Discombobulated

The first week of the school year is behind me, and I am exhausted!

This year I moved into a new classroom in a newly remodeled building. My old room was in the "back hall" of the building. It was small and had one window letting in very little light. I had very little storage; I managed with a tall metal cabinet and a file cabinet, both had seen better days when I inherited them. I had a small bulletin board that I took great pains and pleasure filling with either my artwork or my children's, and a poorly placed chalkboard. When it was hot outside my room was freezing. When it was cold my room was an oven. The carpet was a few years old, but had paint stains.

Several years ago, while my back was turned, three of my girls decided to walk a purple paint filled paint brush across the carpet in the back of the room. When I ask what happened they informed me that the "church mouse" turned the purple paint bottle over and walked through it. I created the church mouse story after seeing a small field mouse in the back closet perched on an antique typewriter. (Not to worry, critter control was called in and all holes were sealed.) It was one of those moments when you should scold, but you can't because you are working so hard at not laughing.

My old classroom held thirteen years of memories. Memories of storytelling, laughter, tears, and yes, spilled paint. It was a room where I welcomed a new group of children each September and bid them a tearful goodbye in May. My old classroom is now the teacher's workroom and part of another classroom.

My new classroom is at the end of the main hall. While not big, it has three big windows allowing in a lot of light. I have a full wall of beautiful woodgrain built-in shelves and cabinets without the dents and layers of paint. They finally hung my bulletin board Wednesday afternoon. It is eight by four! I divided it to make two display areas. I still don't have coat hooks or a chalkboard; I have notes up where I want them placed, they will appear one day soon. They are still working on adjusting my thermostat. My new floor is rubber, not carpet. I will be able to wipe up any "mouse footprints" should he decide to visit my room again.

My new classroom doesn't have the memories attached to it, but is a clean canvas for painting new memories. My bulletin board is embellished; and, even though I have no idea where anything is, I greeted a new group of children this last week.

What I know: Memories are not created by a room, but by those who enter and leave a piece of themselves. Memories are not held in a room, but in the heart.

Yes, I have been a little discombobulated this week, but I am truly blessed to be allowed to do what I do five days a week.