The Only Way Forward Is Through

A 4th grade girl was the accidental recipient of a 4th grade boy's errant soccer kick.  She wept.  We hugged.

The 2nd grade visitors to the garden received plastic pots or Solo cups they filled with soil and seeds.  Plants are not fish; water drip-drip-drip not VROOOM was repeated over and over, with the added admonition not to water until they got home.  Still, there were several pairs of wet pants and tear stained faces.  They wept.  We hugged.

All my pinwheels have disappeared, leaving only the plastic sticks behind.  I tried to pout and I searched for sympathy, but apparently no one was as upset as I.  I did not weep.  There were certainly no hugs.

I remembered to bring The Yellow Bus for the kindergartener who asked me to read it again.  Before we were past the first episode he was called away for special instruction of some kind or other. No, she could not wait six pages of time, she's on a tight schedule. Everyone in the room was sad.  The scholars promised to tell him that I'd be back soon so that he could hear the story, too, before it is too late.  We saved him a sticker, too. 

And that's where the sweet spot is, for me.  More than hugs, although that full twenty second hug with a teary student did wonders for both of us.  More than consolation, although I fully subscribe to the misery loves miserable company school of thought.  

We sat with it.  We felt it.  We acknowledged it.  We took what action we could to ameliorate the current situation.  We planned for the future.  And then we went on with our lives.

I'm planning to keep that in mind.