What is nap time like, this year?

The quiet one.
He surprises me by singing loudly, a medley of our classroom jingles:

• "Everybody's safe, everybody learns, everybody builds the community..."
• "Find your square and sit right down..."
• "Big Cats! Let's line up!"

I shush him, reminding him - it is nap time.

"Settle down, hon, it is time for nap. Let's take care of one another. Shush!"

To no avail.

The singing keeps on.

Is it louder?!

I get him up from his cot and walk him outside the classroom, into the hallway. I crouch down, looking at him eye to eye, and remind:

"John, we are quiet at nap. You cannot talk, sing, or be loud at nap."

He asks, "You take me for walk?"

Ahhh.

He has seen me do this with others.

Me - "No. We are NOT going for a walk. You are able to be quiet and it's time for you to show me quiet. What will you do - sit and be quiet on your cot, or lie down and sleep and be quiet? Those are your two choices."

"Sit and be quiet," he says demurely, resignedly.

Me - "Okay, good. Let's go back in."

I am so proud of him. I am so proud of me. Yay! Mutual understanding, mutual respect achieved.

We walk quietly to his cot, he sits down, and before I can even walk away, he sings loudly - bellows, really -

"A, B, C, D, E, F, G..."

Sweet cheeses!

Game over.

Preschoolers are powerful beings.

SOLSC #4: How much do we need one another?

I am participating in the
March 2018 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOLSC).
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day, every day for thirty-one days.

A big thank you to Two Writing Teachers for providing this unique opportunity

for teacher-writers to share and reflect.

I am thinking about how much we need one another as teachers, how essential it is to have colleagues who can let you vent, let you share about something, give you another set of hands or eyes, offer a new perspective. Just this past week, a quick conversation in the staff room gave me fresh insight, a new technique, a whole new approach. 

This little girl, she is so so so challenging. She doesn't have words when things don't go her way. So, instead, big tantrums occur. Chairs are tossed. Toys are thrown. Pictures, signs, posters are torn down from the wall.

I'm pretty good at preventing. I'm pretty good at deciphering just what might set her off, and how we might adjust the routine and our interactions with her, so that she is more successful. I am working closely with the family; I have sought insight from speech professionals; and I have had folks in to observe her. The reality with a young child, the preschool year is often the start of interventions...this is a process that is just beginning. In the meanwhile, we love her dearly and are helping her find her words.

Even so, the tantrums have been ratcheting up.

My colleagues see me with her, know the challenges I am having, and often help me in the moment. This one morning, after I had soothed my little friend after another tantrum outburst, I slipped into the staff room to get more hot water for my tea, and said to a colleague, "Wow, it's only 10 am, and I am already worn. More tea needed!" She had just helped me the day before with this little girl and she said, "Does it seem like she is having tantrums for everything, whether big or small? It's as if she doesn't want you to speak for her." I said, "Oh, yes, she is having many more tantrums. You are right," and I walked away.

That phrase, "...she doesn't want you to speak for her" wove through the recesses of my mind all day long and into the night. First thing in the morning, my eyes opened wide.


She doesn't want us to speak for her.
She doesn't want us to THINK for her.
She realizes she doesn't have agency.
She doesn't want her friends to misunderstand her.
She doesn't want teachers to soothe her.
It's actually a sign that she is more engaged in the classroom.
It's actually a sign that she is determined to interact with her classmates and teachers.
SHE WANTS TO COMMUNICATE AND CANNOT.
SHE IS VERY VERY VERY VERY VERY FRUSTRATED.

Oh my goodness.

I have gotten so consumed by the work of her that I forgot to notice her hard work.

It is NOT "she has to stop having tantrums and learn to take five deep cleansing breaths," it is she has to learn how to say "I want...", "I need...", "I like...", "I have...", and know she is being heard and not simply directed.

When oral language is missing, let's give her sign language. That very day, our school therapist shared with me the hand motions for "I want!" and all that day I jumped to her side and said, "I want!" with the hand signs, as she struggled in relationships with her peers, filling in the noun as needed.

I saw her body relax.

The tantrums aren't gone,
but there is a softening, an understanding, a hopefulness.

Thanks to insight from a colleague.

Tuesday SOL: Where do you find grace?

I am participating in the
Tuesday Slice of Life.
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day.

A big thank you to Two Writing Teachers for providing this unique opportunity

for teacher-writers to share and reflect.

It was your typical hectic mid-day...the infamous 'lunch to nap transition' in the preschool classroom: tables needing to be cleared of trash and wiped down, cots being carried to their special napping spots, several preschoolers lingering over their last vestiges of lunch, postponing the inevitable, others are in the bathroom, last stop before sleep, and a random few more are idle, restless, waiting to land on their cots...lots of moving parts, varied noises, and everyone at different stages of readiness for that impending darkened, quiet room of sleepers.

John, my wily friend, my boundary tester, cannot simply sit back and wait, he must jump from cot to cot. I call out, "John, your cot is down, you may sit on it with a book while you wait for others to be ready for nap." He heads that way, but sees another cot to jump on. Me, again, this time more succinctly - "John, your cot!" He continues dancing on the cot and begins to sing, 

I've got peace like a river,

I've got peace like a river,

Just as I start to chastise him again for his continued jumping, up walks Annie, who always does the right thing and can often be found observing the antics of others with quiet fascination. (I've often wondered what tales she shares with her family about her day in the Big Cats.) I swallow my next reprimand and simply watch Annie with John, to see what she might do or say with him. Annie doesn't typically confront others; she's not a tattler or a meddler or 'the righteous one' or any of these other roles that children might fall into when learning to be with others. She's a happy young friend who enjoys following our routine and, to date, has found no reason not to do so. 

