Taking Care of Myself

I stopped at the garden store for pots and plates and soil, then drove to the scene of the crime and and had a good cry.  

There were some local news cameras and a radio reporter and an odd truck proclaiming the need to Reunify America in red white and blue paint.  I declined to talk on camera, hugged and reminisced with the Store Manager and her Assistant, both of whom had been there that day.  After we admired the store's small and perfect memorial, I was off to do some good.

I read The Lorax to every kindergarten classroom last Fall. Today, we began to plant and to care. In each and every classroom, we smelled and patted and poked and watered and hugged. It was exactly what I needed.  

The students were oblivious to the significance of the day.  Grandma was in their room and they were happy  The teachers gave me extra special hugs and smiles, and understood when I told them at recess that I was coming into their classrooms that afternoon and I was going to interrupt them and I just needed them to nod and say yes.  Understanding, loving, kind, and thoughtful souls that they are, they laughed and told me not to worry, to barge in anytime.  

Is it any wonder that I love this school?

We began with the basics - this is a plate, which goes under the pot (not a cup or a bowl... especially since it has a hole in the bottom.. giggle.....).  

Then on to the big bag in the middle of our circle, which was filled with soil, not dirt .  

There were kudos to the one or two children in each room who knew the difference; soil is special dirt that gardeners use, gardeners like their nanas and mommas and aunties. 

I sent them each a special Hi! from Grandma, from one gardener to another.  

We passed the big cup around, and everyone got to scoop some soil into the pot.

(Yes, that is a tiara on her head.)

Some scoops were very large and very funny,

and some were just enough to finish off the whole pot.

I brought tulip bulbs from home; not seeds, they were bulbs, bulbs-but-not-light-bulbs as several teachers reminded us. They bloomed indoors last year and had begun to sprout new growth in the maybe you'll survive basket where they'd spent the last season or two.  We poked holes and I set the bulbs in the soil, amazing the scholars with the notion that a flower lived inside that small nugget they'd held in their very own hands.

The bulbs are not fish.  They do not swim.  Therefore, they should not be over-watered.  We squirted a few squirts from the water fountain, found a sunny place near a window, and stood back to admire our work.  I promised to check back every day for the first few days, reassuring the faculty that I hadn't just dropped another chore in their laps.  I promised the kids that next week we'd plant seeds, that someday they would be able to take plants home, and that tomorrow I'd bring a Truffula Tree from home and we'd plant it in the garden on the playground.

But mostly, we were together.

I"ve said it before and I'll say it again:

It's impossible to be sad when 5 and 6 year olds are hugging you.