Love the Ocean Blue

Every grade level took part in the end-of-the-school-year celebration.  Our pre-K kids did a simple hula telling about their love for the ocean and how it is everybody’s responsibility to keep it clean.  They didn’t do the hand motions well, but they were adorable trying.  We all wore matching tie-dye {white} t-shirts with the ocean blue at the bottom, and the sun shining from our left shoulders.  The kids wore head-bands depicting ocean life.

Ms. Jewls, Ms. Alice & I dyed the t-shirts right in the classroom.  We got to ohhh and ahhh at the blues and greens as each one came out.  All of the children together looked adorable in their matching shirts — and the teachers matched, too.

Each child painted his/her own head band under Ms. Alice’s care.  Then, after they dried, Ms. Jewls helped them apply the glitter.

9th entry
Project Blue
brought to you by Anna

Heart & Hands of Jesus

The kids celebrated my birthday today at Sidewalk Sunday School. They sang their traditional horrible and squeaky rendition of, Happy Birthday, and Brandon, a member of my ministry team, gave me a special bouquet made to represt each of my six years as Director — six suckers.

My ministry team and I start each Sidewalk Sunday School in prayer. I always ask God to “help us be the heart and hands of Jesus.” I don’t just mean at Sidewalk. I mean everyday, in everything I do. I am not the only crusader in my family. My niece, Cindra, and her husband Tom have a mission as well. There’s is even grander then mine. Check it out: Eugene Hope Fest 2007.


Two — count them — one, two — birthday posts from O’Ceallaigh. (The placement of the second post may require retaliation of some kind.)

One from a Dawg named Doug. Well, two, but he erased me from yesterday and replaced me with a dead Russian. Pft. (OC replaced me with Hugh Hefner. (I am still considering retaliation.)

A half-dozen handmade birthday cards from my students.

A handmade party hat from Mr. Texas-Drawl.

Two electronic birthday cards.

A bouquet of roses.

Two dozen cookies.

One felt-tip marking pen.

Lunch (a tuna salad sandwich from the Principal).

Three Four times I was subjected treated to horrendous artistic renditions of, Happy Birthday To You. (Thank you Caryl, Jackie, & students — and Brig.)

Dozens of well-wishes from all of you.

And breakfast:

Cindy came into the classroom very early this morning. She was carrying a brown paper bag. She said, “Ms. A., you know how you said you didn’t want us to get you any presents because you couldn’t take them with you to Hawaii?”

I nodded, eyeing the sack. Cindy continued, “Well, I thought about getting you chocolate, but you always say, “no candy,” so –.” She held the sack out toward me, “I got you this.”

I reached for the bag. She jerked it back. “My mom said you might be insulted. Please don’t be insulted.”

“I won’t,” I promised, and held my hand out for the bag. Cindy let go reluctantly. Inside was a granola bar and a Slim-Fast beverage. I thanked her, told her I had forgotten my breakfast, and proceeded to enjoy my snack. She was well and truly pleased with herself.

The Gift of Joy

I thought I would celebrate this birthday, which O’Ceallaigh kicked off yesterday in a spirit of fun and follies, by telling you a particularly charming story of a birthday past — my 40th.

The story doesn’t start all that charming. I received no birthday cards. No phone calls. No mention on the staff news. No greetings from co-workers. Worse, I’d looked in the mirror a bit too long and realized the primary color of my hair was gray (still is, under the blonde dye), wrinkles were starting to form at the corners of my eyes, and my life was over. Sob.

Off to work I shuffled. I was scheduled to be a sub that day for a kinder class. Most of the kinder kids knew me as, The Story Lady, because I visited their classroom once per week and I read to them some exciting this or that. They were thrilled to have me for a whole day. They brought me book after book and I read to them, but my performance must have lacked luster, because at just about lunchtime two of the tykes, Wesley and Kiki, toddled up to question me. I was sitting on the floor, so we ended up eye-to-eye.

Wesley asked, “Story Lady, why is yoos so sad?”

How do you explain something like that to a kid? I gave him an answer I thought he’d accept. “Because I’m old.”

He took my face is both his hands and studied it closely, then he frowned at me and pronounced, “Yoos not old. Yoos not got crinkles!”

Kiki added, “Asides, yoos has all your teefs!”