I wonder, is Annie going to reinforce the rules with John?

Annie walks right up to John and says, "we gotta do hand motions" (well, it sounded more like "hanmossa") and then she sits down on the cot...he stops his wild dancing and sits down next to her, with a bright "Okay!" and they begin the song again, adding hands motions to the words...

I've got peace like a river,

I've got peace like a river,

I've got peace like a river,

in my soooouuuuul!

These two sweet beings, so different from one another - one always testing boundaries and one always sticking to them...there they were sitting together on a third child's napping cot, in the midst of mid-day mayhem, singing a folk song...how to describe the unexpected preciousness of this moment? John is beaming at her, so delighted to have her friendship in this moment, and Annie is equally delighted in him. They are happy companions. And, look - there is no more wild jumping or running...there's no more reprimanding voice of a teacher...Annie has made magic happen, changing the frenetic, haphazard tone of the classroom into one of charmed togetherness.

Classmates wandered over and began to sing with them. After one moment of surprise, when I simply smiled at the scene, I easily finished my chore of putting down all the cots, while the children sang.

This is my goal for the new year - to notice these moments of grace all around me. In the preschool classroom, they are bounteous.

I've got peace like a river,

I've got peace like a river,

I've got peace like a river,

in my soul.

I've got joy like a fountain

I've got joy like a fountain

I've got joy like a fountain

in my soul.

I've got love like an ocean

I've got love like an ocean

I've got love like an ocean

in my soul.

Happy New Year, everyone!

Tuesday SOL: What to do now?

I am participating in the
Tuesday Slice of Life.
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day.

A big thank you to Two Writing Teachers for providing this unique opportunity

for teacher-writers to share and reflect.

When it happened, I was totally caught off guard. We were visiting a new playground, with many big, long, fun slides. I called for the preschoolers to line up, we needed to head back to school.
She didn't want to leave the playground.
She doesn't have the verbal skills to tell me.
So, she spoke with her body, throwing herself onto the ground, squirming and moaning, refusing.
Ahhh.
Everyone else lined up.
Of course, this challenging behavior appears when we weren't at the school playground. No, we were at the faraway playground, near the community center, back across the football field, with many, many, many steps to get back to school.

What to do?

Response #1

I encouraged her,
"Let's go, hon. Yes, those slides were fun. We are going to come back soon. Right now, we need to go in."
"No! No! No!" That's all she could offer. And the tantrum on the ground continued.

Response #1 - Fail.

What to do?

Response #2:

I beckoned her partner to come over, encouraging him, "Tell her that you need her to hold your hand, you need your partner, to walk safely back to school."
Her line partner said, "Here, okay?" and held out his hand. Preschoolers can get their meaning across with very few words! Alas, Little Miss Refusal was still not going to walk, even with an invite from a friend. She ignored the extended hand of her classmate and continued the tantrum on the ground, with another chorus of "No! No! No!" I realized the line partner was now looking at me, with eyes that were a little vulnerable and uncertain, as if to say "wait, is it better to stay and tantrum like this? Should I skip the line up, too?" I asked him to go back to the line, to hold my co-teacher's hand...I dared not have a domino effect, with other preschoolers refusing to budge.

Response #2 - Fail.

The preschoolers begin the procession back to school.
Except for her.

What to do?

Response #3:

"Let's go, little one, time to go back, we'll be the caboose," and I picked her up and carried her, stopping every now and again when my body tired out, re-inviting her to walk with me. Each pause resulted in more of the same challenging behavior -  shouts of "No! No! No!" and throwing herself full throttle onto the ground. Oh my. Is it my imagination, or is she the biggest child in the class? This was heavy lifting! (Of course, she did absolutely nothing to lighten my load, but everything to increase it's difficulty - writhing and wriggling the whole way.)

Response #3 - Success. Imperfect, but we were all headed back to school. Oh well.

Never go head to head with a preschooler.

There is nothing like the stubbornness and determination of a preschooler.

So frustrating, at times.

As I walked, carrying my heavy load, my mind raced through my options, ways to respond better next time, ways to get the desire I wanted - for her to walk on her own two feet.
What was the logical consequence? What made sense right then?
No, there's no point in yelling or throwing a tantrum myself.
We all have to move together, stay together, our entire class.
We're on a schedule.

What was the logical consequence for this challenging behavior? What made sense right then?
It's not like I could leave her on the playground.
Should I have signaled her earlier than the others, given her a heads up?
Did she feel that we didn't have enough time to play?

What was the logical consequence for this challenging behavior? How could I help her see the error of her ways? What made sense right then?
Should I not let her go to the playground next time?
No. I believe children need their outdoor play almost every bit as much as they need food and sleep. Also, we weren't going back to that playground for several days. Would she even remember? Would she make the connection?

What was the logical consequence for this challenging behavior? What made the most sense right then?

Even after all these years of teaching preschoolers, the answer eludes me. 

Sometimes you just make do. 

And give yourself a five minute break, once you return inside. Deep cleansing breaths.

I remind myself, one time is not a pattern.

Count my blessings that she was the ONLY tantrum on the walk back.

I am going to hesitate the next time we head out on that adventure.

On the plus side, this job is keeping me in shape! I have to be able to lift 30-40 lbs at a moment's notice!

Tuesday SOL When to walk away?

I am participating in the
Tuesday Slice of Life.
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day.

A big thank you to Two Writing Teachers for providing this unique opportunity

for teacher-writers to share and reflect.

One particular child has been giving my Teaching Resident a "run for her money." This little friend has decided that he will not participate in our daily ritual clean up of the classroom. When Sweet Honey in the Rock sings their delightful cue for everyone to stop playing and instead put things away, this preschooler makes a tighter grip on the toys in his hand and scoots under one of our classroom tables to hide. 

