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LJ Idol: Exhibit A: Week 1
Jan. 22nd, 2013 11:38 pmI detest toddlers.
Don't get me wrong, I don't hate them. I just dislike the dirty diapers and the screaming and the inability to vocalize their feelings. Which ... admittedly, sounds like pretty much the majority of what being a toddler consists of.
So when my potential employer at a local preschool bridges her fingers and peers at me and says, "We're looking for an assistant for the Fours, and for the Toddlers, do you have a preference?" I have to bite back a laugh - all of my preschool experience lies in after-school programs. Anyone not potty trained is a lost cause to me.
"I'd do much better with the Fours!" I say, smiling brightly.
Two weeks later, I find myself sitting on the floor of the Toddler classroom with their heavily pregnant lead teacher standing across the room, corralling everyone into their Winter coats and toward the door so we can go outside. They look like little Stay Puft marshmallow men, waddling around in exaggeratedly puffy coats considering the mild Georgia winter weather we've been having. Eleven kids, and so they put me in here. And I let them? Am I insane?
I soon wind up in charge of the low end of the ratio: it's just me, and six toddlers. I walk into the room at eight in the morning, am greeted by a couple of gummy smiles, and then turn my back for about 30 seconds to put my purse down. When I turn back around, what seems like the entire room is in shambles: books everywhere, blocks littering the floor, and one particular blonde ankle biter throwing a small, plastic chicken around and brightly shrieking "Ba'!" What is he saying!? What. The hell. Am I doing here?
I come to find out later that their lead teacher doesn't do much art or activities with them - not that you can do a whole lot with eleven toddlers that's anything remotely close to being organized, but she doesn't do much. I test the waters a bit: I cut open a trash bag, tape it to a table, get everyone to paint some tools I've cut out of paper to go with the month's theme. They seem to really like that. Maybe ...
I'm the assistant Toddler teacher at my preschool. If you'd told me this even three months ago, I would have laughed in your face. (not trying to be rude, but honestly, toddlers?) I can change eleven diapers in 15 minutes and get everyone's coats on in 10. Some days, I want to pull my hair out and throw a temper-tantrum of my own, but more often than not I find the mix of "almost-2 independence" and "snuggly baby sweetness" charming, and nobody's ever going to accidentally pee in their pants on my watch.
Today, I stood with them on the playground. My blonde friend comes up to me, clutching a big red rubber ball, delight apparent on his face. "Ba'!" he trills, chucking it as best he can across the playground and giggling with delight as he runs off after it. I give chase, waggling my arms exaggeratedly.
Ball.
Maybe I am sane, after all.
Don't get me wrong, I don't hate them. I just dislike the dirty diapers and the screaming and the inability to vocalize their feelings. Which ... admittedly, sounds like pretty much the majority of what being a toddler consists of.
So when my potential employer at a local preschool bridges her fingers and peers at me and says, "We're looking for an assistant for the Fours, and for the Toddlers, do you have a preference?" I have to bite back a laugh - all of my preschool experience lies in after-school programs. Anyone not potty trained is a lost cause to me.
"I'd do much better with the Fours!" I say, smiling brightly.
Two weeks later, I find myself sitting on the floor of the Toddler classroom with their heavily pregnant lead teacher standing across the room, corralling everyone into their Winter coats and toward the door so we can go outside. They look like little Stay Puft marshmallow men, waddling around in exaggeratedly puffy coats considering the mild Georgia winter weather we've been having. Eleven kids, and so they put me in here. And I let them? Am I insane?
I soon wind up in charge of the low end of the ratio: it's just me, and six toddlers. I walk into the room at eight in the morning, am greeted by a couple of gummy smiles, and then turn my back for about 30 seconds to put my purse down. When I turn back around, what seems like the entire room is in shambles: books everywhere, blocks littering the floor, and one particular blonde ankle biter throwing a small, plastic chicken around and brightly shrieking "Ba'!" What is he saying!? What. The hell. Am I doing here?
I come to find out later that their lead teacher doesn't do much art or activities with them - not that you can do a whole lot with eleven toddlers that's anything remotely close to being organized, but she doesn't do much. I test the waters a bit: I cut open a trash bag, tape it to a table, get everyone to paint some tools I've cut out of paper to go with the month's theme. They seem to really like that. Maybe ...
I'm the assistant Toddler teacher at my preschool. If you'd told me this even three months ago, I would have laughed in your face. (not trying to be rude, but honestly, toddlers?) I can change eleven diapers in 15 minutes and get everyone's coats on in 10. Some days, I want to pull my hair out and throw a temper-tantrum of my own, but more often than not I find the mix of "almost-2 independence" and "snuggly baby sweetness" charming, and nobody's ever going to accidentally pee in their pants on my watch.
Today, I stood with them on the playground. My blonde friend comes up to me, clutching a big red rubber ball, delight apparent on his face. "Ba'!" he trills, chucking it as best he can across the playground and giggling with delight as he runs off after it. I give chase, waggling my arms exaggeratedly.
Ball.
Maybe I am sane, after all.
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