Are you having a tantrum?

It was time to get dressed for the day and she insisted on wearing yesterday's dirty pants and her blueberry-stained pink nightshirt, which was now soaking wet due to her post-breakfast sojourn washing dishes.

Frog is 2 1/2 years old, so "insisted" is very evident - you see it on her face, hear it in her voice, watch it explode throughout her body. 

I set out some clean clothes choices on my bed, for her to choose from. This was a bit of a 'redirect' move on my part - she loves to jump on my bed and hide under my pillows, so if I could get her to the bed, perhaps she'd stop digging in her heels about the clothes.

Ha.

She ran around the bedroom in circles looking for the dirty pants of yesterday, while yelling "I want those pants!"

I moved to the bathroom, prepping her toothbrush, knowing if I just moved ahead with the next thing on the agenda, we might lessen her wrath and dispel the impending tantrum. Frog enjoys brushing her teeth. Completely ignoring the pants request, I cheerily called out "Let's brush our teeth!" 

She runs to the bathroom door, glaring at me, and yells "YES, PANTS! YES, PINK SHIRT!," as in I WILL NOT ABIDE ANY OTHER IDEA THAT YOU MAY HAVE, NANA! and I turn to look at her, instantaneously taking in the full beautiful roaring picture -

• not quite three feet high
• not even thirty pounds
• that precious, beautiful face 
• head full of brown hair
• wearing nothing but a pull-up and that soaking wet dirty pink shirt

Have I ever seen anything sweeter? I want to smile, she's so adorable, but I don't want to minimize the frustration she is obviously feeling. Then she throws in a STOMP of her foot. This stomp was obviously quite new to her - it looks more like an old lady exercise for the hips, where you raise your knee wide to your side. Yes, a stretch not a stomp. Seriously.

How was I supposed to keep composed? 

I couldn't help it, I couldn't hold it, I burst out laughing - she was just so darn cute! 

I said, "Frog, are you stomping your foot? Like this?" and I mirrored her move, throwing in an additional sound effect as I raised the knee to the side, "woo HOO!" 

She took one look at my move, and started laughing, too - finding me oh so silly. She said, "Yes! Stomp! See!" and then she repeats her wide stomp again, and I do it, too, and I dared to repeat the move with my other leg, alternating back and forth, leg to leg, and she laughs more at how funny this looks and stomps more and we are dancing together and laughing. 

I said, "You are so funny and amazing and I love you so!," as I gently pulled the pink shirt off. 

She chose new clothes without protest.

That was the most unexpected and delightful way I have ever diffused a tantrum - and it's made me chuckle so many times, thinking of that sweet image of her. 

How does vocabulary grow?

Frog* loves to talk. She has been sharing her voice with us since she was very young, making so many beautiful sounds. As she approached 18 months of age, a true vocabulary emerged. I love hearing it grow! Frog is, in many ways, a natural learner of language, listening closely to the many loving adults in her world and absorbing the words. I do a lot of narration when I play alongside her and I have noticed that Frog is becoming quite the narrator herself. 

We currently go around in circles with personal pronouns. I'll say "Do you want to me to color with you?" and she'll answer "me color you" - which leaves me slightly confused. Another favorite is when she declares, "hold you!" and she'll lift her arms towards me. (I remember my boys making this same gorgeous verbal goof!) She wants me to pick her up, and is simply echoing my ask of many times, "Would you like me to hold you?" These are common, classic errors of this developmental stage, and I have no doubt that they will straighten themselves out in time.

In high school foreign language classes, I remember how challenging I found it to take the risk of talking, to dare to share a new word. Young children do this with abandon and we have so much to learn from them. Truly, to grow a vocabulary, you have to take it for a walk - you have to use words, to grow your understanding of these new words. I have been amazed by how Frog plays with words, how she tries them out in new situations. Let me give an example or two . . . .

Frog is very interested in how things change - she notices every cabinet door that has been left open, every object that falls to the floor from the table, every item that appears out of place. She greets these new states with a surprised "Oh, no!" In recent months, she follows this exclamation of "Oh, no!" with a descriptive word about the situation. I first noticed her experimentation with the word "ripped" - as in, 'yes, the book page is ripped.' It is a shocking turn of events! Frog is learning not to rip pages in picture books, but at two years of age, she is not always able to control the impulse and she is absolutely obsessed with the fact that it has occurred. A book that had a page ripped more than three months back will have this flaw pointed out every time you read the book to her. Every. Single. Time. So, here's what has caught my ear in recent weeks - Frog has started to use the word 'ripped' for other broken things. She saw a pothole in the road on a recent walk and said - "Oh, no! Ripped!" Just thinking about this makes me smile. She is noticing the change, noticing that it isn't 'right,' or as it was, and she connected this change to the ripped page of a book.