If you weren't responsible for all these preschoolers, if you weren't hoping to get the room cleared so that the day could continue with lunch and nap, maybe if you were simply there as a spectator to observe children's different approaches to clean up, I suppose you might find his antics pretty hilarious. However, the Teaching Resident does feel responsible for all these preschoolers. She has been openly wondering, How can I motivate him? What motivates him? What is so difficult about clean up? Shouldn't preschoolers be expected to help clean up their own things? Isn't following through on routine an important skill? 

As soon as the music starts, he hides under the table. The Teaching Resident has tried so many different tactics - 

taking him aside at the outset of the day and calmly stating expectations for clean up [he assures her that 'no, he will not clean']; 

taking him out from under the table and trying to guide him through the clean up, with teacher as his partner [he cries throughout the process]; 

giving him a partner to clean with [he folds his arm and continues to refuse - once, the partner joined him under the table to hide!]; 

giving him a heads up for the clean up, a gentle warning, so that he might complete his playing before cleaning [this just made him go under the table earlier]; and, of course, 

talking to his family about this recalcitrance [as the baby of the family, cleaning up one's things isn't a big expectation at home].

This little preschooler is the Teaching Resident's best teacher. He is "Exhibit A," illustrating the art of teaching - there is no one script to follow in guiding students, nothing you teach will ever go 'perfectly,' and it is essential to build good connections with each student. 

When the Teaching Resident asked for my advice about this little stinker, she shared how she finds herself thinking about him in the evenings, frustrated at her inability to figure this out. I think it is really terrific that she wrestles with this. I complimented her on how many different tactics she has tried. She has taken time to reflect, to look at it from different perspectives. He is telling us that he really, really, really doesn't want to do something. 

I believe - when we go head-to-head with a child, I think we have already lost. For whatever reason, he has dug his heels in about this expectation. Digging one's heels is the most power a preschooler ever has. I suggested a moratorium on the expectation of clean up for this one child. Yes. What if we simply ignore the challenging behavior and work on building a strong connection with him? What would happen if we let go of this specific expectation (wordlessly, without any fanfare) and engaged with him in more positive ways, for example working and playing beside him, asking questions, having conversation, being joyful? Dare to let it go. 

What will we notice? 

Reminds me of Kenny Rogers' song "The Gambler,"

You've got to know when to hold 'em

Know when to fold 'em

Know when to walk away

And know when to run.

sol17-19 What am I to do?

I am participating in the
Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOLSC).
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day, every day of March 2017. 

A big thank you to Two Writing Teachers for providing this unique opportunity
for teacher-writers to share and reflect.

What Am I To Do?

(a poem about challenging behavior in the preschool classroom)

He's thirty pounds of goading

You cannot believe he could

Sweetest little face and eyes

He will not do what he should.

He pours lunch milk on the floor,

Slowly dumps out all the blocks,

Takes special toys from his friends,

And runs when it's time to walk.

Of course, when the lights go out

and the slow nap music plays

He is now singing loudly 

tapping his foot, like a stage.

Shh! Shh! Take care! Please! Be kind!

I plead in so many ways

"Head, Shoulders, Knees" he now sings

The song we practiced today.

He's thirty pounds of goading

You cannot believe he could

Sweetest little face and eyes

He will not do what he should.

Tuesday SOL: What about restorative practices?

This is a Tuesday
Slice of Life.
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day. 

Check out the Two Writing Teachers website for many more reflections on teaching.

This school year, my school is exploring restorative practices. Although we have not had any formal training (the school is working on arranging this), we are taking the leap of faith just the same. We were each given a copy of The Restorative Practices Handbook to read, and a couple of our back-to-school professional development sessions focused on this topic. I am so excited for us! I know there is so much to learn still, but it delights me that we are refusing to be a 'zero tolerance' or 'no excuses' school - we are, instead, focusing on the needs of the individual child, and guiding them to a deeper level of thinking. 

What is Restorative Practice?

The fundamental premise of restorative practices is that people are happier, more cooperative and productive, and more likely to make positive changes when those in authority do things with them, rather than to them or for them.

The International Institute for Restorative Practices and Restorative Works: Learning Network are two fabulous resources for more information on this approach. There are suggestions to ask the child with the challenging behavior:

What happened?

What were you thinking of at the time?

What have you thought about since?

Who has been affected by what you have done? In what way?

What do you think you need to do to make things right?

There are suggestions to ask the child(ren) who have been harmed by other's actions:

What did you think when you realized what had happened?

What impact has this incident had on you and others?

What has been the hardest thing for you?

What do you think needs to happen to make things right?

It means so much to have an entire staff consider this practice. Not simply the lead teachers. Not some random or elective course taken by a few teachers. Not some book read by one staff person and suggested for others. Everyone. Administrators. Teachers, both new and experienced. Teaching Assistants. Specials teachers.

Our discussions have been vibrant: what is it? how long will it take? what will it look like? will we say the wrong thing? how will we work in circles? what will a restorative circle look like? how will we communicate this philosophy to our families?  I believe most of us already see how our school's approach to children dovetails beautifully with restorative practice. We believe in teaching "the whole child." We know that in most discipline situations, there is a whole lot of "gray" - who or what instigated this? what else is going on in the child's life? are there extenuating factors? where is the child developmentally? We know that there is not one solution to misbehaviors. 

I think restorative practices are so respectful of children - of everyone. I believe it is rich with relationship-building between teacher and students. I know it is not going to be perfect - human relations are messy. I loved my principal's advice -

"Yes, it may not work quickly AND we don't give up. Humble yourself...most problems are resolved on a kid's timeframe." 

Here goes! A new practice underway! Happy new school year!

