Sparkles, Sprinkles, Glitter— An Abracadabra into Life as a Teacher!
A fictional story. A reimagining of the perfect day as a nursery teacher.
My alarm goes off at 4 AM, but I'm already awake, as a morning person and an early riser, it brings me nothing but peace to witness how the sun rises. With a smile creeping across my face, I proceed to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Today is the first day of a new school year at Sunnyside Beginnings Nursery.
In the kaleidoscope of those tiny colorful chairs and crayon murals in my classroom, I wasn’t the typical Miss Winnie, the teacher with a degree in early childhood development. I was Miss Winnie the Story Weaver, the Queen of Mud Pies, the Keeper of Lost Socks (and occasional stray butterflies and caterpillars). My classroom wasn't just a room; it was a universe on its own. A universe brimming with uninhibited imaginations and sticky-fingered wonder.
I go through my morning routine, taking extra care as I pick out my outfit - a sunny yellow dress and matching cardigan. I want to look cheerful and welcoming for my new students. As I brush my hair, I think about their little faces lighting up when they see all the toys and activities I've prepared. This will be the first school experience for many of them. What an honor, to be one of the first people to nurture their young minds and hearts.
My days before today–other class days before the new term, were symphonies of giggles and shrieks, punctuated by the occasional wail of a scraped knee soothed by a band-aid adorned with cartoon dinosaurs.
Every morning, I walked into a whirlwind of neat shoes, brushed hair, well-pressed uniforms, and eyes brimming with stories just waiting to be told. Mabel, with her gap-toothed grin, would regale me about her pet fairy who lived under the sink, while Philemon, the resident artist, of the class, would present me with masterpieces drawn on his colorful cardboards.
By 6:30, I've eaten breakfast and am out the door. I stop and smell my tulips on the way to my car. The blossoms seem to shine especially bright, matching my mood. I pat my trusty Rav 4 Toyota before getting in. “Ready for another school year?” I ask it before I get in and head for work.
The 20-minute drive flies by as I go over my plans for our first day. I've organized a scavenger hunt so the children can explore the classroom and get to know each other. We'll do show-and-tell where everyone brings their favorite toy or book. And I have all the ingredients for homemade play dough - we'll mix it together and they can create anything their imaginations dream up.
I think about the joy of it all. The joy wasn't just in their loud chatters or grand pronouncements. It was in the quiet moments too – the whispered secrets shared during finger painting, the way tiny hands clung to mine during story time, the shy smiles that bloomed under my praise.
Witnessing this unadulterated innocence, this world where puddles were oceans and cardboard boxes spaceships, was a balm to the cynicism that sometimes crept into the corners of my own world. And that's when the ache would start, a bittersweet pang for the world I was witnessing fade. Sometimes, during nap time, surrounded by tiny chests rising and falling in perfect rhythm, I'd close my eyes and pray the world treats them kinder than it did me.
Innocence, I knew, was a fragile thing. I saw it flicker in their eyes as they grew older, replaced by a cautious awareness of the world’s harsher edges. The questions turned less about imaginary dragons and more about real-life monsters hiding under beds. The laughter, though still present, sometimes carried a tinge of self-consciousness as they grew.
I pull into the parking lot right at 7:15 AM and see some families already waiting outside the front doors. I recognize Sadie, whose older brother I taught two years ago. She waves excitedly. "Hi, Ms. Winnie!" she calls out. My heart swells hearing that sweet voice say my name.
I unlock the doors and let the children explore while parents fill out paperwork. Some kids jump right into playing, while others cling shyly to their caregivers. “It's okay to feel nervous and excited,” I tell them. "I feel that way on first days too! But we're going to have lots of fun together."
Over the next few hours, hesitant tears turn to cautious and uncautious giggles. Watching the children run around without a care in the world fills me with a profound sense of being. With patience and care, I see their unique personalities begin to open - the natural leaders, the artistic souls, the deep thinkers. I consider it a privilege to nurture the seeds planted within each one.
By the end of that magical first day, my cheeks hurt from smiling so much. As I wave goodbye to the last student, a wave of nostalgia washes over me. I wish I could freeze this moment, and capture their precious innocence before life invariably introduces reality to them. In it all, I hope they always return to themselves at the end of the hardship and heartache.
I shake off the sadness, taking note to be fully present. This is why I'm a nursery teacher - to appreciate and amplify all the beauty childhood has to offer, for however brief a window I'm gifted. I tidy up the room, reflecting on my good fortune to do this work year after year. Tomorrow, I get to do it all over again.
On my way home, I smile at the cleverness of Mary, the energy of Zion, and the precious smile of Dovan, today was a good day, but when is it ever a bad day? Because every day spent reveals new layers to the growing children. Every day is a good day in my job. I hold onto hope, cherishing the belief that within each child, a spark of magic will endure—a light guiding them through life.
I repeat the routine Monday to Friday! On Saturdays, as the sun hangs low in the sky, casting its golden glow over the world, I retreat to my kitchen, accompanied by my faithful companions—my cat Jacqueline and my dog Bode. Together, we concoct culinary delights, as the smell of the tulips mingles with the aroma of freshly baked pies that fill the air.
As evening descends, I open my doors to the children of the neighborhood, hosting craft classes where imagination is limitless. With nimble fingers and hearts brimming with creativity, we share and tell tales of wonder, creating beautiful nothings.
Sundays, I reserve them for moments of quiet reflection, a time for me to dress in my finest dress and venture beyond the sanctuary of my modern yet traditional home. Be in the company of cherished friends, and wander through fields ablaze with wildflowers, their petals dancing in the gentle breeze.
Together, we revel in the beauty of the world around us, finding solace in each other's company and the simple pleasures that adorn our lives. And as the stars paint the night sky with their shimmering light, I offer a silent prayer, grateful for the moments of joy that grace my days.
For amidst the chaos of life, amidst the trials and tribulations that test the spirit, there exist moments of pure, unadulterated beauty—a beauty found in the laughter of children, in the warmth of friendship, and in the quiet moments of solitude.
Joy, I've learned, isn't confined to most things. It's in the act of giving, in the shared laughter, and in the quiet moments of connection that transcend age and circumstance. It's in the belief that even the smallest spark of wonder can light up the world and that perhaps, just perhaps, the echoes of those sparks will carry us all, even when the world tries its best to dim them.
And so, as I gaze out at the world beyond my walls, I whisper a silent vow—to cherish each moment, to hold the beauty that surrounds me, and try to be light in a world that sometimes forgets to look for the magic hidden in the everyday.