Anita's Haven

books, thoughts, stories, poetry, interviews, writing


Short story (part one)

Written by Anita Kovačević ; July 2015


Well, hello, everybody! I am Miss Daisy. Truth be told, I have not been anybody’s Miss Daisy for years, because even we preschool teachers have to retire eventually, but – once a teacher, always a teacher. If that is what you are at heart. There are so many children in my heart that I could be their teacher, Miss Daisy, for several lives to come, if I happened to return in human form.

But this is not a story about me. This is the story about one of those countless great little beings in my heart, one of the most special ones, one who teaches you such humility towards life’s miracles that the first time he calls you ‘teacher’, it feels as if you’ve won the life achievement award.

But I am rushing this a bit. Let us take it slowly and safely, the way my special little friend liked to do everything.


I first met Peter when I as preparing to be a kindergarten teacher. I was filled with the hope of changing the world, my head brimming with the wisdom I’d borrowed from other people’s books, convinced that all the parents I would be working with would be cordial, caring people confident in my abilities, and all the children like clay, their behaviour and intelligence easy to mould and direct with only a bit of creativity and a lot of love.

All I needed to do was prove myself to my mentor and the review board, but a few demonstration activities were a piece of cake for me. After all, I did pass all my other exams on time, because I didn’t need to work while I was studying, and I had read more books than we were obliged to. I had always wanted to be exactly that – a kindergarten teacher, although my father kept explaining to me there was no money in that profession! Passing the review board exam, with a few hints of an inspiring topic, was supposed to be a walk in the park for me!

Let me explain it all to you in layman’s term, because the most difficult things are best explained simply, and I am now able to do that. Back then, I was under so much pressure to use top-notch professional words, which mean absolutely nothing to children. The topic of my activity that day was food, with the aim of motivating children to think about grouping connected words. Blissfully easy! The group of four-year-olds I was supposed to work with had been under a chickenpox invasion, so, instead of the average 25 kids, I only had to do the activity with about 12 children.

My mentor assumed her corner position in the room and placed her open notebook in her lap, ready to make notes, as professionally serious as a royal scribe writing down legislative acts. Behind me there was a small mountain of my teaching materials, and in front of me, seated on the carpet, the children, admiring the glow in my inspired eyes. Even though, from today’s perspective, I believe they were admiring my gigantic strawberry-shaped hairpin; but back then, my ego needed their spark.

Everybody sat on the carpet, impatient and eager. Well, almost everybody. In the corner edge of the carpet, one boy was sitting alone, appearing to be somewhat bigger than the others. He was assembling building blocks in silence, slowly swaying to and fro, as if following the rhythm of some inaudible music.

‘What about you, honey? Won’t you be joining us?’

I invited him – my question was negatively phrased due to lack of experience, but I displayed a wide, warm smile. I was already half-way over to him, to bring him closer to us, when a tiny hand pulled on to my uniform.

‘Oh, Miss, it’s only Peter. He is always… so…’

‘Yes, yes, Peter is always acting out on the side…’

The noise of learned disapproval made me arch my eyebrows into a warning, because I hated both exclusion and acting out, but my mentor just coughed gently and gave me a wave to let it go.

‘Peter is… special, dear. Just let him be.’

So I let him be, with reluctance. I didn’t mind the child, but I couldn’t see why he should miss out on all the glorious activities I had prepared for that day, during many sleepless nights, all of them so perfectly well-timed and organised according to all the expert books on the topic? Why wouldn’t he sigh in wonder when he saw my refrigerator-shaped box, or decide with us what to put where? And why wouldn’t he too sing the carefully selected song or make appropriate art with us?

‘But, OK,’ I told myself. ‘Today we will simply pass this exam activity. We will not go about changing the world immediately!’

Peter was still swaying in his own little world, half turned away from us, and I began guiding the others into my own world.

The miraculous fridge-box was a huge success with those tiny minds and held their attention for a full quarter of an hour. I was secretly gloating, imagining the praise about my work written by my mentor in her notebook. The children reacted beautifully, with all their unpredictably predictable subquestions and ‘bloopers’. The activity went faster than I’d expected, so my mind kept browsing through its backup lesson plan ideas to efficiently continue the activity.