Yes, I love this! I feel as if I am seeing her brain grow and stretch. She is applying what she knows in new ways. 

The same thing has happened with the word "leaking" - a word she LOVES now, after watching endless rain pour out of a downspout during a rainstorm, and hearing us describe this as 'leaking,' 'draining,' and 'pouring out.' She held on to the word "leaking" because she had heard it many times before in relation to her sippy cup, which I have the darndest time closing tightly, and here the word appeared again vis-a-vis the rain - imagine! She absorbed this new word. A day or two later, eating oatmeal at breakfast, she ate too quickly and some oatmeal smeared onto her chin, and she declared "Oh, no! Leaking!" Again, just thinking about this makes me smile. Isn't it fascinating that this more soft, amorphous, free flowing material was 'leaking' and the harder cracked stuff (the road) was called 'ripped' ? Yes, I think her word use is inaccurate, but it is also really close. I get it. 

It's two year old code. 
It's two year old language explosion. 
It's lots of fun for this grandmother.

Thinking about her growing vocabulary, I have been working on a very special photo album for Frog. Or is it for me? Yes, I am trying my best to document this time, and so much happens every day, I must really work to keep up. I looked through photos of Frog at play and thought about all the new words she has recently acquired, and decided to connect action photos with these words. I've started a sweet little photo book with pictures of her:

closing, opening, dumping, digging, pouring, looking, hiding, finding, messy, soft, gentle, ticklish, loud, quiet, moving, walking, running, falling, jumping, spinning, dressing, wearing, helping, washing, cleaning, sweeping, raking . . . .

Oh my, the list goes on and on, and reads like the life of a happy youngster. Which Frog is!

 

"If it's in the hand and in the body, it's in the brain."

                                                 - Bev Bos

*In order to keep as much privacy as possible for my family, I try to use nicknames. Frog is the nickname for my oldest granddaughter, who is two years old. Her younger sister was born in Fall 2020; I've nicknamed her Bird.

How to put the puzzle pieces together?

I am participating in the
Tuesday Slice of Life with Two Writing Teachers.
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.

Have you ever watched a group of preschoolers create a floor puzzle together? Everything that children need to learn about sharing can be learned through this one activity. Simply place the puzzle box on the floor and invite children to join you - and, wow, watch the fun unfold!

The play begins wildly, boldly, instantly, and selfishly, with each child automatically grabbing one or two pieces and trying to shove their own pieces together. Three year olds are used to playing with things by themselves and for themselves. They are not accustomed to working with others. The first few moments of puzzle-making are fast-paced motion...the grabbing of a piece or two, trying to connect the pieces, dropping puzzle pieces in frustration, and moving onto another piece immediately to see if it matches. Many hands moving quickly, mashing pieces together on the floor, stepping onto pieces or bumping into a classmate, whirling, spinning, commotion.

Most preschoolers seem to readily grasp that the pieces fit together in some way; I have never had to explain this. There are typically about 20 pieces, meaning a small group of preschoolers can grab one or two pieces each, and each feel very powerful. Of course, in reality, there's not much exciting about one or two pieces of a puzzle. There's not much to see or make, with so few.

Often, one child will walk off to the periphery of all the commotion, clutching a piece, not seeking out any other pieces, and, seemingly, feeling no need to participate in the puzzle building. This savvy child! They may look disinterested, but they have claimed some very valuable real estate. Yes, they are holding what will be the LAST piece of the puzzle...ha! This piece is being ignored right now, but, without a doubt, it will become very important very soon.

As teacher, I try simply to moderate the overall process. I try not to direct the children to follow 'my approach.' For example, I don't say - "Hey, let's grab all the straight edges first." - which was definitely the way I was taught, many years ago. I enjoy watching preschoolers find their own way, to figure it out...I trust that they will. I sit back a bit, and use my voice mostly to guide - helping them work together.