SOLSC #17 What is the right thing to say or do?

During the month of March, I am participating in
the Slice of Life Story Challenge.
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day, every day for thirty-one days. My slices will be primarily about teaching preschoolers.

Check out the Two Writing Teachers website for many more reflections on teaching.

I think disciplining three year olds is a bit of a leap of faith...even after all these years, I am often puzzled by how best to respond. 

I have a little girl who has been practicing spitting. Not sure why this is a skill she needs, but I'm sure you can predict where it is heading. She sits down on our playground bench with our Teaching Assistant, and has a friendly conversation, when all of a sudden she puckers up and lets go - spitting at TA and hitting her directly in the face (yes, this is the day she finally masters her skill). TA is boiling mad, I mean, who wouldn't be? But there is no room for angry reactions amongst teachers, even teachers who have been spit in the face, so she calmly stammers - That was not okay! You just spit at me! I need a break from you! 

Well, guess how the preschooler reacts to this reprimand? She jumps up off the bench and bursts into tears, and then grabs two fistfuls of mulch and throws them at the TA. Again, I say to you - what are you supposed to do? How are you supposed to react? Truly, some days, teaching preschoolers requires the patience of a saint.

[What is the child thinking? Honestly, I think that she is the kind of child who doesn't like to make mistakes, doesn't like to be reprimanded. Possibly, she spit by accident, but to have it pointed out and admonished by this teacher she loves is just too much to bear. So, she truly makes matters worse. This is the thinking of a preschooler.]

TA walks away in frustration, and I intervene.

"Oh my, what is happening?"

The child simply cries.

"Hold my hand, you and I are going to be together now on the playground. We need to talk."

I let her calm down, because one cannot have a meaningful conversation with anyone of any age in the midst of a tantrum. She becomes calm when we are back inside, expectant that she will go straight into playing in centers with her classmates. However, I insist, "You need to make amends to TA. Spitting is very, very yucky. You need to find out if she is still hurting. You need to check in on her."

"No! she yells back, and the crying resumes.

[Am I putting too much pressure on this little one? The spitting is hard to ignore. The consequence needs to make an impression on the child, in hopes that the behavior isn't repeated. It's not fair to my colleague, to do simply let her 'get a pass,' to allow her to go right back to playing. We are all frustrated by this child's behavior. And what of the child? Will she finally see this spitting behavior as unacceptable? All these thoughts race through my mind, but basically I am stymied by this child's stubbornness and refusal. How to let her feel less embarrassed and yet make amends? I am not a fan of 'forced apologies' yet I wonder if this is what is needed here, so that the child begins to appreciate what it means to repair, to take responsibility for one's actions.]

I bring her over to the easel. "I'm going to let you paint a picture for TA. I'm working in the art center, too, so you just hang out here at the easel until you are ready. I'll give you space. This will make a nice 'I'm sorry' gift." 

One more time she yelled, "No!", but she was now standing in front of fresh paints at the easel. I just let her be, tried not to look her way, tried to stay busy with other children, but I stayed right nearby. About five minutes later, she called out to me - "Ms. Ingram, I painted a beautiful picture."

I walked over to see, and to talk to her a little more.

"I like this. I see it is yellow, your favorite color. Tell me about it."

She says, "I made something, I wanted to make it for her." I wrote those words on the paper, and continued questioning - "Why did you want to make it for her?"
"Because I want to make her feel better." I wrote those words down, too, and pried further -
"What made her feel badly?"

The apology note

"I spit." [BINGO! Ownership! What I was after!!] and I continued "I am so glad that you are admitting this. Yes, you did. And now you have painted a picture to make her feel better. Should we tell TA anything else?" then she added, "I promise, no more spitting." I wrote these words on the picture, too.

One moment of foolishness, one moment of lapse,
requires so many more moments of reflection and healing. This is the reality of teaching preschoolers, trying to help them see that their actions affect others. It is a work in progress.

One last note - after she presented the picture to TA who thanked her for the picture and her promise, the little girl asked brightly,

"May I take the picture home to show my Mom and Dad?"

This made me chuckle. Yes, please do, and may they continue the teaching.

Tuesday SOL: What to say?

This is a Tuesday Slice of Life for Two Writing Teachers. 

Check out their website for many more reflections on teaching.


______________________________

I have written many "Slices of Life" over the past few years, loving this regular Tuesday 'meeting' of teacher-writers. I notice that I am now much more aware of meaningful moments in my teaching day. Here is one from this past week, celebrating my colleague, who just happened by my classroom in a moment of need and provided much needed support.

In the classroom, I work actively to 'catch children being good,' but, wow, how relentless and unceasing petty physical behaviors can be some days. 

• He pushes aside a classmate, sitting in the very front for the read-aloud, because he needs to be up front. 
• She envelops her classmate in an unrelenting and undesired hug, because - well, I don't know why, precisely. Simply because she can?
• He shoves a classmate out of her way, in an effort to be first in line at the door.

These challenging behaviors are frequent and commonplace amongst preschoolers. It is mostly developmental - preschoolers are fascinated by their peers but have very little experience being with so many others. And, here they are, right in the midst of many others. What else is one to do, when one wants something? Why not just make it happen? Push, pull, grab, as need be.

My tongue becomes twisted and muddled, incapable of finding any positive for these little snowplows in collision mode. Working alongside a beginning teacher, I am constantly aware that I am a role model for words, technique, style, more. Does she see why I ignored that small annoying behavior? Does she notice that I intervened just then? Does she recognize how we are helping children to get along with one another?

Every day, every moment, there is a lot going on.

Into one of these physical days enters my colleague Brandi,

and she instinctively, automatically, beautifully models 

the perfect interaction for the children, showing them how to listen to one another, and

the perfect teacher voice for all adults in the room, not simply reacting but guiding children's behavior.