And then the carpet became ‘spiky’. That was the word murmured by a tiny future interior designer who was wearing a dress that day so she couldn’t be bothered to keep sitting on the carpet any longer. In case you didn’t know this, ‘spikiness’ is a highly contagious disease with children of a younger age. The consequences of this disease are fidgeting, loss of concentration and the frequent need for bathroom use. The more persistently I tried to keep implementing my lesson plan, the more the children demonstrated their discontent. They kept searching for the culprit for the spikiness with more and more noise and unrest, whereas, Peter kept humming something louder and louder in his little corner.

‘He’s mumbling again,’ thundered a rugged boy with messy hair towards Peter, pointing his finger at the boy he considered the obvious culprit for everything, and the muttering of his followers vibrated through the room.

‘Peter always mumbles when we don’t listen to our teacher,’ a curly-haired blonde girl scolded the ringleader, in a half-whisper but very eloquently, a dark look flashing below her eyebrows.

Within seconds, the room was divided into two currents which threatened to destroy my methodical approach. Peter covered his ears with his little hands and kept humming louder. I panicked, and my mind got hooked on to one of the points in my lesson plan which I considered the safest anchor at that point.

‘Come now, everything is all right,’ I said as if I honestly believed it. ‘We shall do some drawing next!’

The children quietened down for a while, sitting down into their labelled chairs, and I felt proud to notice a nod from my mentor about the change of activity. Or maybe she had merely recognised my rookie mistake of switching to art too fast? I had justified the change in the lesson plan to myself, like a proper teacher, but I was well aware of the fact that I was skipping several activities which should have taken place before art. When nobody was looking, I allowed myself to bite my lip, and then quickly checked if all the children were properly seated. Everybody was waiting for the following activity in peace. Well, everyone but Peter. But at least he had stopped mumbling and humming.

I distributed drawing papers to all the children, even to Peter. I placed his paper on the floor, right next to him.

‘You can join us when you wish,’ I said, simply to say something, but when I returned to my desk, I noticed that he had picked up his paper.

The introduction into my art activity began – carefully concocted, a bit overly ambitious for four-year-olds, but I was driven by dreams, so I tried to coax them into another prepared activity, while they were pinned in their chairs. By the time we had used my posters to sort out fruit from vegetables, main courses from condiments, breakfast from lunch and supper, boiled food from raw, even the chairs had become quite ‘spiky’. Children can smell a fraud, and they never forgive you for being dull! An empty piece of paper with no crayons in your hand can feel pretty uncomfortable! It only took a couple of minutes before I was trying, in vain again, to be louder than the kids, whether the impatient little artists or the non-artistic types. Logically, what followed was another session of Peter’s humming.

Despair and fear made me simplify the art task, all with the excuse of adapting to children. Oh, what a naive action – making it easy for the children only to make it easy for myself, and only to achieve a bit fat zero! I let them draw their favourite food. I distributed coloured pencils to everybody, even Peter, and asked each child to tell me what they would draw. They all bragged loudly about their future food masterpieces, except for Peter who kept totally quiet. However, he took his coloured pencils, lay down on the carpet and placed the paper in front of him. I had planned to devote 15 minutes to my chosen song, having prepared a detailed choreography to it for the sake of their physical activity; I was now blasting the song as a mere audio background, trying not to make eye contact with my mentor. The only ones carefully listening to the song were the kids who would sit in the first row in first grade, right close to the teacher. The others were telling their stories, colouring, doodling, some on their papers and some on the desks. I was trying to gulp down a cocktail made from my ego, pride, education and inexperience, slightly spiced up with the bitter flavour of frustration. The calmest person in the entire situation was Peter. He had leaned over his paper with his entire torso, and kept drawing with fervour.