Sometimes the puzzle piece that you simply must have is in another child's hands, and, here, it's often easiest to just grab the piece out of the other's hands. Teachable moment! I pepper them with questions - "Who had that piece first?," "Did you ask her if you could have that?" "Where do you think it goes?" "What makes you think so?" "How do those two match up?" Many instinctively know to turn the piece around and around and around, exploring new positions, to see if the pieces will connect.

As the children work, I begin to build some ground rules with them - "If two pieces are connected, you leave them be and try to match your piece to the connected ones. Don't take apart what is already working." Somehow, this often seems to surprise preschoolers - as if, "Wait, I didn't match those pieces! But, you expect me to leave them be?" Another important rule, "We don't take pieces out of our classmates' hands." Also, "Puzzle makers move slowly and purposefully, they don't stand on the puzzles."

I am frequently amazed at the ferocity and motion involved in making a puzzle together. Around and around and around they go, testing this piece against the other.

Always,
after a short while,
seemingly arising out of thin air,
certainly,
bubbling up without any plan of action other than 'every child for herself',
the puzzle begins to form,
with interconnected sections becoming more apparent.

I often wonder if this is the very moment that young children become aware of the power of team work..the very moment they become aware that, wow, perhaps each person has something to offer to the process...the very moment each child begins to literally see how what they are doing connects with that of others.

Although the puzzle begins with every child feeling and working solo, in the end, it is completed by the work of many...it takes a team.

The learning from such a simple 'toy' is truly profound. Children learn to be more observant of one another and of the puzzle, noticing details on each individual piece. They begin to interact with one another, communicating - "Does this go here?" "Put yours there." "Here!" "Look! These go here!"

And that child who might have wandered off with that one piece? Oh, yes, we need her now! You can't finish without a floor puzzle without including everyone.

Floor puzzles have two distinct phases for preschoolers -
the first, egotistical, self-absorbed, every child for him or herself; and
the second, enlightenment, the mind opens, the realization comes - we do better when we work together.

There's always a big round of applause at the conclusion of a puzzle! Go, preschoolers!

Are you able to bear the responsibility?

I am participating in the
Tuesday Slice of Life with Two Writing Teachers.
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.

Second day of school. Early dismissal for preschoolers. 12 noon. Three of them wait to be picked up. Tick-tock, tick-tock. 12:10. One child helps to sweep the floor, one child dances on carpet, one colors at a table. These three watched every other child get picked up. Oh, here is a family! Down to two children. Three teachers, two preschoolers. 12:15  I lean down to tie the dancing preschooler's shoes; no sign of his parents yet. Oh, here's another family! This Mom has questions, I turn to answer her -  "yes, we need napping materials for tomorrow's full day..." and, quietly, invisibly, unexpectedly, he slips out. Elopes. Right by me, standing three feet from the door of our classroom. He, my dancer, the last child, waiting, desperately, for a Mommy or Daddy or another loving adult who never comes. He is impatient, he is three. He has just watched every classmate get picked up. 

In a split second, he was gone. 

Just a minute more, maybe only 30 seconds later, I knew he was gone, too - and I bolted from my classroom, down the hall, towards the front desk - only to be met by Mom and Grandmother, holding him firmly by the hand. Mom was livid - "I did NOT find him right here in the hall! I found him out front, coming out the front door of the school!" 

Her angry eyes will stick in my memory forever - devoid of trust, filled with hurt and anger.

I rambled,

"I am SO sorry. I am SO sorry. I need you to know, this is on ME, I am responsible. He was just here, and he slipped out, and that SHOULD NEVER EVER EVER have happened and I am totally at fault. I am so sorry. I have never had this happen in all my years of teaching and it won't happen again, I promise."

She was LIVID.

Words are nothing but nasty air when one's most important possession has almost vanished.

I continued,

"Please, this is horrible. I invite you to speak to our principal about this. It is a terrible mistake and you should report it. I can assure you it won't happen again. I'm sorry."

I moved automatically to find my principal, and I breathlessly told her, "Please speak with this family, they are so upset, as they should be - their preschooler in my class slipped out the front door of the school at early dismissal."

My principal asked with remarkable calm, "Did we find the child?"

"Yes! His family was walking right up to the school when he was walking out - they grabbed him and brought him back to me."