Scene:

A very physical preschooler pulls her friend away from another classmate, grabs her hand, and insists she be her partner in our line; the friend yells "Stop!" but the preschooler ignores this and keeps pulling.

Brandi just happened to be there for this interaction. 

Without a moment's hesitation, she says, calmly, to the very physical preschooler:

"When she says 'stop', you 'let go'."

The very physical one stares back, wide-eyed, still holding on tightly to her friend.

Brandi repeats:

"When she says 'stop', you 'let go'. It looks like this . . ."  

(she then playfully dramatizes for the children how to let go of holding another and then throwing her hands up in the air freely).

The preschooler immediately stopped pulling on her classmate.

Beautiful discipline.

She stayed in the moment,

slowed down the interaction,

clarified the right behavior to do, 

emphasized the essentialness of listening to one's peers 

(this is so much more important than simply following the commands of an adult),

modeled being calm, upbeat, and clear in expectations, and,

waited for the preschooler to follow through,
all while being in joyful relationship with the children.

Beautiful.

Tuesday SOL I'm just a bad boy

This is a Tuesday Slice of Life for Two Writing Teachers. 

Check out their website for many more reflections on teaching.

******

Often,
by Friday,
preschoolers are just
'tuckered out'...
nothing left to give.
This past Friday was no different,
with at least one little guy
'falling apart',
inexplicably hurting his classmates,
provoking others,
being defiant to me.
Rather than head out to the playground with everyone else,
I suggested he stay in with me for a few minutes,
while I made myself a cup of tea.

"Let's chat, you and me, spend some time together."

"Okay, Ms. Ingram. I didn't want to go outside anyway." (Just a slight amount of petulance in that voice, letting me know he was still in charge.)

"Sweetie, I wonder what's going on.
You seem to be making some unkind choices today -
your friends have gotten very sad when playing with you."

"Oh, Ms. Ingram! Last night, and at breakfast,
I keep hearing
I'm making
bad decisions!
bad decisions!
bad decisions!
That's all anyone is saying!"

Oh my! This was quite a confidence to share with me! I immediately understood what was going on. He'd had a tough evening the night before, followed by a tough morning. The little guy I was spending time with at school was very much the same friend at home.

"You did not have a happy breakfast? You know what I think, I think your family loves you very much...and we love you here in school, too…we all feel very sad when you are unkind to us."

"But I just like myself!" he retorted.

Oh, to be three years old. You feel so important and in charge and yet, I suspect, fully aware of how little you really get to decide. Ever.

I soothed, "Okay, I'll give you a little space."

He settled into the cozy chair while I searched for my tea cup.
Just a moment later, there was a mournful wail…

"I don't get to watch a movie before bed tonight!', he sobbed.

With that, I sat down with him in the cozy chair and just held him for a few minutes.

Sometimes it is really tough to be a preschooler. His earlier actions had stretched a long, punitive arm into the evening in front of him. He had been carrying the weight of this all day long. What motivation was there to be anything but grumpy and defiant? His day was over before it had even begun.

That night, I went to see a blues concert. When Charlie Musselwhite crooned the song "I'm Just a Bad Boy", all I could think of was this little guy….

I'm just a bad boy,

Long long ways from home.

I'm just a bad boy,

Long long ways from home.

But I ain't got nobody

I can call my own.

Please stop these challenging behaviors!

There's one part of our new playground where children are continually in competition,
all wanting to use the same piece of equipment.
We call it "the motorcycle,"
with its bike-like seat and
companion chair -
you hop on and rock, rock, rock.
One child is particularly fond of this, heading immediately there as soon as we enter the playground, and
she will spend the playground session on this one seat,
if we let her.

Of course, she's not alone in her interest in this motorcycle,
so a long line of children forms around her and
we practice all sorts of ways to take turns.

I wish there were more than one of these darn motorcycles! I am spending so much time in this vicinity, helping children negotiate the sharing.

The other day, she came running up to me,
smiling with delight, and explaining,
"Ms. Ingram! I let my friends have a turn!"

Every day previous,
after she had been on the motorcycle for a good long while,
I had gone up to her and said,
simply,
"It's time to let your classmates have a turn,"
as I simultaneously extended a hand to help her off the bike.
Usually, she would burst into tears, saying,
"I want to do it! I want to do it!" and
I would persist in helping her off,
throwing in both comfort and teaching words such as,
"I know it would be fun to stay here all day long!"
"Thank you for sharing with your classmates."
"I know you want all your classmates to have a chance to play on the motorcycle."
"I wish there were more motorcycles out here - imagine if there were! How fun would that be!?"

On this fine day,
she had shared the motorcycle on her very own,
without my instigation.
Wowsa!
I gave her a big high-five, saying
 "I am so proud of you - what a great sharer you are!"

When I think about it, there are so many, many small challenging behaviors in a single day in a preschool classroom -

grabbing toys from a classmate
leaving toys and other things on the floor
stepping on books
moving too fast (for example, running in the classroom)
moving too slowly (for example, taking too long to line up, showing no interest in clean up)
hurting a classmate
shouting or screaming
tantrums and crying (with sometimes unknown causes)
misplacing an item
knocking over a toy
and all sorts of refusals, such as refusing to

• share,
• put away one's things,
• do something for oneself (for example, put on one's shoes)

On and on.
Truly, anyone who teaches preschool knows -
this is just the beginning of a list of challenging behaviors…
there is an endless list.

Because these behaviors are so commonplace, daily, and, even, developmentally normal, here's where teacher's voice and overall classroom tone comes into play.

