Long Days for Short People

It's mostly routine for me. 

I know what there is to do, I know where things are located, the daily schedule is in my brain, I'm alert for all the small (and large) shenanigans. Once in awhile a kid surprises me, but usually I've seen at least one variation of every behavior and dealt with most issues over the years.

It's been 21 years since I started working with kids in after school programs. 

In that time I've gotten exponentially older. 

I've aged about 90 years. Give or take. 

This is me, heading into the bathroom 
with my strongest glasses and my tweezers 
to pull out a few whiskers.

So my littlest humans have been told how big and grown up they are by parents, grandparents and assorted other adults. Their smaller siblings look up to them as 'big kids who are in real school'. 

Here's a fun fact: They aren't big.
Another fun fact? 
Not grown up, either.

For all the times I've said to myself that I'm good at this job because I remember what it was like to be a child, I don't remember ALL the things... I recall bits of being five, but I don't think there's room in anyone's brain to remember every incident and how they felt.

The kindergarten little people I have are self-sufficient in a lot of ways. 
Most of the time they remember to head for the bathroom before it's too late. 
Do they always remember to let an adult know they're leaving? 
Well, we're working on that. 

They're full of enthusiasm for arts and crafts. The art table is always open for free expression. It's stocked with a ton of stuff they can just help themselves to, including watercolor paints and stencils. 

Games and LEGO and other construction toys. Outdoor time. Snacks. I try to provide enough things to keep them entertained. Busy place.

There's a lot to existing as a small person.

Consider how long their days are. 
They're seriously on the go for way too many hours. 

I get up about 8 most mornings. Shower, start work at 9:30. I clock out at noon, pack a little snack or make a smoothie and then it's time for the afternoon commute. Yippee.

I'm usually tired at the end of the day. My commute home is about 40 minutes, and once I'm home, I'm glad to be sitting down and appreciative of quiet activities. I've been up and about for a total of 10 hours, most of them relaxing, doing work activities in the morning and a leisurely afternoon commute. With music. Etc. I get tired mostly because I'm always in pain, some days are better than others, but yeah. Pain makes ya tired. 

I have lots of things to accomplish, but I can do most of them on my own schedule except for school day afternoons when I have to show up at a specific location.

We have our five year olds getting up at 7 or so. Rushing around getting ready for school. Gulping down breakfast, zipping out the door to either catch the bus, be dropped off in front of the building or at their day care. 

School starts at 8:30. 

Those little people are expected to focus. 
And be quiet. 
And do what they're told. 
All. 
Day. 
Long.

Most of them are accommodating little people, wanting to be 'good', the way their families have raised them. They get recesses and snacks and lunch in between the sit at the desk and focus stuff. 

We have normalized all this as a society. 
No one even thinks it's weird. 
Well, almost no one. 
But that's a discussion for another time, right?

So they work all day. 
School is out at 2:15. 

By the time they arrive in my program they've been going for seven hours already. Some of them are with me for three hours or even a little more. So a ten or eleven hour day for the kids. A five year old, engine going for eleven hours. Five days a week. And after school sports and dinner and siblings and bath time and bedtime stories. 

It's not surprising that they occasionally melt down at the end of the day. 
What's surprising is that they don't do it more often.

Last week, Oliver was really excited for five o' clock to roll around since he'd never been there past 4:30 before. At five, we get out the five o' clock box. Lots of little things in there. Some micro machine cars and airplanes, a LEGO knockoff set to build a marble maze, a spirograph, some travel games. Mini checkers and chess, mini Connect Four, little fidget puzzles. Little things we can only get out when there are just a few kids, we don't have enough to go around in a large group, so it feels special to them.

Oliver's dad showed up about seven minutes before five, when we were still cleaning up from the afternoon's carnage. 
The rule is that everything has to be put away before the box comes out and we weren't quite finished yet.

He turned, saw his dad at the door, wailed loudly and collapsed in a puddle of tears in the middle of the floor. 

Dad came in, saw his little guy crying and not wanting to leave, and did the sweetest Dad thing. He sat down on the floor next to his son, gathered him into his lap and began rocking him gently as he talked to him in a quiet voice.

It took a few minutes. 
Dad showed no impatience in any way.
There was no rush, no anger, no urgency to get out the door. 
Just a father connecting emotionally with the little boy he loves.

It has to be one of the sweetest parent taking care of child moments I've ever seen in my work.

Dad was purposely late the next day. He texted me and said that he was picking Oliver up at 5:30 to give him time to play with the five o' clock box.