Vacation.

Rarely am I able to stay away from my classroom over a vacation.

I know.

I hear all the teachers like, "STOP. GO HOME NOW."

And there are a million reasons I can't.

Or don't want to...like...where else can I blast broadway show tunes and scream-sing along to Anastasia? Nowhere, but an empty school with two incredible custodians wearing noise-canceling headphones.

But.
There is another reason.

Sure, I am also currently embracing the Marie Kondo life and purging things I've held onto because I MIGHT use them. And it's a big draw to come in and cleanse this room of clutter.

It's a thing of beauty. I also had a dear teacher friend who said I'm #teachergoals...and I was like, "y'all know I just found a Red Bull, beside a rotten apple, underneath a pile of tshirts in my room, right?" #realteacherlife

I mean, if that's your goal?  <3 #winning.

But.
There is another reason.

And it's two-fold.

I am a worrier.
Always have been, always will be.
And vacations induce worry.

Are they sleeping?
Are they eating?
Are they happy?
Has anyone taken their sweet cheeks in their hands today and said, "I LOVE YOU!"
Did they have breakfast?
A snack?
Have they sat in front of their computer, tablet, or TV for hours on end?
Are they safe?
Are they safe?

Are.
THEY.
SAFE?

And that worry, that larger than life worry sits in the pit of my stomach.
Even when I'm not in my classhome.

I made it home to NYC for a few days.
Washed the kitchen floor.
Made some kosher food shtuffs.
Saw KING KONG - 10 out of 10 recommendation for a puppet that will bring you to tears.
Spent some time with my favorite people outside of school.
Fell in love with Adam Pascal's eyelashes all over again, hey Pretty Woman!
Went to rehearsal for Avenue Q, my name Christmas Eve.

And all the while, I worried.
There is one place that quells that worry.


Room 125.
My classhome.

Getting it ready for my family to come back means we're almost back.
Getting it cleaned is getting ready to share my excitement with them.
It takes some of the worries and turns it into a fervor.

Joy rumbles inside me when I think about how they'll love this one part I cleaned.
Or one part I've changed.

Or they won't believe the closet is this clean - hahahaha - okay, I can't believe it.

This isn't just a room.
It's a safe space.
It's home.
It's happy.
It's my familyroom.

They aren't just 2nd graders, they are world changers, future leaders, comedians, joy makers, and part of my crew.

So.

Judge me if you must.
But I'll be home working in this little room for the next few days.

Chances are, I won't hear you judging anyway, I'll be scream-singing, "In My Dreams" from Anastasia.

Who's That Baby? And Why it's NOT a Game.

You know when you can see a picture and suddenly you are so clearly transported back to the last time you saw something like that? There's a picture of my first class beside my desk and I often think back to who they are. And can remember their small voices and how lucky I was to know them.

And then, there are pictures like this.

And suddenly.

I'm eight.

In third grade.

At Southampton Road School.

In Westfield, MA.

Staring at a very similar display on the back of Mrs. M's door.

Several boys are chuckling.

My face is hot.

I'm horrified.

Desperate to not start crying.

"I guess we don't really have to guess who that one is?"

"Don't you have any real baby pictures?"

The burning hot tears are poking the back of my eyeballs.

But I turn to laugh with them, "Nope. Guess I'll be the easiest one of all."

"Wait, you really don't have any baby pictures?"

"She's adopted," my sweet friend responded.

I was doing my best to disappear at the moment.

So I returned to the yellow sheet of paper where we were all guessing who was who.

"I'm number 12. In case anyone didn't know," I said writing my own name down.

That night, I'd go home, as so many nights before, and scrub my skin.

Until it was red, and the bath water dark.

I'd brush my hair until it was matted and stuck down.

And I'd wish more than anything in the entire world that I could just disappear.

Into some void.

And never be known again.

I know you, yes, you, sweet teacher, did not intend to make me feel this way.

I doubt you considered that among my 24 white peers, this wasn't much of a game for me.

Or that not having any baby photos - not existing in anyone's memory before 2 and 1/2 was, until meeting my birth mother in my 30's, one of my single greatest triggers and deepest sadnesses I'd ever know.

The earliest photos of my brown earthy skin and curly locks has me in blue overalls and almost three.

We do, as students, spend far too much time trying to fit in.

Long hair.

Straight hair.

The perfect bun.

The right clothes.

Most of it out of our control. 

When I began teaching in my own classroom, I knew I'd never put ANY of my students in this situation - simply - by not creating it.

My goal in my classroom is to create a family.

A beautiful, colorful, unique family.

Valuing each piece of all us.

Not pointing out differences.

Not highlighting it.

Embracing it.

Celebrating it.

Loving it.

Skip the Who's that Baby?

I don't know that you need a substitute. Something else to do.

Choose to see your students for who they are now.

Not what baby photo they can find.

I have a dear colleague who asked a very honest, and serious question, "Genuinely, if all my students are of the same ethnicity, does this still apply?" 

"If you have to ask," I offered, "that's your gut answering YES."

