I’m teaching Kindergarten art this year. It’s been a few years since I’ve had that honor. I went into it with a “Pffft, I’ve got this” attitude and quickly realized that maybe I don’t. Got this that is. It’s been awhile, and I had forgotten that Kindergartners are different creatures. Some of them can read, most of them can’t. Some of them can write their own names, some of them can’t. Some of them have been exposed to art before, but many of them have not. Some of them might not know how to use scissors, or glue sticks, or glue bottles. Some of them have never used paint before, or even crayons. Kindergarteners are the babies of the elementary world (and I don’t mean the stick your head in gravy kind either). They require a different approach because they’re brand spanking new, and they just don’t know how to yet. Here are a few of my tried and true tips for surviving 45 minutes of Kindergarten art class (God help you if you’re cursed with 60 minutes of Kindergarten art, like I am).

Learn their names. ASAP.

Adrian is one of the worst listeners in the class. Aidan, on the other hand, is a great listener.

It is crucial to learn the real names of your Kinders as soon as possible. Calling a kid “boy in blue striped shirt” the first week of school is probably okay, but after that it’s no good. His mom will likely put him in a green shirt next week. Likewise, it’s important to learn Susie’s name quickly, because while she might be “girl with pigtails” this week, next week she’ll be “girl with ponytail” and Janie will be “girl with pigtails,” and Cara, who was “girl with ponytail” last week will wonder why she’s now “girl with hair” this week. All sorts of confusion will ensue. It’s just easier to learn their names.

I find that it helps to use seating charts and take attendance.

Make extras. Lots and lots of extras.

Kindergarteners lose things. All the time. Case in point, this one time, a Kinder lost his lunch. All over the table. If I hadn’t had extra cut paper squares on hand, the other students at his table would have been making black and white and red all over penguins.

Seriously though, it’s good to be prepared and have extra materials on hand. For my older classes, my rule of thumb is to always round up to the nearest five. Twenty-seven students in the class? I make thirty copies. For my Kinders, I round up to the nearest fifteen-ish. Twenty-four Kinders? I cut forty 2″ orange squares. It can take the same student eight tries before he cuts out a penguin beak he’s happy with. I once handed supplies out to the same table three times because no one received them the first time, or the second time, and no one knew where they went.

Make extras. Trust me, “boy with glasses” is not going to wait patiently in his seat while you dig out the paper and cut more paper strips.

Have books on hand.

Nothing can save a floundering afternoon Kindergarten art class like a good book can. Heck, it doesn’t even have to be a good one.

Kids love being read to. It’s almost magical what a book can do to a rowdy, off-the-wall, group of twenty-four five year-olds. I’ve been known to wrap class up a full fifteen minutes early in order to read a book (did you see the note above about Kindergarten art being 60 minutes long). I highly recommend pre-screening your books though. Lest you find yourself reading a pirate story in which you can’t pronounce any of the names and the students feel the need to point out every time you pronounce Hippolyte de Bouchard differently. Or worse, you find an old copy of Yertle the Turtle, and part way through it you wonder if the subject material is a little too heavy for five year olds.

“I know, up on top you are seeing great sights, but down here at the bottom we, too, should have rights.”

Practice your penguin waddle.

Kinders like to laugh. And pretend. And be silly.

The more you’re able to connect with your inner Kinder, the better art class will go for you. I’m not above waddling around the classroom like a penguin or creeping around like a ninja, and you shouldn’t be either. But holy Hannah, don’t forget to paper your door before doing so, because if just one of your sixth grade students sees you…

So what’d I forget? If you’ve got ’em, leave your Kindergarten art tips in the comments. For the rest of you, good luck. You’re going to need it. And wipes. You’re going to need wipes. Lots and lots of wipes.

It’s 5:30am. You’re feeling good. You’re freshly showered and smelling good too. Your hair is styled, your clothes are neat, and damn, girl! You are going to rock this day! You fill your belly with a (somewhat) healthy breakfast, get the preschooler ready to go, and you’re out the door, on time, at 6:45am. Nothing can get you down now. At 7:30am you arrive at work, 30 minutes early, just the way you like it. You’re full of energy, bouncy even. You’re looking good, and feeling good. Bring it on, school day, bring it on! But first, it’s 8:00am. Kiss and Ride duty. So back outside in the humidity to play bad cop with the make-their-own-rules parents. 8:35am, back inside because your first class is coming in ten minutes.

Your first two class are an hour long and back-to-back but you’re prepped and after a quick bathroom break, you’re ready to go. You nail the morning lessons, despite the unexpected lack of AC in your windowless classroom, and in spite of your angry, roaring stomach, which burned through your granola, yogurt and fruit breakfast four hours ago. It’s 10:45am and you scarf down your barely heated lunch so you can prep for your three, hour long afternoon classes, and maybe reply to those emails you’ve been meaning to get to. But you forgot to cut paper for your Kinder class, so those emails will have to wait. Again. It’s 11:45am, and your 3rd grade class is waiting at the door. You haven’t found the portrait mirrors yet, and you forgot to use the bathroom, but hey, you got this, you’re a pro. Time to put on your teacher face. It’s smooth sailing from here until 3:00pm.

And then it happens. You run into her. The cool teacher. Maybe she’s dropping her quiet, well-behaved class off at your door, or maybe you literally ran into her on your hurried way to the bathroom, but regardless, there she is. It’s 1:00pm, she’s cool, she’s calm and she still looks put together. Her hair is morning fresh, her clothes are sans wrinkles, she smells like a soap and perfume commercial, and her face looks like “sweat” is a foreign word. Meanwhile, your carefully tucked and neatly straightened outfit from the morning has become bag lady disheveled. Your face is beet red from running around all day and you’re sweating, and smelling, like a 1980’s body builder who hasn’t showered since, well, the 1980’s. Your stylish and strategic “messy” hair from 5:30 this morning is now just messy. But also flat. And greasy. Damnit! Was that your stomach that just growled? Do you think she heard?

As confident as you felt this morning, you now feel like the most inadequate, ill-kempt teacher on the planet. All thanks to Miss Cool Girl, who doesn’t look a day over 24. But you can’t blame her, it’s not like she’s a Mean Girl, or maybe she is, you don’t know, you don’t have time to leave your room to socialize, aka gossip, so what do you know? But hey, you got this, you’re a pro. You put on your teacher face, give her your most winningest smile and move on with your day. You sail through you’re 2nd grade class, and somehow manage to survive the hour long Kindergarten class. It’s 3:00pm, and you follow your Kinders out the door because your CLT meeting has already started, and you can’t wait to grace the tiny conference room with your stinky, smelly self.

It’s 4:30pm and you’re finally leaving to go pick up your child from preschool. Your tired body is almost, almost, looking forward to the hour and a half commute home because it means you get to sit down for the first time that day (you were the last one to arrive at the CLT meeting. There were no chairs for you). You pull into the driveway at 6:15pm, drag your bags and your three year old into the house, and before you tackle the chore of dinner prep, you sneak away to the bathroom where you can fully assess the end of the day version of you. Your fears are confirmed, you look as bad as you feel, tired, frumpy and drained of all energy. Oh, and hey, look at that. There’s a giant wad of spinach stuck in your teeth. How cliche. And you know Miss Cool Girl saw it. *Sigh* You pick it out, throw on your pajamas, and trudge back downstairs because there’s four hours left in your day and your child is complaining that she’s hungry.