My principal continued to me, before talking to the family - "This is a blessing. Hear me, it's a blessing. He was found. He is safe. Now we know. We revise our plan. We continue on." 

As she walked toward the family to talk further, I dissolved into tears. 

It is hard to bear the responsibility.

***

Epilogue -

Even now, a whole year later, it is hard to think about this day.

My principal and colleagues gave me tremendous support and perspective, and I am so appreciative. We revised our 'end of day' routines, and there was never another such incident all year. I worked hard to rebuild trust with the family; I am very close to this family, now.

Truly, on this day, my biggest fear about working with young children happened: losing a child...that one might simply disappear, no matter how hard I try to keep my eyes on them. Whenever I hear one of those nightmare stories about a child who walks away from school, I think "but for the grace of God" - and I am filled with compassion for everyone involved. It takes a village!!

What would you do with your grief?

I am participating in the
Tuesday Slice of Life with Two Writing Teachers.
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.

My husband's brother died in a tragic accident 50 years ago this summer. Just recently, we heard a new (and, I think, very beautiful) story related to this sad time - how a young child helped with the healing. I have found that I can't stop thinking about it - so, I'm sharing it here. 

Imagine -
a mother,
a mother who has many children,
whose oldest child has made her a grandmother,
whose youngest children are in their teens.
Imagine -
this mother receiving the news that her 18 year old son has been killed in a construction accident.

Imagine -
her eviscerating pain, her crying, grief, and anguish.

How hard it must have been to breathe.

This was 50 years ago...the death of my husband's next oldest brother, in a small town in Georgia. My husband, Tony, was 16 at the time.
Tony remembers
he was pumping gas at his summer job,
mid-way through washing a customer's windshield,
when his typically tough, demanding boss broke in and said
"Tony, time to go to lunch."
(Tony always went home to lunch.)
Then, his boss stepped into the slow-moving traffic on the road by the gas station
to stop oncoming cars and make it easy for Tony
to slip out of the gas station and drive home.

Tony says he knew then that something awful must have happened,
but he didn't know what.

When he walked into the house,
his mother was sitting, wailing, in hysterics.
Family and friends were gathering,
his Dad,
brothers,
sisters,
everyone in acute pain and shock.

Wrong place, wrong time, turn back the clock, let's have a do over, this cannot be real. 

Imagine -
The next few days were a blur of pain and sadness.
A house of mourning.

Relatives, neighbors, and friends dropping by at all times, 

bringing casseroles and sympathy. 

Everyone moving on autopilot, needing a task - 

wiping up spills and tidying up,

perhaps one standing guard over a coffee maker, producing cup after cup for visitors, 

another fixing a plate of food for the grieving mother - which, I'm sure, remained untouched.

Hushed, muted voices repeating the details of his death over and over, 

in various corners of the house, 

a horrific vibration that mother and family could not shake, could not unhear.

A house filled with people and, yet, incredibly empty. 

Imagine,

in this mix, the youngest grandson (nephew of Tony) appears,
this six year old, in the midst of all these mourners.

Oh, I know that house was filled with people!

The grandson knew a good thing when he saw it ... 

all these people, this MUST be a family reunion, 

oh, yes, it must be.

He began to entreat, to beg, "Let's play whiffle ball!" 

Because, this is what everyone did at Mimi's when family gathered.

In-between and around all that delicious food and conversation, 

family would flow out into the backyard and play a pickup game of ball.

This was the tradition.

The little guy wouldn't be silenced,
as many a young child is not,

making the suggestion over and over
to his parents, his aunts and uncles, his Mimi and Papaw,

"Let's play whiffle ball!" 

Imagine

this request,

this playful need,

in the midst of all that mourning.

Well, his own mother grabbed him by one arm and marched him to the back door to discipline him- "This stops! You do not ask to do this again! Can't you see, people are hurting?!" 

Mimi jumped out of her chair,

and rushed up to her daughter-in-law,

and interrupted - 

"Never you mind, girl - that boy doesn't know what he's asking, he doesn't know what's going on. Give him to me." 

With that, she took him out back, and, 

together,

just the two of them,

they played whiffle ball. 

Back and forth they played, 

she squatting down and throwing the ball, 

he swinging hard.

 I can hear his little happy voice, when he hit the ball

"Yes! I got it, Mimi!" 

