There are days in 1st grade that Ruth can’t work because she doesn’t have an eraser, Angel won’t start the assignment because he can’t find his paper, Cristofer needs me to find him a pencil because he doesn’t want to work in pen, and then Jeferson wants to know if he’s doing a good job … even though his paper is covered in the scribbles he attempts as words. I sit on the floor with them, but they crawl over my back, onto my lap, into my face and I just feel like I’m drowning in children. What I have learned about patience this past year? ...I think it’s measured on a sliding scale.

Later that night we were saying the rosary in hogar and Alejandra was being so rude … talking, laughing, speeding her words together and overshadowing the quiet prayers of the others. I realize saying the rosary when you don’t want to is about as far from fun as it gets, but you can still be respectful without enjoying it. My stares of death made her quit acting out, but I realized they probably didn’t make her feel any more loved. She’s a hard one. She’s lived plenty and her anger at the world often comes out in disrespecting everyone around her. I read once that withholding love never taught anyone a lesson … which I think is true. I gave her back a little pat in an attempt to say I like you, but not your actions...but who really knows if that’s what she got from it. And then we finished and the kids all began to push and shove and fight over the color of the plastic rosaries the catechists were handing out… yup, good thing to do after praying.

As we’re walking back to hogar Jessica snuck up behind me and wound her fingers into mine. She explains to Darlin on her other side that the slip she is wearing over her shorts is actually something you’re supposed to wear under skirts (which is what I had explained her earlier when I asked her what on earth she was wearing). We look up at the stars overhead and Dania asks if I remember the night we were walking and saw a satellite. Yes Dania, I tell her and then she corrects my pronunciation of satellite (because let’s face it, how often does one really say that word?). Glenda hugs me from the side and asks me if I can look directly at the sun … because she can’t, it burns her eyes. Mine too, I tell her. So then we both look up at the moon because that doesn’t burn our eyes. They want to know if it’s waxing or waning… but I have no idea.