We have to do so much crazy paperwork at the school I’m working at right now. It’s exhausting and frustrating. Some things clearly benefit my kids, but most of it just feels like busywork that our administrators can use to ask for grants because our budget’s been slashed for the umpteenth year in a row. One of the joys of working for a state that’s bankrupt.

Since I had to spend so much time on it anyways, I decided to spend even more so I could make it something that was helpful. That I could look at and use it in a way that worked for me. I was making it even more detailed, so it was late. I got the word that it had to be turned in before I left for work. I had an appointment at 5:30 and my class at 7. I couldn’t fathom how this could possibly work.

I sprinted up the stairs after my last kid got picked up, turned on the computer and got to work. When the after school program came in, Crysanthemum walked right back to where I was working.

“Can I sit here, Miss L?”

“Crysanthemum, I love you and I really want you to sit where you want. I just don’t think it’s a good idea today. I’m doing something really hard that’s due in 45 minutes, and I think it should take me at least two hours. I’ve told you before that I have to concentrate on something and you can’t talk to me, but you always do, and I always let myself get distracted because we have so much fun together. But I am doomed if you distract me.”

“I promise I will not disturb you. I know you can do it.”

“Ok, miss. We can try it. But one word, and back to your desk you go.”

“Let’s get to work, Miss L!”

I typed away furiously, occasionally grinding my teeth. I was making good progress. I looked up. Crysanthemum was reading the chapter book we’d started together yesterday. “What’s going on in the book, kid?”

“Uh, uh, uh, Miss Lubaszka! Keeeeep working! Don’t get distracted. I know you can do it.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” I hid my smile and got back to work.

“Miss Lubaszka, can you help me with this?” I heard Sammy ask.

“Excuse me, but Miss Lubaszka can’t be disturbed right now,” Crysanthemum said sweetly. “She has a lot of work to do.”

I continued to type without looking up and heard Sammy shuffle back to her seat.

Three more students attempted to get my attention. My bodyguard stopped every one of ‘em . Victory seemed attainable. I was typing like a madwoman.

It was time for the kids to go out for their break. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Crysanthemum packing up her homework. She went into my desk and took out a sticky note. She wrote something on it, then came over and stuck it on my computer screen. “don’t get destracted! Wrk! Wrk! Wrk!” was written on it, with happy faces and hearts.

She stood there proudly.

“Crysanthemum, you’re the best. I thought you were going to be distracting, and you stopped me from getting distracted! I’m almost done and I really think I couldn’t do it.”

“I’m glad, Miss L, but I’m going out to play now. When I’m gone don’t answer your phone.” She gave me a hug and whispered, “I’m giving you strength and energy and love. I know you’re gonna do a great job.”

“Thanks, Crysanthemum!”

I watched her as she skipped out; thinking about everything that she’s absorbed that wasn’t in the curriculum. Helping others, learning how to encourage them and protect them, how to call on qualities and gifts that you wanted to be surrounding you, throwing the rest out of your force field … and wondered how my life would’ve been different if I’d known how to set boundaries when I was eight.

I was working with a writing group at the back table today. They were working on their final drafts. Little Llama was taking a long time recopying her draft, so I taught her a strategy I use when I’m rewriting by hand. Cross off the sentences after you write them, and then you don’t spend a long time looking back trying to find your place. I turned to teach a different strategy to a couple of students. When I came back to Little Llama, she’d made a lot of progress.

“Wow, Little Llama. That strategy really works for you. You’re really speedy today!”

“Thanks Miss L. I like the strategy, but that’s only half the reason I’m going so fast. I asked for energy in my forcefield today, and it’s really working!”

I smiled as I watched her write away, and realized that teaching her about forcefields  was probably more important than any strategy I’ll teach her all year.

I hate Happy Hour. With colleagues, at least. We always end up talking about work, and then have to fight LA freeway traffic for over an hour. A week before our monthly outing, I suggested we go to Slimmons for Happy Hour, instead.

 Slimmons is the original workout studio, started by Richard Simmons. My sister brought me a year ago, and I’ve been hooked ever since. He’s hilarious, inspiring, and plays great music.

My colleagues loved it, of course. Ever since, at least a couple of the staff members have been coming with me once a week. All year long, the kids have been seeing pictures of us with Richard after a workout, seeing us show up with silk-screen t-shirts saying, “I sweat with Richard!” with an outline of his face. He even sent my partner the sparkly tank top he wore when he led a bunch of kids in a workout in D. C.