I tried not to think negatively about the outcome of my exam and I looked at the clock. There was no way I could prolongue the drawing any longer as tiny artists are people with instant and explosive inspiration, so their art activity itself only lasted for a brief period.  Panic was drowning me in the kaleidoscope of my lesson plan, in which beginning and end had blended into a mush. The children started bringing me finished art assignments for appraisal, and I collected them with a weak grin.

‘So what will you do now? What’s next? How will you slam dunk this exam, genius?’ My own ego mocked me.

Help came out of the blue, with an accompaniment of somewhat loud mumbling which reached me from the backdrop of this tiny bunch of outstretched hands and artwork.

‘Oh, Pete, stop it!’

‘Miss, Pete’s pushing me!’

‘Stop mumbling, Pete! Move!’

But Peter would not be swayed. He reached me and placed his artwork on top of the pile. He looked at me. Straight into me. The children went quiet waiting for my reaction, and Peter withdrew into the back of the room, into his own world on the edge of the carpet.

There was not one drawing on Peter’s paper. There were 12 of them. Peter had drawn every single meal his friends had loudly announced as their favourite. The drawings were beautiful, in clear colours and shapes and completely recognizable. The only thing that confused me were dots next to each drawing – he added something like a littly black cloud next to some, and sun next to the others. And then it hit me! It didn’t take me long – after all, I was a model student, even if the teacher this time was a boy, a very special little boy.

‘And now we are all going to sit in a circle to see the most impportant thing,’ I announced with a victorious feeling.

My eyes, open wide and enthusiastic, gathered the little artists on the carpet in the blink of an eye. I lifted their artworrk and asked.

‘Let me hear it now – which of your favourite meals are heathy food, and which not so much?’

The little wisemen were full of advice copied from the adults they knew. IN the end, we assembled all their drawings in two collages – healthy and not-so-healthy food. We even sang our song. It contained a lyric about healthy and unhealthy food. It was their favourite lyric to sing out. Even Peter.

I passed my exam, with the help of my little knight who appeared just when things had gotten ‘spiky’. My mentor told me it was the very last activity that saved the day. Of course it did – it was so special.

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The magic AFTER reading

“Everyone always talks about the magic that happens when a child reads a book or hears the story. I love it, too. But do you want to know what my favourite moment is? It is when children finish reading the story and step out of it, bringing the magic with them into the real world. When they finish Alice in Wonderland and realize there is always more than one way of looking at the world. When they read The Little Prince and know the box can contain anything you wish – it is all up to us. There are so many stories which can empower us all to be better and stronger versions of ourselves. May we all find them and spread that magic to the world. “
(From the afterword of Spikes for Hank,
#parenting #rhyme #story #kidlit #educational #teaching #autumn #winter #ebook

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A fun new children’s funbook!

It is funny how giddy I feel over this new project!

This is a special funbook edition of the story Winky’s Colours, prepared by the author who is also a teacher and a parent. Apart from the original story about Winky, this funbook is also filled with worksheets, riddles, colouring pages and wordgames, and all the illustrations are black&white. Have fun!

Winky is a little penguin who lives his life with a black&white family in nature filled with black, white and gray. All he dreams of are colours! So one day he decides to leave his home and go on an expedition to find colours. He will meet friends, face life-risking adventure and find more than he expected.
#childrensbook #learning

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Yahooty Who? – my review

I stumbled upon this cute book in my search and downloaded it based on the very optimistic cover and blurb.

Although primarily driven by beautiful illustrations and a cute little house ‘elf’ Yahooty, the wonderful visual aspect of the story is accompanied successfully with lovely rhyme, which flows smoothly for the most part. The story itself does not contain a traditional plot, but is phrased as suggestive questions for the little readers (or listeners). I enjoyed the playful tone, lots of useful vocabulary which will help expand the children’s own, and the repetitive pattern which will definitely engage the kids.

Yahooty must be in kahootz with parents though, especially regarding certain house cleaning tasks, so a parent might even get the idea to get kids to help with cleaning in hopes of actually meeting Yahooty. Just sayin’;).

Book link

PS: found this on their Twitter:

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Learn back from your children


Plant a kiss on your daughter’s forehead
One that says all is well
Even when it’s not
Even when she sees it’s not
But make her believe it
It’s your job
You are her home
Her safe haven
Her parent.