What do I want my classroom to feel like? 
What do I want my children to sense, as they enter my room? As they play alongside me?
How will I respond to these challenging behaviors so that my classroom remains an overall joyful place?

I find it so much more effective and pleasant to lead children to more appropriate behaviors
by focusing on the positive,
by explicitly stating the larger goal,
by giving them a specific action,
rather than simply 'bossing' them into stopping the challenging behavior.

[But - to be honest - there is an internal voice screaming "STOP!"]

One of the things that makes the start of a school year so challenging for me is all the new staff. Each year, we have many new adults because of a new cohort of Teaching Residents, additional new faces at our before and after care programs, and, often, new folks leading the various specials.

And, each year, at the outset of the year, I hear so many reactive voices, and
they are, for me, like fingernails on a chalkboard -
"Stop putting that in your mouth."
"Stop running."
"Pick up those toys."
"Don't say that."
"Don't touch that."
"Give that to your classmate right now."

I understand it completely.
You -the adult - are in the midst of doing something, and
up comes some challenging behavior from the seemingly endless list …

However, I've learned,
no matter what I am doing,
the most important teaching is really my response to these challenging behaviors.

I am their role model and
what I do and say means so much to them.

What do I want them to know and understand?
What is the behavior that I want to stop?
What would I rather see? 
Can I name this replacement behavior?

I try to restate the desired behavior in the most positive action words,
setting positive expectations.

We are all the happier for it!

Tuesday SOL We have mixed emotions

This is a Tuesday "Slice of Life" for Two Writing Teachers. Check out their website for lots more reflections on teaching.

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I am exploring emotions with the children, developing our "emotions continuum." For this, I highlight the different expressions from characters in our read-alouds and have the children consider what that character is feeling. I photocopy each of these pages and add the named emotion as a label. Each of these pages is posted in our comfort corner (so that emotions are in full view, as children work through their various tough moments). I am trying to cultivate their emotional intelligence, to help children "read" their classmates' faces, to see that we often feel differently about things. Slowly but surely, we are learning how to deal with our many emotions - what is appropriate in the classroom, what might not be.  Truly, it feels right now that there is no end to this curriculum topic…that I could spend the year on it! Here are some of the emotions we have identified to date:

"WONDERFUL" -
from the book What A Wonderful World by George David Weiss and Bob Thiele,
illustrated by Ashley Bryan

"HAPPY"

"SCARED"
from the book Owl Babies by Martin Waddell

"SLEEPY"

"SAD"
from the book Dogger by Shirley Hughes

I know the children are working hard to understand these emotions (and feel quite proud to be naming them), because they are talking about emotions pretty much all the time. Our morning hello has become significantly longer, as each shares aloud what they are feeling! It feels to me that they are "ripe" for this learning, that it engages them and supports them, allowing them to see things in a new way.

The children loved the book Those Darn Squirrels by Adam Rubin, and I decided that the main character Mr. Fookwire should be part of our emotions continuum. I showed them the picture:

and we debated what he was feeling. One student said "angry," and I said that we already had the word "ANGRY," from the book Anh's Anger - a picture of Anh's face when his block tower crumbles. (This particular book is a lesson in how to work with one's anger, and we have been practicing breathing deeply to this strong emotion.)

However, I continued with the children,
our picture of Mr. Fookwire was something more than anger, 
perhaps "annoyed" or "furious."
The children seemed unfamiliar with the word "furious," though they made me chuckle with their understanding of "annoyed" - "My dad gets annoyed when he is driving," said one boy. So, we teachers acted out the two words, trying to dramatize the distinction and then the children had quite a debate - was Mr. Fookwire furious or annoyed? We decided to 'vote with our bodies' - have children move to one corner with Mr. Rude (our paraprofessional), if they thought the photo showed "Annoyed," and towards Ms. Kim (our Teaching Resident), in another corner, if they thought it was a better image of "Furious." In the end, we had 14 votes for "Furious" and a mere 8 for "Annoyed," so "Furious" became the picture's label.

The next day, in our physical education special - led by other teachers - the children were in whole group doing some floor exercises, when one little girl hit the little boy next to her - and, by luck, I happened to see it.

He cried out, more in indignation than pain, and I swooped over to see what was going on.

(I frequently wonder how much I miss. Certainly, I can't be expected to see or know what is going on during specials. This makes me wonder, how are other teachers responding to these challenging behaviors? Are we approaching these the same way? Does it matter?)

To her, I said - "Wow, I just saw you hit [Jack]; what is the matter? What happened that made you hit him?" [I tried to speak calmly, objectively, respectfully.]
She replied, "I am feeling furious!"
Uh, oh. There's our new vocabulary out for a drive.
I continued, as gently as I could muster, while embracing the little boy and rubbing his shoulder, and saying to the girl who hit, "Oh my! You look furious. Did [Jack] make you feel furious in some way?"
"Oh, no. I just feel it."
"Oh, well, hmmm, when we feel furious, we need to work out this strong feeling without hurting classmates. We are all safe, in the Big Cats. This is a good time to go to the comfort corner, and breathe - like Anh did, with his anger. You might have to breathe a lot, since you are furious, and not just angry."
"Oh, okay. I'm not furious anymore."
"Oh, that's good. Would you check on [Jack's] body, please? Ask him if he is okay?"

Then, to Jack, I encouraged, "Tell [Annie] that your body is 'not for hurting.' Tell her in your strong voice."

Yes, they keep me on my toes, keep me guessing, keep me wondering.

Is it expecting too much, for preschoolers to explore these emotional words?
Should they be a little older, a little more experienced?
Or is the future brighter, since they are striving to understand these words now?

How much we have to learn!

What about friendship?