Imagine,

perhaps,

every time she threw the ball to him, she was a little less numb,

perhaps,

every time he took a big swing at that ball, her heart began to heal just a little tiny bit,

perhaps,

every time she chased a ball, she absorbed the love and laughter in his eyes,

perhaps,

it was the first soft feeling she had had in days.

Playing whiffle ball with her grandson was exactly what she needed.

There's so many things you try to skip

But who'll be there in case you slip

At the end of the day

little children.

Well, you're not alone.

You're not on your own.

- George Cromarty

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: Can you help me?

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.

"I am here with you."

A short happy piece about preschoolers' social growth at this time of year...

We were working with cardboard recyclables, trying to create a device that was powerful enough to move a huge boulder, just like Abiyoyo in the book Abiyoyo Returns. Jamel is mesmerized by tape and could not cut enough...actually, he simply could not cut. But, try again and again he did. He is entangled with bright green tape, he cannot separate his scissors from the ever-spiraling, confused tangle. Exasperated he calls out to no one in particular and everyone at once, "Can you help me?" - up jumps Tiffany, "I can! I can! Let me help you!" And she does! She moves quickly to his side, and works his scissors out of the sticky trap. But she's not done yet. "Here, let me show you how." She stretches out a new length of the tape, takes her scissors and cuts it for him. "Now, you try it." He says, "Oh, I see. Okay." They work alongside each other, learning to cut. 

"Let me show you."

Am I even needed?

We are mid-year and I am surrounded by helpfulness. Children's friendships have grown, their understanding of the school routine is absolute, and there is a burgeoning clarity about their own strengths. They know that they can do. It is a beautiful thing.

I see it when they are lining up to go somewhere new...that one child who is always a little bit tentative, afraid, uncertain about going...immediately, a supportive hand is stretched out -"I'll go with you."

I see it when we are at Morning Gathering and a more shy student doesn't budge from her seat when the dance tune is sung for her...right away, two, if not three, children will jump up at once and beckon her, "Come on! I will dance with you."

I see it when one gets an unexpected boo-boo and another runs over to her side, taking her hand, and says, "Here, let's show Ms. Ingram."

Everyone has helpful hands. 

"Let's show Ms. Ingram."

Tuesday SOL: How to say goodbye to our family?

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.

This year, our hello/goodbye window is a particularly magical and happy place in my classroom. Do you know the book, by Norman Juster? In the story, grandparents have a special window in their home where children can watch everyone come and go. It is a very special love ritual. 

How to explain this special place in our classroom? It is the perfect salve for the fragile preschooler who is sad to say goodbye to their family. They no longer have time to dwell on their misery, because one must get to the window and make merry!

One quirk about our window is that it isn't exactly on the way out the door for families...in fact, when they leave our classroom, they have to back up a few steps in the opposite direction to get to the window. It's proof that sometimes going backwards ends up being a step forward. When a preschooler's face begins to sadden at their family member leaving, a classmate or teacher nudges them - "quick! let's go see them at the window!" and off we race to the window. Oh, the scenes that transpire! We blow kisses, we make silly faces, we give hearty waves. The sad preschooler becomes an enthralled preschooler, because there is so much more to see than just their family. Yes, Mom or Dad may have just left, but look! Look at everyone else! It seems like the whole school parades by the window. Older students, who once depended on this window themselves, now stop and wave and make faces at the preschoolers. Teachers and administrators stop and wave, too. If you look very closely, across the way, you can see the preschoolers in the classroom next door. There's nothing more fun than waving to these friends, who we will see on the playground later in the day. Yes, our hello/goodbye window is a place of love and joy. The perfect way to begin a school day!

What opportunities for language are we missing?

Preschooler A pushes Preschooler B off of the playground balance beam and jumps on it in his place. Preschooler B is on the ground crying and I rush over to help these two problem-solve. Thankfully, I observed the incident, because neither child can explain. Preschooler B gesticulates at Preschooler A, with one word "push!" and Preschooler A just frowns at me with furrowed brow, crossing his arms defiantly, when I insist he talk with us.

I persevere - "Let's check in with Preschooler B. Are you okay? Where do you hurt?"

Preschooler B is standing sullenly at my side, holding his elbow.

Me, to Preschooler A, "You want to use the balance beam, but Preschooler B is on it. Let's do this again, this time, you say 'May I use it now?' and Preschooler B will say, "I am on it. You can be next."