Stroke your son’s hair in passing
A touch that encourages
Even when you have no courage
Even when you feel so weak
But make him believe it
It’s your job
You are his home
His safe haven
His parent.

And when she chirps around happily
With the smile of a thousand suns
Confident beyond any borders
And as tireless as spring
Be proud of your achievement
Don’t be shocked
Don’t be surprised
You’ve taught her life’s joy
Now it’s time to learn back from your daughter.

And when he dares to do the stuff he fears
And when he persists after defeat
Stubborn and brave and happy
And eager to make you proud
Be proud of your achievement
Don’t be tired
Don’t feel drained
You’ve taught him life’s battles
Now it’s time for you to learn back from your son.

Believe it
It’s your job
They are your home
Your safe haven
Your children.


Happy Mother’s Day! Take a nap!

For all the parents out there, especially those who, like my hubbie and me have children who considered sleeping a waste of time, so much so that we dreaded the process of putting them to bed – a comical motherly approach:).

By the way, didn’t you just hate those smug parents who claimed they had so much free time while their kid slept like a log? Free time? Really? What on earth is that?

Free Time

I finally have
A day off from work,
So it’s just the daily routine,
No one goes berserk.

But my heart is pounding
And she feels my fear.
Both she and I know
That nap-time is near.

We’ve done the yummy,
She’s had her bath,
The massage, the cuddling,
The story book path.

Changed the bedsheets this morning,
The music is low.
It’s time to relax
And to dreamland go.

Let’s kiss her cheek
And in her crib she can lie.
I’ll give her the Bambi
And say bye-bye.

She looks at me sternly,
With wide open eyes.
I just know in a second
I’ll be hearing her cries.

So I sit and pretend
I am reading a book,
But I just can’t resist
Taking a look.

She’s quietly hugging
Her bottle of milk
And curling softly
Her fair hair of silk.

And I feel such relief
As I sit in my chair.
Let’s just have some coffee
And breathe some calm air.

She should nap for an hour,
Or more if I’m blessed,
Let’s see what I can do
In that time – unstressed.

I could dust the whole house,
Or at least one room
For you can see my dust for miles
Without any zoom.

But wait! What’s that?
Is she sleeping or not?
Is that moaning I hear?
Is that a problem she’s got?

‘Oh mommy, come back,
You can’t leave me here.
I’m so little, come hug me,
Chase away every fear.’

My drama queen starts
Her anti-nap show.
It will last and last,
This I just know.

‘Mommy is here,
Go back to sleep.
And Bambi is here,
And his dreams are deep.

Here’s a big, big hug
And another kiss, too.
Don’t worry, dear, mommy
Is looking after you.’

A sob and a blink,
And she’s lying again.
Perhaps this time it works
And she reaches her zen.

I’m back in my plan-mode,
Stitching a sock.
The laundry is on now,
And I glance at the clock.

If she sleeps now,
I can just finish lunch,
And some work brought home,
As there’s always a crunch.

And minutes like hours
To me they can seem.
There’s so much to do,
But she just won’t dream.

For she’s back on her feet now
With a loud complaint.
She bangs on her crib fence.
(She might hit her head and faint!)

‘Oh mommy, you’re here!
What’s that over there?’
As her chubby fingers follow
Her smiling stare.

‘It’s a photo of your brother,
Just like every other day.
Now lie down and sleep,
And please, just – stay!’

‘Oh mom, before you go,
Can I just have a hug,
And I promise I’ll sleep
As snug as a bug.’

Her smile is like honey
So I quickly fly back,
And I hug her and kiss her,
And touch the curl on her neck.

And I lay her back gently.
She closes her eyes.
And I go back to work some,
But she soon screams and cries.

‘Bad dream, bad dream!
Hold me some more.
Take me in your arms
And close that door.’

And I curl up with her
On our big family bed,
And I sing to her and pat
Her warm little head.