The other day, I stepped out of a store only to find several friends of mine having breakfast together at a restaurant's sidewalk table. For one split second, I was immobile - realizing I wasn't included, feeling left out, unsure what to say. Their eyes met mine and we all broke into big smiles, and we shared what we had been up to; they insisted I sit down and join them, and I explained where I needed to be next, said goodbye, and headed on my way.

I look forward to getting together with them soon.

Here I am, beyond mid-life, still sensitive about friendship. Have I been a good friend? Reached out regularly? Been attentive? Been a good listener? Have I been available? 

My preschoolers feel this "tension" about friendship on a daily, constant basis.
These three year olds - some newly three, some closer to four years of age - don't have years of experience to fall back on, as they play with one another.
In fact, for three year olds, this is often their very first experience of playing 'together' - truly, playing together - not simply alongside, as one did as a two year old.
They have a lot of learning to do about friendship.
What does it mean, 
you are building a block road when I want to use the same blocks to build a house? 
What does it mean, 
we are having a tea party and you leave me to play superhero with someone else?
What does it mean, 
when you need more clay and I am using it?
What does it mean, 
when I want to create the puzzle by myself but you keep placing pieces in it?
What does it mean, 
when I bring a special toy from home and you try to take it and play with it?

The children and I,
we are doing lots of talking together.

I am using our whole group discussions to consider -

what can we do when we are frustrated?
how can we be angry and safe at the same time?
how might we share toys?
how might we include another friend in the play?
what can we do to make a sad friend feel better?
what do we say if we want to play? 
how do we join in?
what might you say if… ?

I use read-alouds to share about emotions, friendships, social skills…hoping to build the children's  understanding of what it is to be in community with others.  I use puppets and role-play, too, to reinforce the "how" of getting along with others.

I am the 'guide on the side' during their play,
ever alert to the most difficult moments,
nudging children towards each other, towards various play possibilities,
helping them find words with one another,
challenging them to think about their interactions, especially the effect on others.

Even when I am vigilant,
we've had
crying,
hitting,
pulling,
grabbing,
breaking,
throwing,
pushing,
hurtful, challenging behaviors.


Yes, we are in the thick of this learning right now, and it will go on all year - some moments quite happy, others quite sad.

I am answering families' questions,
quelling their fears,
trying my best to communicate that
these challenging behaviors are a sign that
the children are discovering the most important work of the preschool classroom.

This is our laboratory.

A friendship laboratory.

It is filled with promise.

It is so important to build relationships with others and to keep working at these, regularly. A friendship isn't a static thing - once achieved, you aren't 'done'…in fact, your efforts are just beginning. It is a dynamic process, with a great deal of give and take.

You reach out, a friend reaches out to you,
you make mistakes, you make amends,
you crave to be together, you spend time with others or alone,
you laugh, you listen, you care.

It is the work of threes.
It is the work of adults.

Tuesday SOL Thoughts from our first week together

This is a Tuesday "Slice of Life" for Two Writing Teachers. Check out their website for lots more reflections on teaching.

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Day One, Nicky sat down in his cubby and cried for his family.
He had watched his older sibling come to school here for the past couple of years,
but be here by himself? Without his family? Who thought this up?
James was in tears, too, and clutching his lovey.
It is so hard to say goodbye to family and then stay with these people you don't even know at all, for a whole morning. 
I encouraged James to help me build a road out of blocks,
a road that led to Nicky,
straight to his cubby.
James and I started building and, right away,
James was too busy to cry.
Right away, many others were there to help out - Paxton, Mateo, Henry, Dmitry, Avery.
Nicky watched our every move,
and listened to me, giving the 'play-by-play',
"I wonder if we have enough blocks to reach Nicky? 
To make a road to Nicky?"
Everyone was building, and
soon the road reached Nicky,
who decided to leave his cubby
and join us in our building.

I've had so many sweet, tender moments, this first week of our new school year!

I am touched by their trust and acceptance and overall good humor.
Imagine,
it is all new to them.
Their first time with so many peers.
It might even be their very first experience away from family.

There we are,
three loving adults,
using calm and happy voices,
entreating children to try, play, follow.
And there they are,
all about us,
surrounding us,
following our every move, with
both their eyes and their bodies.

If I grab a book to read,
instantaneously, children reach for book favorites
from the open shelves,
wanting to join in on the process.

If I pick up a broom by the sensory table,
instantaneously, children look for ways to clean the floor,
scurrying to get the sand up,
working diligently,
loving my small, child-size whisk brooms.

If I wash an art container out in the sink,
instantaneously, children mill around me at the sink,
pushing step stools up close,
balancing with classmates on a single stool,
reaching for sponges, getting to the faucet, searching for soap,
seeking ways to wash, as well.

If I set out a toy or project or snack,
instantaneously, children draw up chairs,
begging for a place at the table;
although I may not have explained what will happen,
there they are,
wanting to participate.

They want to do, do, do.


Yes, we have had a few tears,
separating from family,
but mostly, all has been going so well.

I know to keep their hands busy,
giving them plenty to tinker with…
I know to keep the routine clear and moving forward.

Two new friends checking out the family photos.

When the tears flow,
we head out on a walk,
often just me with a little one,
hand in hand,
heading on a simultaneously unnecessary and yet essential task,
"I need your help; would you help me get some paper from the supply room?"

They need to feel needed.
They need a moment, out of the classroom.
They need to be reassured, all will be well.

We are off to a very sweet year.

Tuesday SOL Negotiating strong feelings

 This is a Tuesday "Slice of Life" for Two Writing Teachers. Check out their website for lots more reflections on teaching.
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First, a vent - to think, just a few weeks ago, I was blogging each day; the sheer frequency of it seemed to make me more organized...I don't remember feeling as rushed and almost 'caged' as I do right now - nearly 9 pm, and I haven't made a Tuesday blog post - yieeeee!!! Get on with it, Maureen!