My class is writing letters to him. They were writing their final drafts of their business letters. It’s a third grade standard that’s always seemed pretty insane to me. Not exactly developmentally appropriate.

This year, we asked if they wanted to write to Richard Simmons to ask him to lead them in a workout. The class was beside themselves. Their letters were touching and hilarious.

“Mr. Simmons, I would like to come to our school to teach us how to work out because we have a lot in common,” wrote The Rooster, my class clown. “I know you are very funny because my teacher has told me you dress up in costumes and tell jokes when you are working out. I am also very funny. I have been funny since I was in preschool. Actually, I have actually been funny since I was one years old. I think the two of us would have fun.”

I was puzzled when I read Nancy C.’s. “Hello, Mr. Simmons. I would like you to visit my class. I would like to tell you about myself. I have three brothers and three sisters. My big sister is going to have a baby! I also have a pet gorilla named Fatty. She has black fur. I like to pet her fur when she lays on the bed.”

“How come you wrote that you have a gorilla?” I asked.

“Because I really want Richard Simmons to come,” she acted like it was the most logical thing in the world.

“How will that make him want to come, Nance?”

“Miss Lubaszka, when he reads that my gorilla’s name is Fatty, he will feel bad for her. He will want to come to teach me to exercise so I can teach Fatty. If she loses some weight, she might get a new name. No one likes to be called Fatty!”

Mr. Million Questions asked if he could stay in at lunch to practice singing “All You Need is Love.” He’s performing tonight in front of his whole family for his dad’s birthday.

Justo wrote a story about his sister. When he writes, he feels like she’s there instead of in New York, so even though he can’t physically be with her, he found a way for himself to feel like she’s closer. And he got to talk to her on the phone last night.

And Martha, the girl who’s been wanting to be nicer, came to class today with a huge smile on her face.

“Miss L, the magic’s working! I’ve been a lot nicer to people, and it’s really making me feel happy in my heart.”

“What happened?”

“You know the Osvaldo’s?”

“I sure do. What’s going on?” Everyone knew the Osvaldo’s. Seven kids. A mom who volunteered for the church every day. Dad just lost his job and they’d been in a shelter for the past month.

“Well, I’ve been sharing my food with them. And it feels really good!”

I had to turn back to the bulletin board I’d been working on for a minute. I knew if I started talking, I’d start crying. After a moment I said, “Wow, Martha. That’s so generous! I’m glad that you’re doing something to help people and it’s making you feel good. I’m feeling a little worried because I want to make sure that you’re getting enough food, too.”

I’d taught Martha’s brother a couple years back and knew that her family had been struggling to make ends meet for years now. 

“Don’t worry, Miss L. My tio’s been bringing over food twice a week, and when I told my mom about the Osvaldo’s and how I want to help them, we worked out a plan so our family could share with their family and still have enough. My mom is really proud of me!”

“That’s great, sweet pea. It makes me really happy knowing that you’re feeling good because you’re helping other people. I bet you’re really proud of yourself.”

She nodded and went back to what she’d been doing. I offered a silent prayer of thanks.

These kids really take my breath away sometimes.

 Crysanthemum is behind. She might have a processing problem. She works so hard, and things still don’t come easily.

It’s hard for me to admit, and it feels icky for me to write, but it’s frustrating sometimes. I spend so much time helping her one on one in class. I stay and tutor her for free twice a week. Then, my little peanut rushes through things and has to redo it, and she gets so upset. In those moments it’s hard to remember that she’s just a little one. There are some days, I’m sorry to admit, when I look at her, exasperated, and say, “Crysanthemum, take your time. Redo it.” Her eyes well up with tears, and I think, “If she’d just work more carefully, she would’ve gotten it right! I know she can do it.”

I’m taking an Improv class. It’s terrifying. Everyone else in it is a professional actor. I signed up because I was hoping it would make the constant observations in my class less stressful. I feel myself turning into someone else when they’re watching, taking notes, and it stops me from showing my warmness. If I can stand on stage and perform, do something I’m really not good at, I think it should be easier to have people watching me when I’m doing something I do have a gift for.

The instructor is really lovely. Taking the class has given me so much more than I was asking for. It’s turning the tables on me, taking me out of my comfort zone. It reminds me how scary things can be, and Julie’s ability to put us at ease and still push us to the next level is a weekly reminder of what I’m trying to do every day.

Today, when Crysanthemum bounced over to turn in her work, I already knew what was coming. It was something she knew how to do. I’d gone over it with her the day before for an hour, and when she was working with me she was fine. She finished so quickly, and when I took a look at her work I confirmed my suspicions that it’d happened again. Once I set her free to do the work on her own, she rushed through, and every answer was wrong. I took a breath and channeled Julie.