Preschooler A, assessing that this isn't going precisely his way, says, "NO!" and throws himself down on the ground, and begins muttering. He is clearly very frustrated. I do not understand what he is saying.

Turn-taking is the cornerstone of all preschool learning. It feels as if I spend my entire year on this concept, helping children to understand that
you are not always first,
others get to play with something and you will be next,
you ask for what you want and listen to (and heed) what your classmates say;
you work things out together.

It is hard to do this when language skills are delayed.

It seems to me that I am increasingly seeing (hearing!) language delays in preschoolers.

Snapshots -

Dad's important job requires him to have his phone on 24 hours a day, and thus he takes a work call while having breakfast with his baby and preschooler, basically doing a charade about what and how to eat while fielding questions from a client - he shakes his head "no" when the preschooler tries to put more cereal in her bowl, he opens a yogurt container, he shakes the baby's bottle, he takes off their bibs, wipes their faces, gets the baby out of the high chair, helps the preschooler down from her chair, all the while saying "Yes, I can check that out. That's on the agenda for ..."

A city sidewalk. Mom is in the lead, with a preschooler and an elementary child walking behind her. The children have on backpacks and are walking slowly, without purpose, trudging really. Mom is talking with someone near and dear, she is very worked up, "Oh, yeah! That's what she said, but that's not what she does!" Her pace is hurried, and she turns to look at the children behind her and glares, while beckoning them to pick up their pace. They are clearly late for wherever they are headed.

Mom walks in to the classroom with her preschooler right behind her, and goes through the morning drop off ritual mechanically, automatically - Mom puts the child's lunch box in the lunch bin, hangs her back pack on the hook, puts the child's water bottle at the water bottle station. All the while, the child is transfixed by a game on Mom's phone. Mom bends down and gives her a kiss on the cheek and, saying, "time for me to have my phone back!" and the child bursts into tears. Mom takes the phone and hands the crying child to the teacher, with a cheery "Have a great day!," and Mom is out the door.

Playground, after school, adults on their phones, many children running around and playing, some adults chatting with one another, and a few solitary preschoolers sitting on benches with parents' phones in hands.

Riding on metro trains, grocery shopping, sitting at restaurants, everywhere I go, when I see adults and children together, one of the two is focused on the phone, not their companion.

I am now watching vigilantly for interactions that contradict this.

I don't know if I am on a rant or a mission, but I am truly sadden by the missed opportunities for language. I see - hear - the effects in the classroom - children who do not meet your eyes, give monosyllabic answers or even grunts, who do not have any idea how to converse with others.

Let's talk, talk, talk with children!

Tuesday SOL: Why do we miss the essentialness of play?

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.

Today, I feel a little bit like I am on a rant...talking about the same old, same old. Many years ago, when serving on a ‘Minister Search Committee’ for my church, I heard it said that every preacher has basically five good sermons – essential messages to which they keep coming back. I wonder the same thing about this early childhood blog – what are the top five things I keep saying over and over, even if packaging it or introducing it in different ways? What’s at my core? I have to believe that I write about more than five things, but I keep coming back to certain beliefs:

1. Let children play - let them choose their own fun, make their own learning.
2. Be present while they play - notice, converse, extend.
3. Make the preschool classroom a laboratory, filled with tinkering, exploring, creating, wondering, discovering.
4. Help novice teachers see the richness and importance of all of the above.
5. Advocate for all of the above.

Yes, here I am today with more of the same. I worry so about our young children. What is happening to their childhood? I worry about how much we are preoccupied when we are around them, I worry about the strict routines to which we hold them, I worry about the academics we are spoon-feeding them rather than letting them choose their own adventures. I think about how much the world has changed for the average three year old over the past quarter century - getting dressed and out the door first thing each morning, being confined with many peers of the exact same age for eight to ten hours a day, following teacher's instructions, coming home and eating and going to bed, to repeat the same thing the next day. 

I worry about how my perspective is perceived by many as 'cute', 'quaint', 'old-fashioned.'

Just this past week, we had family conferences and I found myself 'preaching'...one dear family with an academically-able child asked if she should skip pre-k 4 and advance directly to kindergarten next year. I teach three year olds. No, no, no, no, no! Please, why? Why are we rushing childhood? Why do we think we should push children? The learning that happens when they play with their peers is priceless: problem-solving, persevering, becoming socially competent.