I almost fall asleep,
Waiting for her to relax,
When she chuckles and wakes
And once again asks:

‘Oh mommy, please tell me,
what’s that in your nose?
And when I poke your eye,
Why’s it red like a rose?

Oh and, by the way, mommy,
Can’t we just read and play?
It’s so boring to lie down
And do nothing all day!’

‘But you must sleep, dear,
so your body can grow.
You’re just a baby,
You need sleep, you know.’

‘But what if I miss stuff
While I’m taking a nap?
Plane sounds or a phone call,
A fly buzz or jingle rap?

It’s so dull here in bed-
Nothing to smash, chew or push!
And you’re no fun either.
And you keep saying shush.’

‘Come to the kitchen with me
and let’s check on our meal!
But then – it IS bedtime!’
‘OK, mum, it’s a deal!’

My back is so sore,
But I carry her there,
Lunch is ready, work can wait,
She’s the one who needs care.

We go back to her crib,
She lies smiling and content,
And she closes her eyes.
(Will I regret and repent?)

I’m almost at the door,
But it’s ‘Mommy, mommy, mommy!’
‘What now???’ ‘A bellybutton –
right here on my tummy!’

After finding mine,
She’s out like a light,
But if I want it to last,
I’ll keep my fingers crossed tight.

Quick! Do I still have time?
Wash my hair, legs need wax,
For when hubbie gets home
He’ll be wanting some sex.

Boy, she’s sleeping – a wonder!!!
Can I still fix son’s shoes?
He messed up the bottoms
When he fell and got bruised.

He’ll be back in ten minutes
From his playtime with a pal!
Hope he doesn’t come screaming
And wakes up my sweet gal!

‘Hey, mom, I am home!
What’s for lunch? Starving here!’
There he is, and so is she-
Wide awake with a sneer!

But OK, I’ve done stuff!
One leg waxed, and hair wet,
Laundry done, work delayed,
But a simple lunch is set.

Kids are chatting and smiling,
Even hubbie is home.
As for me, well, at least-
I made this li’l old poem!

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Visiting award-winning author Ashley Uzzell with my book Spikes for Hank

It is such a rare privilege to be a guest on a blog with a children’s book. So happy Hank made it:)

Thank you, Ashley Uzzell!

By the way, if any of you enjoy wordsearches, this book has its own here: and it’s free:)

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Franky the Finicky Flamingo by Wanda Luthman – my review

What a lovely children’s book, fun for kids and helpful to parents whose children are fussy about food.

In a very gentle way, through rhyme and colourful illustrations, without laying blame or preaching, the author guides us, along with Franky, to the realization why food is important (I love the metaphor about the colour fading, which is also why the illustrations are rich in colour elsewhere). Furthermore, the children are shown that not all kinds of food are good for everyone, and the goal is to find what is healthy for your particular body and lifestyle.

Eating suitable and healthy food lets you live an active, fun-filled life, and share your adventures with your friends nd family. And keep your ‘colours’:). I can see this book used by parents, teachers, even nutritionists, especially in kindergartens. Another good one, Ms Luthman!


Spirit comes in so many ways

It is amazing how many inspiring people appear in our lives when we need them to. One of them, for me, is Kristina Kuzmic. I just watched this video and it reminded me of something.

There are so many things to relate to here♡. Years ago, my son had to write an essay about me for school. Now, he isn’t a fan of writing, but his conclusion is something I will always remember – ‘My mum is the kind of person who likes to create, to make something new out of old stuff, to make something out of nothing. That’s what I love about her.’ (Loosely translated from Croatian here;). The point is he was so right – I believe that is the very essence of me, and he caught it so well. Even though I do not often feel strong, powerful and inspiring, his words come to mind when my lows hit, and they lift me up to try again and again. I hope he keeps thinking of me this way. Isn’t it amazing when you want to be, or keep being, the person your children believe you are?

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About love

Sometimes I even surprise myself.

New #poetry book – my #Christmas surprise – #ebook is #free


No words are needed

Your smile

Your touch

Your scent

Your glance

Just the thought of you

I hear music

I am happy

And free

And home

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