We’ve been busy.  This time of year is busy anyway, what with Great Brain Projects coming to fruition, kindergarteners visiting the elementary for their move-up days, field trips galore, practice for the drama production, and just the general “oh my gosh I really want to learn/teach this before the end of the year.”  

On top of it all, we’ve had an influx of interest in the school.  It was to be expected as we moved into our new, lovely campus.  I personally love talking to observers.  I’m always intrigued by their questions and what they noticed.  

Today, I rather unexpectedly spent most of the morning talking with a variety of different observers.  After spending time with two people interested in the toddler program, I tried to squeeze in two Jr. Great Books discussion groups before talking with high school students visiting as part of their child studies course.  I should have known better.  The second group felt rushed.  I felt disconnected.

I talked with the high school students and their teachers through lunch jobs, brought them through the classrooms, asked some elementary students to explain their projects.  I couldn’t help myself.  I could see the dawning realization among this visiting group.  I could see them start to understand how important it is for children to have the freedom to dive into building a model of a chemistry compound for a day and half, how vital it is that children learn about their interests and learning styles, how groundbreaking it is for children to take responsibility for how they spend their time in pursuit of knowledge.  

But the downside of all this sharing and showcasing was that I really didn’t spend much time in the classroom this morning.  And with all the busy-ness we have these days, there was some fraying around the edges.  As one co-teacher, Julie, so aptly put it, our tuning fork children were starting to hum.  They were letting us know that all was not right.

When I realized, thanks to the wonderful insights of my co-teachers, that the class was feeling off-kilter, I felt an incredible mix of emotions: guilt, responsibility, exhaustion, uncertainty.  My daughter approached me a few seconds later and upon looking at her, I felt my emotions start to come to the surface.  She was bubbling with information about something she had done, but as soon as she looked at me, she stopped. “What’s wrong?” she asked.  I really couldn’t say.  She gave me a hug.  Another girl passed by and did the same.  

I sat there for a while, just feeling the impact of having two people show me their love and support when my edges felt frayed.  And then it hit me.  The whole class and each individual needed that kind of love and support.  

As we shifted into post-lunch read-aloud, I paused, knowing that as classroom community we needed to name what was happening to all of us, to the community, as we each handled the levels of busy-ness in different ways.  I started by just acknowledging how much we have going on.  I pointed out the observers, the field trips, the Great Brain work.  I shared how much it helps me when someone notices I’m having a hard time and lends me a hand.  I reminded everyone about how important it is for all of us to do that for each other, in different ways.  I noted how much we expect from each person in the class and how very, very capable they are.  And I tried to explain how the only way we can gracefully handle all we have to do as a community is to support each other.  

I told the class how much I love each one of them.  And then I started to cry.   One girl came up and gave me a hug.  Another child came over from the other side.  And before I knew it, I was surrounded by arms.  Encircled.  A classroom full of love and support.  All together.  That spontaneous, group hug ranks among one of the sweetest, most profound moments of my life.

I know, too, that our community is starting to realize that the end of our time together is near.  Next year our classroom will be different.  A few of our classmates will move on. Our oldest students will be with Julie in the adolescent program.  Change is in the air.  Our connections are so strong, and yet so fragile.  Oh to savor our time now, through all the busy days, to savor our time together.