Today

I got to school early this morning after our crazy evening last night, and the door to my classroom was decorated from floor to ceiling with shiny, foil birthday greetings. A flourescent pink poster hung outside with the words, "Happy Birthday, Mrs. P! We love you!" on it. The teachers I collaborate with had stayed after conferences last night to put that together. That by itself nearly made me cry--I know how tired we all were after our crazy evening!

My first class started at 8--and this kid brought in armloads of things for me for my treasure box, and a birthday card. Two more teachers popped in with cards, and there was a mysterious candle on my desk.

I assigned a written reflection on narrative writing, and instead this kid wrote me a letter about how words can't tell me what he owes me for teaching him to read. He read it to the entire group during our sharing time. I swallowed and swallowed, trying not to let a sniffle escape. This kid is a 5th grade boy, and he read that for his peers!

A few minutes later, the office called and asked me to send a responsible student to the office. He returned with a huge bouquet of flowers from my precious husband--who has never sent flowers to work before! I called him to thank him (with a horde of grinning pre-adolescents hovering around, congratulating him on his smooth move), and noticed that I had missed 6 calls on my cell--birthday texts and greetings from my favorite people in this world.

I was OK then--blessedly overwhelmed--but OK.

Then this kid (one of my favorite non-disabled tough guys) walked past my room, and whispered in a stage voice, "Happy Birthday, Mrs. P.! You'll have to tape Law and Order tonight for us all to see your brother!"

And the tears finally fell.