“Sweet pea, did you take your time with this?”

Her face fell. We’ve played out this scene so many times.

I didn’t say, “Chrysanthemum, you know how to do this.”

Instead, I gave her a hug and whispered, “I know it’s hard. I know it’s disappointing when you have to redo something, but that’s what has to happen right now. So I’m giving you strength right now, and love, and energy. Can you feel it transferring from my forcefield to yours?”

“Yes, Miss L.”

“Do you need more?”

“Yes.”

I gave her an extra squeeze. “You’ve got all of my strength and energy, now, Marilyn. Don’t be surprised if, when you come to turn this back in, I’m snoring at the table with your classmates staring at me. I know you can do it.”

“I’m ready.”

She walked back to her desk, I called a group back to work with.

Ten minutes later I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see her standing there with a big smile across her face.

“Miss L,” she sang. “It worked!”

Only one answer wrong this time! Crysanthemum was right!

Mr. Million Questions tapped me on the shoulder when his reading group ended and the other kiddos were going back to their seats.

“What’s up, Mr. MQ,” I asked, my back turned, grabbing books off the shelf for the next group.

“Miss L, I have to talk to you about something.”

I paused before I turned around, after hearing the quiver in his voice, knowing that we were about to have an important conversation. I turned around, sat down so that we were at the same level.

“What’s going on, bud?”

“Erick said I was weird!” he whispered, as his eyes swelled up with tears.

I paused for a beat and responded, “That’s awesome.”

“What Miss L??? What are you talking about?”

“Mr. MQ, do you think I’m weird?” I asked.

“No way!” He shook his head vigerously. “You’re awesome!”

“Bud, how am I different than other teachers you’ve had?”

He thoughtfully looked at me for a moment. “Well, I’ve never had a teacher that let us read to stuffed animals before. And you sing in class sometimes, and you laugh a lot. Sometimes you wear tap shoes. You’re the only teacher that’s ever taught me about magic and force fields. And you’re the only one that’s let us come up to the classroom to teach us martial arts or just to play at lunch.”

“Don’t you think that’s kind of weird?” I asked.

Our eyes met. “Mr. I’ve got to tell you something. I am weird, and it makes me happy. Weird people are the ones who take chances, make crazy new inventions, march to a different beat. They make the world interesting. I’ll be honest, kiddo, you’re kind of weird, too. That’s why I love you so much. When someone calls me weird, I think in my head, ‘Oh, so you’re boooorrrriiiiinnnng!’ It’s actually kind of a compliment.”

His eyes dried up and a smile washed over his face. “So being weird is good!” he exclaimed.

“Yes, friend. It’s one of the best kept secrets of all time.”

He gave me a big hug before heading back to his seat.

I didn’t lie when I told him that. He likes to sing opera, and knows everything there is to know about the Beatles. He’s quirky, which is why I love him so much. When I was driving home, I was thinking that my uncle taught me that lesson when I was a kid, and it was pretty powerful. I felt so blessed that I was the one that got to teach it to Mr. Million Questions.    

My muscles are what got ‘em in. My boys.

My sweet peas had been happily coming up for lunch every time I offered Dance of Shiva. My boys, however, were taking a back seat.

Until yesterday, when I crashed at a friend’s house last minute, and I had to borrow something to wear the next morning. The top was too small, and it made my arms look ridiculously big when I flexed them when I was joking around about something. My biceps looked huge, to the point where the kids acted like I was Pop-Eye the Sailor Man.

It was, coincidentally, the week after I’d beat my sister at arm wrestling in a board game.

That was what I shared in Morning Meeting on Monday. The kids were blown away. (I always tell them  stories about how strong my sister is.)

I might’ve left out the part where I found out after I’d been cheating. (I’ve never arm-wrestled before—didn’t realize you couldn’t rest your left hand on your leg for leverage!).

Regardless, I didn’t share that detail of our match with my boys. And yet, I still found the time to tell them about the research I’d done last weekend.

Turns out, the samuri’s practice for years without a weapon to get their body ready for the experience. Their muscles are trained. I told them that the Dance of Shiva trains us in the same way. And it trains our brain at the same time.

We spent this morning doing reading lessons, and group work. The whole time the boys kept trying to interrupt me, or catch my eye. I thought they were being coo-koo, but I was too busy to figure out what was going on.  

