Bodily Fluids and the New School Year

I had a milestone this year. It was the first year in four that I didn't get peed on on the first day of school.

Getting peed on, or puked on, are normal occurances in the life of a preschool teacher. After a while, you get really good at figuring out how to avoid these things, but it usually takes a few weeks when the school year starts.

Three-year-olds all have their individual "I need to pee" signals. The signals can be subtle, like a slight rocking back and forth, or very apparant like the grabbing the crotch and crossing the legs while still trying to play with that truck. Some kids also have very specific times when they need to go. After a few weeks, I get quite good at reading each child's signal or knowing their schedule, and can calmly and firmly lead them to the restroom when it becomes apparent that the need is there.

Today I spot a little guy making the international signal for "I need to go now!" and tell him it is time for him to go to the potty. (I have a bathroom in my classroom, so the kids can just head in there when the need strikes).

Little Guy: "But I don't need to go"

Me: "It is time, come on, I will go with you."

The little guy puts his head down, slouches his shoulders and shuffles over to the bathroom, glaring at me from the corner of his eye all the way over (like 10 steps). He gets to the bathroom and just stands in there, head down, looking put out.

Me: "It is time for you to go potty....go ahead, I will be right outside the door."

Little Guy: "I don't want to go!"

Me: "Don't you need to go?"

Little Guy: "I need to go really bad."

Me: "Then why don't you just go??"

Little Guy: "Because I DON'T WANT TO!"

And he drops his head to his chest and heaves a dramatic sigh. By the way, this whole exchange is taking place while he is still performing his "I need to go" dance.

Me: "It is time for you to go."

Little Guy huffs over to the potty, starts to pull down his pants and I close the door to give him his privacy. A few minutes later he comes out, having flushed the toilet and washed his hands without being reminded. He looks at me, beaming, and says, "Thanks for reminding me to go potty, I feel SO much better!"

The first few weeks of school also brings the inevitable mystery pile of poop on the floor. This is always fun. First of all...gross! There is poop on the floor! Everyone please stay away...no! Don't touch it!

But I, as the teacher, get to touch the poop. (Seriously, the absolute worst part of my job). How do I clean it up without actually touching it, all the while keeping an upbeat and cheery look on my face while at the same time trying to figure out whose poop it is?

This year, it was surprisingly easy. I was informed by a student to "check out what is over here on the floor!" I make my way to the offensive pile and start trying to identify possible suspects without actually having to use my nose.

Me: "Well, what happened here?"

Adorable new student, looking at me with the cutest eyes: "I pooped in my pants and it fell out onto the floor."

Well, that was easy.

Long story short, I cleaned up everything and everyone and I made a mental note to stock more baby wipes in my bathroom.

So, here's the thing. School is a big deal for these little people. It's new, different, exciting, and probably quite scary. Can you blame them for pushing the urge to go potty to the back of their minds? I mean, they are not me, where an unplanned sneeze is not a fun experience. They have so many other things to do and to see and to experience, going potty is just TOO boring. Plus, they might lose their turn with that awesome truck.

It is my job to learn their signals and routines, and help them understand that even if it boring, going potty is necessary.

One day last year, I went to the potty in the public restroom at the same time my students were in there (we go to the public restroom as a group after recess). This was apparently a big deal, because, I was informed quite seriously, that "teachers don't go potty!" The girls were so excited to tell the boys "Mrs. Velarde peed!". I was so famous for that incident that I vowed that future students would think I never went to the potty except to tell them to go.

So far...so good.


..

Chasing Kittens

School has started, and it is just as fun as ever. I love getting to know a new bunch of kids, and then tracking how much they grow over the next ten months.

This year's class has a lot of kids I have known since they were in utero. I find it miraculous that a mere three years ago my students were tiny babies that I held in my arms and cooed over, and now I am expecting them to pour their own juice and go potty in the toilet. Me? I haven't changed at all in the past three years, other than maybe a few more wrinkles.

The first few weeks of school are always chaotic. It always takes me a few weeks to get the paperwork figured out (correct spellings of names, student files complete, the parent helper calendar filled out, etc.) and to get back into the daily routine. And if it is challenging for me, imagine what it must be like for these three-year-olds. While I struggle with student files, they are struggling with being left in a new place, with a new grown-up. And this grown-up has the audacity to tell them what to do.

Which explains why when this new grown-up does make a suggestion, that it is more often than not ignored. I mean, why should they listen? They don't know me, and are fairly confident if they ignore me nothing bad will happen. And they are right.

Trying to get the kids to make the transition from outside time back to inside time is always the most challenging part of my day. By definition, recess is awesome, but we always try to make it super awesome - especially in the first few weeks of school. The kids get to feed Patton, our school's tortoise (Patton has the ability to make separation anxiety just disappear), spin endlessly on our tire swing, shoot some hoops, and, a current favorite, make rivers, canals, waterfalls and dams in our sandpit which we put the hose in. In Arizona it is a bazillion degrees outside now, so even if we get wet playing in the sand and water, we are dry before we walk the length of the playground.

So, with all this stuff to do, when I sing my special line up song, I am not at all surprised that not one kid lines up. So, I will gather a couple kids up, tell them how it is time to go in and have our awesome snack, and lead them over to the wall where we line up. And then go to gather a few more kids with the same speech. And as I lead the new set of kids over to the wall, I realize the original group I had placed there have gone back out to the playground. So, back I go to retrieve the kids that left. And when I get back, the other kids are gone.

We call this "Chasing Kittens". Those of us who teach three-year-olds always refer to the first six weeks of school as the Chasing Kittens phase. We actually "chase kittens" all day long, but it actually reaches the really, really funny level on the playground. The four-year-old and kindergarten teachers laugh hysterically as we chase these babies around, trying to convince them that actually going inside to a cool room with lots of cold water is preferable to being outside in the sweltering heat.

What's weird is even though I know I will be chasing kittens on the playground, I never allow enough time for it. I keep having to shorten music time to accommodate for the kitten factor.

It is now the second week of school, and the kids are starting to get it. I am starting to chase the kittens a little less, and in a few weeks the kids will start using peer pressure to get the last kittens to join the group. And while I love it when the kids start to know the routine, and do what is expected, I always feel a pang of sadness when I realize I won't have to chase kittens for another year. These babies are on their way to their scholastic careers, and will never be "kittens" again.



.