Thankfully, my perspective isn't seen as 'out of touch' by all - one family shared how their child loves coming to preschool each day. This Mom suggested that the classroom was like a laboratory, and added "I feel that my child needs to do, needs to make, needs to feel satisfied." She thanked me for providing a classroom that allowed her child daily adventure, a place where she can make something new happen each day. These are words I live by!

Tuesday SOL - Have you noticed me?

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.

I stepped out of a workshop called "Building a Trauma-Informed Classroom," and into the metro underground. My head and heart were filled with information. 

They had just stepped through the metro turnstiles, coming towards me. She appeared to be a young mother, certainly no more than 20 or 21. He was running alongside her, scampering in that unpredictable way that a two year old does. I started to smile at his sweet look. She yelled to him, "You better  #$@&%*! -ing stop! I am sick of you! What the #$@&%*! you think you're doing?" I averted my eyes. 

One "ACE." At least.

Adverse Childhood Experiences - ACEs

ACEs are those stressful, perhaps even traumatic factors that children are just born into, through no fault of their own, that will trouble them all their life: parents or caregivers who abuse drugs or alcohol, have a bitter divorce, become incarcerated, suffer acute health issues, practice emotional or physical abuse, live in acute poverty, suffer unemployment or homelessness...there are innumerable ACEs. 

According to the workshop leader, Dr. Megan McCormick-King of Insite Solutions, 37% of D.C. kids have at least one ACE; 11% of D.C. kids have four or more ACEs. The risk of developmental delays is more acute in children with four or more ACEs. Further, the risk of early death is more likely with four or more ACEs.

Although these statistics are depressing, the workshop was also hopeful. It heartened me to hear that children become resilient with consistent and responsive relationships, overcoming much of the harm from these adverse childhood experiences. The importance of my work as a preschool teacher was clear - to create a safe, happy early childhood classroom, where teachers are focused and mindful about each of their students. Every young child deserves "unconditional positive regard" - and such interaction feeds the growing brain in amazing, restorative ways. Here are just a couple tidbits that I hope to weave into my teaching in the days and years to come:

• Create opportunities for "Serve and Return" - the simple back and forth between a child and caregiver, allowing the child to 'serve' an idea and, allow me - the caregiver - to meet the child right there at that idea, and converse about it, play along...let the child lead.
• When I see those challenging behaviors - consider for a minute, what 'Serve and Return' behaviors are not being met? Is the child acknowledged/noticed/seen on the most basic level?
• Be sure to acknowledge children, to send the consistent message - "I see you, I hear you." 
• Help children build strategies for waiting and soothing, such as deep breathing, taking a break, having a safe space.
• For those truly challenging children, build a relationship with special emphasis on 'non-contingency' time - time when you let the child direct the play. Dare to give the child five minutes of time when everything he does is noticed and acknowledged, but not questioned or critiqued. (There is a whole training for this technique - Teacher Child Interactive Training (TCIT), which I will most certainly look into.) 

It was a fabulous workshop...this one small slice hardly does it justice. 

Let me circle back to the young mother in the metro, yelling at her small child. I averted my eyes, speechless, stunned, feeling raw from the workshop. Right behind me was a young man, all of about 14 - and he spoke up. He yelled "Stop speaking to your child like that!" She quickly retorted, "Shut up!," and kept walking the other direction, but I wonder if he planted a seed. 

This left me hopeful, too. It takes everyone of us, paying attention to our young children.

sol17-24 What makes our community better?

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.

As I was exiting the metro train this morning, a young man endearingly called out to me, "Ladyglove." There was a brief mental delay on my part before I realized he had noticed that I left my gloves on the seat - and I thanked him profusely, with an embarrassed giggle. Not a morning to walk without gloves. A huge smile filled my face as I walked on, pulling on my gloves, and I repeated, affectionately, "Ladyglove, Ladyglove, Ladyglove." Funny that my first thought was that he was just being pleasant.

Little things are so important.