And then, when I dropped my peanuts off for lunch, the boys got theirs and then waited at the bottom of the stairs for me. Which is when I remembered that today they wanted Andre all to themselves.

I took them upstairs, and we sat and ate and talked, but in a very different way than it was with the girls. As I dined on the quesdadilla Jordan smuggled me from his gram (the cafeteria lady), I asked the boys about their wishes.

·         Jordan wanted to “be smart at reading and math and writing. And get the new PS3 and Xbox 360.”

·         Justo wanted to be with his sister all year (this was her first year in college. She’d gotten a scholarship to NYU and he missed her terribly.)

·         Fernando’s wish was to be strong and to beat the whole line at handball.

·         Nathan’s wish was to be strong and smart and for his family to have more money.

·         Elijah wanted to get fit, and for his Playstation to get fixed. His biggest wish was for his mom and dad to get back together. He loved them both so much, and it was killing him that his dad had moved out a couple of months before.

·         Mr. Million Question’s wish was to be a singer in a band. He also wanted to get a big Lego for his birthday.

·         Jose wished he could be smarter, and a professional soccer player. The kid’s one of the best in the state, so he’s well on his way. He was transferred into my class in October from another school, and was reading at a Kindergarten level. He’d already shown a year of growth in a few short months, which showed me he actually was really bright, but it he was still behind and he knew it. I knew that it would be up to me to make sure that he realized the first part of his wish was already true.  

·         Erick wished for a DS, a WEE and to be smart in Math.

They went down to turn in their trays. While they were gone, I was setting up Andre on the projector, and thinking about how different their wishes were from the girls. A lot of electronic stuff, not as much relationship focused, and power and intelligence seemed to be pretty important to them. I also set my intention, came up with my wish. I wished I could create a space where relationships were more important than electronics. Where helping was just as valued as winning. Where all the kids felt safe and loved.

Once they’d all tumbled back in I reminded them of their wishes. We did the dance of Shiva (Transquarter Movements-slow) to Michael Jackson (at Fernando’s request). We didn’t do the whole session because their arms hurt. When we finished, I told them I had work to do, but they could play inside if they wanted to.

So I “worked” while they played. I was pretending to work, because I just wanted to see how they interacted with each other. I always feel like such a better teacher when I do that. When I get it. When I understand what drives them, and what kind of relationships they have with each other.

They played like maniacs. It was lovely. My boys. It was also a little stressful. They’re so much louder when they play! It actually drove me a little nutty, but I knew, I just knew if I gave them the space to connect and interact through play, it would take their relationships to a whole new level.

Lunch was over. We picked up the other kids and went back to class, where I tried to remember to watch, even though I was busy. Luckily, today was a day I remembered to.

Those monkeys usually are all for themselves when they finish an activity. They’re saying, “Miss L., can I read?” or “Miss L., can I write in my Lifebook?”

Writing, reading … I love them both. And I love it even more when I hear how passionate my boys are about these subjects.

But I take more pride in the fact that those monsters went without. Instead of going onto the next thing they wanted to do that afternoon, they went to help each other. I saw Erick helping Nathan with his Math (yay! That never happens!) and Jordan and Mr. Million Questions co-author a story in Writing Workshop.

When I reread that paragraph, I realize it might not look important to someone who doesn’t know our class or work with kids all day. If you do, you’ll know how big of a deal it is that Jordan and Mr. MQ work together (they’re always thinking the other one is hurting their feelings on purpose when it’s always accidental). And Erick? I usually have to practically bribe him to get him to help the other kids. This afternoon, helping Nathan was his idea.  

Was it the Dance of Shiva? Was it the time that was given to them to interact through play the key?

I haven’t quite figured it out, yet. So The Great Experiment continues.  . .

We didn’t talk about it Thursday. We just kept on giving each other little signs. We’d wink, or mouth the word “magic” to each other.

We had lunch today. It was lovely.

We sat around the circle table and talked about the magic. We checked in about how it was working.

I started, and told them I was really excited that the kids had been so interested in learning, and that we’d had so much fun doing it.

Their results?

•  Dimity had made two new friends. 
•  Martha told 3 stories about ways she was kind, and that it had made her feel good. 
•  Little Llama had made three new friends. 
•  Someone gave Anya a fancy pencil, out of the blue. And her dad, who usually works on Thursdays, had gotten the night off. And her mom had made the family Anya’s favorite meal. 

And Crysanthemum… she looked around the table at us, and did this cute little thing she does when she blows out of her lip and makes her bangs stick straight up!! 

