Falling in love with those brown eyes

   I never thought preschoolers could be such heart stealers. But they are and they do it so well. Took me completely by surprise. I have never been a baby-crazy person. I have always been indifferent to having kids of my own. I always thought kids are fun, but mostly fun because at the end of the day, they go home with someone else and become their problem.

   But after just three months in an Egyptian nursery, all that has changed. I have become that person who constantly posts pictures and statuses to social network, cooing about how cute my students are. I'm worse than that obnoxious parent who always goos and gaws over their first child, because I got ten all at once! Ten walking, talking, prepackaged with hilarious antics children. My friends regret asking me how work is, because I have to gush about all the adorable things Moustafa and Marawan and Hala did that day. How did this happen?
   And everyday it happens over again. I walk in to class and get ambushed by happy three-year olds shouting, "Miss Liza! Miss Liza!" They may have stolen my heart but at least they keep it warm and happy for me.

Fareda walks up to me and goes through the usual routine. "Miss, miss! Mama gaya imta?" (When is mommy coming?) I got tired of making excuses a long time ago, so I look down at her seriously and respond, "four hours." "Four howers?" She asks with her baby voice, looking back up at me. "Yes, mama is coming in four hours." "Okay," she responds happily, as if that answer makes everything okay. She goes back to drinking her apple juice, making her brown eyes cross as she looks curiously at the straw in front of her.

Moustafa spends five minutes telling me about his mom's reaction when he is being naughty. He tries to impersonate her face, which looks like a face you might make while eating lemons with a click at the end. He's such a talker, and I'm sure that's not exactly the face his mom makes when she is mad at him for running around too much and breaking everything (according to his story), but his three-year old impression of it is hilarious. And the way he squeezes his little brown eyes shut to look angry.

Yassin goofs off at the breakfast table, playing with his cousin Marawan. The two are absolutely inseparable. Everything one does, the other has to do. But they are good friends to each other, and as much trouble as they sometimes cause, who can be angry with happy little boys who just have too much energy? Yassin's elbow knocks over his water bottle, spilling half of it onto the floor. I breath in and out slowly, because this isn't the first time. But his startled, innocent brown eyes remind me it was just an accident, and it was only water, and he's just too cute.

Malak sits quietly at the table where she is coloring next to the other children. She never fights over colors like the others, but rather patiently waits her turn, and sweetly asks me to sharpen pencils when they need it. Every time I come near she says, "bussy miss, aamalty eh?" (Look what I made!") And proudly shows me her colorful scribbles. "Good job, Malak! I love the green!" I'll reaffirm her, and she just smiles happily with her perfect brown eyes, and goes back to her professional three-year old scribbling.