There's Nothing in My Bag Today

by Author Unknown

Today I did my math and science, I toasted bread.
I halved and quartered, I counted, measured,
used my eyes and ears and head.
I added and subtracted on the way,
I used a magnet, blocks and memory tray.
I learned about a rainbow and how to weigh.
So please don't say, "anything in your bag today"?
You see I'm sharing as I play.
I learned to listen and speak clearly when I talk,
to wait my turn, and when inside, to walk.
To put my thoughts into a phrase,
to guide a crayon through a maze.
To find my name and write it down,
to do it with a smile and not a frown.
To put my pasting brush away.
So please don't say,
"What, nothing in your bag, today"?
I've learned about a snail and a worm,
remembering how to take my turn.
Helped a friend when he was stuck,
learned that water runs off a duck.
I looked at words from left to right,
agreed to differ, not to fight.
So please don't say, "Did you only play today"?

Unity
by Clea Swarat

I dreamed I stood in a studio
And watched two sculptors there.
The clay they used was a young child's mind
Any they fashioned it with care.

One was a teacher,
the tools she used were books and music and art.
One was a parent,
with a guiding hand and gentle loving heart.

And when at last their work was done,
they were proud of what they had wrought.
For the things they had worked into the child
could never be sold or bought!

And each agreed she would have failed
if she had worked alone.
For behind the parent stood the school,
and behind the teacher stood the home!



A Loving Parent
by Renee Davis

I am sending you my most precious possession today
Trusting in your care what to do and say
Be gentle and loving and encourage him too
I'm trusting in you to know what to do
Show him things and let him draw
So he'll remember the things he saw
Let him jump and run and play
He'll tell us all about his day
Let him do things on his own too
But please help him when he looks to you
Give him a hug and smile a lot
Memories of you will never be forgot.




All I Ever Needed to Know, I Learned in Kindergarten
by Robert Fulgum

Most of what I really need to know about how to live, and what to do, and how to be, I learned in kindergarten.
Wisdom was not at the top of the graduate school mountain, but there in the sand box at nursery school.

These are the things I learned. Share everything. Play fair. Don't hit people. Put things back where you found them.
Clean up your own mess. Don't take things that aren't yours. Say you are sorry when you hurt somebody.
Wash your hands before you eat. Flush. Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you. Live a balanced life.
Learn some and think some and draw some and paint and sing and dance and play and work everyday.

Take a nap every afternoon. When you go out in the world, watch for traffic, hold hands, and stick together.
Be aware of wonder. Remember the little seed in the plastic cup?
The roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why. We are like that.

And then remember that book about Dick and Jane and the first word you learned, the biggest word of all: LOOK!
Everything you need to know is there somewhere.
The Golden Rule and love and basic sanitation, ecology, and politics and the sane living.

Think of what a better world it would be if we all, the whole world, had cookies and milk about 3 o'clock every
afternoon and then lay down with our blankets for a nap. Or we had a basic policy in our nation and other
nations to always put things back where we found them and clean up our own messes. And it is still true, no matter
how old you are, when you go out in the world, it is best to hold hands and stick together.