She said, “Well, Miss L., I did notice people doing a couple of kind things for me. And when I sit here and look at you, Dimity, Martha, and Anya … I don’t know. I just feel a lot of love in my heart.”

And she grinned.

So did the rest of us.

I think it was because we were feeling the same way. 

How do you teach intentions to kids? That was something I had been contemplating over winter break. I hadn’t figured it out. I wanted to use the Dance of Shiva with them in the most powerful way possible, and I knew that setting intentions was the best way  to do it. But how do you explain that to a 3^rd grader?

I was having a hard day. It was just one of those days where nothing felt quite right. The kids were off. I was off. So at lunch, even though I had 10,000 things on my To-Do list, I told them I would be doing Dance of Shiva at lunch if anyone wanted to come.

As I replied to work emails and tried to force down the school’s cafeteria lunch, thoughts were running through my head.

“I wish I could let go of this grouchy feeling.”

“I wish my desk wasn’t so cluttered.”

“I hope my afternoon lessons will be meaningful, but that there will be a sense of ease and lightness and playfulness in the room.“

And then, right after I pressed send on the last email, I had an epiphany: What else is an intention but hopes and dreams and wishes? Isn’t that what it really is when you get down to the nitty gritty?

When the girls burst into the classroom, I shut my laptop. We gathered in a circle on the carpet. I smiled at each of them and said, “The rest of the class doesn’t know this … but the Dance of Shiva is magical.”

I paused and watched their eyes grow wide.

“If you had one wish,” I asked them, “what would it be?”

“I’d be rich!” Anya exclaimed. I froze. This was the last thing I expected.

The students I teach are first-generation Mexican. I knew Anya lived in a two-bedroom apartment with two parents and three siblings. I wanted to back-pedal. Luckily, I remembered to get curious.

“Are you wanting nice things? Or are you wanting to feel more comfortable?” I asked.

“Yes,” she nodded, emphatically. “I want to have things. And I want to always have enough food. And I want my mom to be able to stay home with us, and I wish my dad didn’t have to work so much.”

We all nodded.  

 “That sounds really important to you,” I said. “I know how much you love your family. I bet it would make you feel so happy if you got to spend more time with each other. And if your parents weren’t worried about money, it would probably make you feel a whole lot better.”

“It would,” she said, seriously.

“I wish people would be nicer to me,” said Crysanthemum. “It’s really hard because I try so hard to have friends, but my feelings are always getting hurt.”

“I totally understand that wish,” I told her. “Knowing that you’re going through that makes my heart ache for you, sweet pea.”

“I wish I was nicer,” Martha spoke up.

“Really?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “It doesn’t feel very good when I hurt people’s feelings. But I keep on doing it, and I don’t know why.”

“It sounds like you’re feeling confused. And it sounds like that wish is really important to you.”

“It is.”  She stared at the carpet.

I saw the surprise wash over the other girl’s faces. Martha’s what they call a Queen Bee, and I don’t think they’d ever realized that she didn’t feel good when she said these things.

“Dimity?” I whispered. That little peanut’s so painfully shy it spooks her if you don’t whisper when you talk to her.

It took her 30 seconds before she looked up and said softly, “I wish I had more friends.”

“Me too!” exclaimed Little Llama. “I don’t know how to do it!”

Little Llama’s the baby of the family. She was so much younger than her older siblings that they’d played the protective role very intensely. So much so, that I think it hurt her.  The family was trying to protect her, and in the process, she hadn’t had  a chance to develop social skills that were age-appropriated. She was still biting at the beginning of the year! 

So, we made our wishes. And we had our session with Andre (on mute), with ducks galore, blasting a mix of Taylor Swift, Miley Cyrus, Pasion Latina, Janes, & Nelly Furtado. We danced, and we laughed … and it felt too short when it was two minutes before the bell, and we laid back on the carpet, closed our eyes, and though about our wishes.

And the lovliest thing happened.

We discovered that the Dance of Shiva is magic.

My afternoon? It was pretty awesome. The kids were so into every activity I’d planned.

They got it. Stuff just flowed.

And, when school was over, and their parents came to pick them up and I hugged them good-bye, I whispered the same thing into their ears: Look for the magic.

We did. We looked for the magic.

And we found it.

Crysanthemum passed her two’s! The look on her face … I can’t really put it into words. Her whole face just lit up! 

The only way that I can describe it is that it’s like holding a miracle in your hands.

That’s how I always feel when I see the look on a kid’s face when they accomplished something they didn’t think they could.

And she did it! Thank you, thank you.