[Yes, the names are fictitious!! But the story is real!]
********

Today, during centers -

She ran up to me and declared, "Ms. Ingram, I am very frustrated, because [Shelby] is mad at me because I don't say his name right, and I told him that this is the only way I can say it, because I can't say it the right way."

She is well aware that she has difficulty articulating the "SH" sound, which - unfortunately for her - is part of his name. Her "SH" is much more like an "S" sound; thus, she says "Selby" not "Shelby."

Me - "Shall we go talk to him, you and I, together?"

"No, I'm not going to play with him."

I wonder if any of my preschoolers have figured out that I believe the main purpose of my work is to help them understand one another? to communicate? to learn to speak up to one another and to listen to one another?

Let the negotiations begin.

I found Shelby, playing by himself with the counting bears. I asked, "Is anything wrong with you and [Kristen]?

He asserted, "Yes, I don't want her to talk to me anymore because she calls me Selby and my name is Shelby."

Two bright, strong-willed preschoolers,
looking for justice,
looking for understanding,
looking for friendship.

Me - "[Kristen] is sad about this. Do you know that [Kristen] is trying really, really hard to say 'Shelby' but that she hasn't quite learned how to say 'Sh'? She is trying to teach her mouth to say 'Sh' but so far it only comes out 'ssssss.' "

Him - "I don't like that. I'm not going to play with her until she says it right. That's my name."

Me - "Yes, this is very important to you. Our names are very important. But, I'm thinking, you don't know how to write your name yet, do you? You know how hard it is for you to hold the pencil, and how frustrated you get, trying to write those words? You want to quit, but, you don't, you keep trying, because you are learning."

He looks at me wide-eyed.

Me - "[Kristen] knows how to write letters. She can write your name very well. And you say your name very well. You both know how to do something very well, and you are both learning something very hard. We are all good at some things and working on some things. [Kristen] is working on saying your name."

"Maybe she could help you learn to write your name and you could help her pronounce your name."

Him - "Or, maybe, if she can't say my name, she can call me a new name!"

I couldn't help chuckling, at the sheer unexpectedness of this. "Well, that is a good idea. What do you think she could call you, in the meanwhile, while she is learning your name?"

Him - "How about 'Mister Blue'? "

I smiled, and echoed, spontaneously, "Mister Blue?!"

We walked over to [Kristen], to share this idea with her - and, my oh my, what a huge grin she had at this suggestion.
"That is a silly idea!," she laughed.
And Shelby laughed, too.
They laughed, together.

Now you see - I have the best job in the world!
I am witness to their compromises,
their growing communication skills,
their budding friendships.
Preschoolers are absolutely delightful!

SOLSC #24 Not the mantras I want repeated

I am posting every day during March as part of the annual "Slice of Life" Challenge for Two Writing Teachers.  Check out their website for lots more reflections on teaching.

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Our walk today was only two blocks long,
on a bright, sunny, though somewhat crispy, cold day.
(40 degrees, I think? Not much wind...
not too bad from my perspective...
I thought the fresh air would do us all some good).

But when we got to the furthest point away from school,
I had three preschoolers
who could not be soothed,
who began to repeat the most annoying mantras,
who didn't care how their words and actions affected the rest of us.
Over and over,
all the way back to school,
making the walk feel so, so, so long,
as they repeated,
and repeated
and repeated:

Child One [refusing to zip up his coat or put on his gloves from his pocket] - I am cold. I am cold. I am cold. I am cold. I am cold. I am cold. I am cold. I am cold. I am cold. I am cold.
Child Two [pulling the walking rope to stop the entire line of classmates] - I don't want to walk this far and I am not going to. I don't want to walk this far and I am not going to. I don't want to walk this far and I am not going to. I don't want to walk this far and I am not going to. I don't want to walk this far and I am not going to.
Child Three [walking backwards]-Why are you saying that? Why are you saying that? Why are you saying that? Why are you saying that? Why are you saying that? Why are you saying that? Why are you saying that?

To me, at the front of the line, I heard:

I am cold. I don't want to walk this far and I am not going to. Why are you saying that? I am cold. Why are you saying that? Why are you saying that?  I don't want to walk this far and I am not going to. I am cold.  I don't want to walk this far and I am not going to. I am cold. Why are you saying that? I am cold. I don't want to walk this far and I am not going to. Why are you saying that? I am cold. Why are you saying that? Why are you saying that?  I don't want to walk this far and I am not going to. I am cold.  I don't want to walk this far and I am not going to. I am cold. Why are you saying that? I am cold. I don't want to walk this far and I am not going to. Why are you saying that? I am cold. Why are you saying that? Why are you saying that?  I don't want to walk this far and I am not going to. I am cold.  I don't want to walk this far and I am not going to. I am cold. Why are you saying that? I am cold. I don't want to walk this far and I am not going to. Why are you saying that? I am cold. Why are you saying that? Why are you saying that?  Idon'twanttowalkthisfarandIamnotgoingtoIamcoldIamcoldWhyareyousayingthat
Idon'twanttowalkthisfarandIamnotgoingtoIamcoldIamcoldWhyareyousayingthat

Yes, it was dreadful.

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(A daily share by preschoolers in their own words)

A Story Collage by Zuren

     The Daddy is trying to get out of a cave. And the bear is blocking him. He jumps over him, but the bear is too tall for him to jump over and he keeps blocking him. Then the monster, he was so mean, he just got so tall and he got higher and higher until he touched the sky. The monster is in the cave. But there is a good guy in the cave. He was trying to get the monster out of the cave so Daddy can go and fix his car. The End