The glue stick under the clover tree

I'm on my hands and knees in a classroom where the linoleum keeps turning to grass. Every nap mat I unfold becomes a bed of clover, and the kids are grown now but they still hold my hand like they're five. I'm digging for a glue stick I lost a decade ago, and when I finally find it there's a note stuck to the cap that just says "okay," and somehow that's enough.