’s different than the preschools I’ve worked at so far, but throughout all of the childcare, the most important thing that sticks with me the most isn’t the philosophy of teaching, or the level of childcare license required. What sticks with me the most will always be the children, and I’m so excited to meet the next group full of star laughter which will take up residency in my heart.