Kindergarten is a Dangerous Sport

Whodathunk it?

One of my little darlings, who has had some difficult days in the past, had a wonderful day last Tuesday. A stupendous day. A red-letter day. She earned twenty minutes of computer time to be awarded during the last half hour of said day. Sounds like the makings of a date to circle on the calendar, huh?

Oh, it got circled alright.

Dad, in his infinite wisdom, decided to pull my little darling out forty minutes early. HE had an appointment. He never thought to call and let us know ahead of time. Oh, no. And so I had a sobbing five-year-old who had jumped through every hoop of the day with alacrity only to be crushed with the injustice of it all.

And if that wasn’t enough, when I knelt to comfort my little kidlett, my knee landed on something—or at least I was sure it had due to the stab of pain shooting up my knee. I quickly moved to see nothing between my knee and the carpet and felt the burn—and not the good kind.

The next few minutes were a blur of getting the child to the parent in tears (both mine and hers) and sending another child to the nurse’s office for an ice pack. Wrong move The ice-pack request generated paperwork and a trip to Occupational Therapy. By the time I was seen (and I have to say my nurse had the best sense of humor) the X-ray department was closing so I had neither x-rays nor MRIs done. However, I was given instructions to stay off it and allowed five minutes per hour to maneuver myself to the facilities should I feel the need. Other than that, no standing.

I teach Kindergarten.

Alrighty then.

First there was Tuesday night (also known as my husband’s birthday—he spent it pushing me around in a wheelchair. I SO owe him big time) when I was supposed to be at Kindergarten Registration. In the wheelchair it felt more like a cry for attention than being there for parents to get to know me.

Wednesday, a team member had called in for a sub already so I knew I could not miss. That day was spent with children vying for the privilege of pushing me in the wheelchair. The above-mentioned little darling had a very difficult day as did a couple of her friends and I left the second I could roll myself out the door.

The good news is I had extra writing time this week (Pollyanna will now return to her corner)

Thursday and Friday I hobbled on a crutch, waiting for the weekend. And now we’re back to that key word in my life—waiting.
I am really getting tired of waiting.

Even things I thought were good to work through while I waited have been stripped away. I was up to walking three miles (count’m T-H-R-double E) and now I hobble. So much for losing a dress size before attending the CCWC in Estes Park next month. There are so many exciting things on the horizon but not here yet. So I keep asking my Abba what am I supposed to be learning in all this waiting?

I may be starting to get it—at least intellectually. Up until now I have been looking forward and excited like a kid at Christmas. All the goodies that might come my way. But I don’t’ think that is the definition I am supposed to be taking to heart. Somehow I’m getting this picture of a waiter, like in a five-star restaurant. The type of waiter who is unobtrusive but always available. One who doesn’t ask how things are the second you have just put food in your mouth but instead knows exactly when to remove the salad plate and bring the entré and fill the beverage glasses without a request.

Am I that type of waiter for my Abba?

As much as I’d love to say yes, I know the answer is no. So, maybe if I can take that head knowledge and get it into my heart, I will begin to appreciate the journey and not be so focused on the destination—the ultimate destination is up there ahead and I am excited for that. But the big oases along the way are only enjoyable if the journey brings about the right attitude.

At the moment, mine needs an adjustment.

Abundant blessings to all!