When I was 30, I traveled to Santiago, Chile, my birth country and met my mother and sister. In the depths of healing for both of us, she offered this photo. And I thought then, as I do now, I wouldn't have wanted to share this with my class either. This is Macarena Del Pilar, before she was adopted - before she was Jami Lyn. 

This is me.

Who's that baby?

A teacher.

A partner.

A friend.

A learner.

A leader.

Loved.

"Like A Dream"

I keep thinking I'll figure out the right way to start this blog post.
Like it will somehow come to me.

When I let my mind simmer in the past week, I often come back to this song from Shrek the Musical, "When Words Fail"

'When words fail

What will I do'

When words fail

How will she know how I feel'

When words fail

Will I fail too'

If you've never enjoyed Brian Darcy James as Shrek and this beautiful song about being awkward and awesome, I implore the reader to do just that (and google Freak Flag - chillbumps!)

It was in thinking about words, that I thought - well - my partner said, "Just tell the story of the day."

So.

Here we go.

If you need to get caught up on where the story began: Oh Ma' Yoga!!

On Wednesday June 6th, I waited anxiously ALL morning.

Would there flight take off okay?

Delays?

Would they get out of Boston okay?

Delays?

Was this going to actually happen?

I was reminded that EVEN if it were delayed, since it was an entire school surprise, it's not like anyone would be totally disappointed, lol, just me.

My partner and I chatted a little about being nervous that someone you've never actually met would be able to live up to the expectation you've built in your own brain, my response,

"Something tells, they'll be even MORE incredible than I've imagined."

My phone buzzed with an international number, and a few hours later, Jaime and her husband Martin were on the walkway to Newton School.

All my anxiety melted away and we picked up like old friends I guess, even though we were just meeting! A couple of hours later, they were sufficiently tired, ha, had a tour of our school, met some excited teachers and were on their way to dinner with their Agent, Elan.

And I knotted up my anxiety again with the surprise of tomorrow morning.

I should add - June 7th, their scheduled visit day was...
My Birthday!
Hooray!
AND...the scheduled visit of DESE to evaluate our Extended Learning Time program.

Pack it in.

The morning of June 7th was to play out something like this:

I'd pick my kiddos up outside at 7:50am - we'd rush inside for breakfast in the classroom and then I'd announce we were getting the ONCE in a lifetime opportunity to SKYPE with Jaime in England. She'd sent us a short video of not being able to hear us. 

So, picture me at 7:45 going to pick up my kiddos and hearing the cheeriest little kindergartner strolling past one of my students shouting, "HOORAY, today is the day we meet Jaime and do YOGA!!"

Most of the teachers stared at me devasted, but I smiled and managed to convince everyone we were just skyping.

We raced around getting our Newton Shirts on and getting ready to Skype.

At 8:20, Jaime and Martin arrived and I put them in the hands of Miss Welcome who is our building monitor and a HUGE Cosmic Kids Yoga fan!

She ushered them down to my room and waited for us to say the secret code word.

My class yelled it loud - and the door popped open!  It was tears and open mouths for the next few minutes while everyone caught their breath. Of course, since we're sassy and in 4th grade, they were all like, "I could tell that wasn't really skyping." :)

Martin filmed from their angle, and I captured ours - I hope to able to share both with you dear Donors and friends in an upcoming post.

And then, as if I had imagined it exactly right, they gathered at family meeting and asked a million and one questions.
And talked about what yoga was for them.
Camden and Zaire had been on a student panel and arrived back late, but just as excited as ever.

At 9am, my class went off to art, and I came back to help Jaime and Martin get set up in the gym for Kindergarten.
I was on a panel myself so I missed the actual kindergarten class, but I do know they were equally excited!

Jaime yoga-ed with every class.
Every student.
And to say it was a thing of beauty is an understatement.

I had a vision in asking Jaime to come and in planning the day.
What actually took place, exceeded every one of my wildest dreams.

It was a day of being seen.
Being loved.
Being Zen.

We lunched with Jaime, though I'm not sure how much she ate, considering so many of my littles were nose to nose with her the entire lunch.

They couldn't get enough.

We Q and A'd again at the end of the day and did a little more meditation.
And my gracious.
Was it ever lovely!

All day long in the halls of our little school, you heard,
"This is like a dream"
"I can't believe this is happening?!"
"Is this real?"
"She's really here?"
"I feel like I'm dreaming, I have to touch my face and I'm awake."

The lasting impact of her visit - well, it's days later, and the energy is still palpable.
My fourthies are filling out scrapbooks for the end of the year and of course, their favorite day is the one Jaime came to visit.
Mine too.

I am once again, dear donors, fellow dreamers and teachers, and framily, humbled by your support of this crazy big dream.

There are many things in our world that are hard
or are hurting,
sad,
and painful.

This.
This gift.
This dream.
Has cast such a vibrant light on love and kindness, the glow is still strong.
Thanks for sharing your kindness.

And to Jaime and Martin, who are, long before Ms. Witherell, the best sort of dreamers I've ever met, thank you both for dreaming YOUR big dreams, so that some random Thursday in the month of June, those dreams would meet the dreams of 240 students in a little school in suburban Massachusetts.