Somehow, this got me thinking about the small steps my preschoolers have taken, making our community better - 

- she often uses a regular voice now, rather than that high-pitched screech
- similarly, he often uses a regular voice now, rather than that whine
- he no longer needs our assistance in the bathroom
- she is helping with clean up
- he worked on that activity for a good long while, very focused
- she stroked his back when she saw that he was crying
- yes, he's still dumping things out, but he enjoys picking them back up
- he plays with his classmates, not just alongside
- she is eager to share her things with others
- he can come to school in a dress and no one bats an eye

- she invited others to play with her

- he lies quietly on his cot during nap

These are not big things, but they make the day so much smoother - like gloves on a cold day.

sol17-23 Who are we?

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.

Note - you know you are using new "thinking" muscles when you wake up in the middle of the night with a clear idea for a slice...that's exactly what happened here, proving this daily writing challenge is such a good habit! 

Let's call her Lillian. She is one of my calm, predictable children. She is always eager to see what is happening in a small group, 'ready to go' when you call her name. She is pleasant with her classmates, going along with their ideas and sometimes suggesting her own. I would like to hear a more independent voice from her, I'd like to hear more of her ideas. In conflicts, she might be reduced to tears and come find me to help resolve, but she is never physical in her reactions. Although this last note is such an asset in a bustling classroom of preschoolers, I would like to see her assert herself when she feels wronged. In short, we adore Lillian and she is a very engaged and happy preschooler.

Fast forward - Dad comes to pick Lillian up at the end of the school day; he has picked up her older brother Calvin first. Calvin is a third grader and, though I never taught him, I sense that he has much the same temperament as his sister. It is atypical for Dad to pick up Calvin first; typically Lillian goes with Dad to get Calvin. Anyhow, Calvin is happily finishing his classroom snack, a packet of fruit snacks.

Here's where I was simply stunned -

Lillian rushes over to him and loudly, vehemently demands "Give me one!" and Calvin smiles, turns his body away from her, and says "No, they are all gone" and takes his last bite with a satisfied gulp. Without a moment's hesitation, Lillian starts to beat on Calvin - both fists, bam, bam, bam. The older brother giggles and moves away quickly, but Lillian screams at him and begins to chase him down. I have never seen her angry like this! (Deftly, Dad grabs Lillian by the hand and quickly exits the room with both children.)

Truly, from my perspective - Lillian went from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde.

I wonder, how hard is it for Lillian to be so 'good' each day in preschool? Is school simply a safer place, surrounded by people who she knows less well? Or, is she 'on guard' at school? Is this a good thing? (For my daily reality as her teacher, it is certainly a good thing - my work would be so much more difficult if she were so physical in her conflicts!)

I think about how attuned I was to her social-emotional learning - how I would like to see her assert herself when she feels wronged. I bet these words would sound pretty funny to her family, who know her best in her role as sibling to Calvin.

Who are we, really?
Are we our real selves around family?
Do we act differently with different people?
When are we wearing a mask, acting a role, doing something less authentic?

sol17-18 How do you become a writer?

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.

At a recent early childhood team meeting, we had a terrific discussion about early writing. Our early childhood team is six classrooms - two each of kindergarten, pre-K 4, and preschool (or pre-K 3 - as it is frequently called in our district.) I'm a preschool/pre-K 3 teacher. The kindergarten teachers were sharing about Writer's Workshop, and I was riveted by focus of their teaching - getting students to think about punctuation, space between words, stretching out the words to hear all the sounds.

Writing materials in preschool dramatic play

We talked about how these concepts can be a developmental stretch for many kindergarteners, sharing anecdotes of students who are still not connecting that letters create words, who struggle to hold a pencil, who have very little interest in sitting still and focusing. We saw a video clip of one kindergartener who was reading his own writing aloud and - rather than recognizing or connecting letters he himself had written on the page - closed his eyes and tried to recall his story from memory. 

We wondered, are we pushing children to read and write too soon? How do you know when it is too much to expect? How do you recognize what a student really needs?

We talked about how writing isn't simply a 45 minute workshop block. Students should see themselves as writers, all the time. Early childhood classrooms should have writing tools available throughout the classroom, no matter where a child plays - clipboards at the ready in science centers and in the block corner; pads of paper, notebooks, schedules in dramatic play; sign-ins at arrival; sensory tables that emphasize fine motor skill development through tools such as tweezers, tongs, or hiding small beads and sequins in sand; writing centers stocked with pencils, crayons, alphabet tools, more.

Writing materials in the block center

We shared what we know about writing tools, things we've learned from occupational therapists that have worked with young children with fine motor issues, such as triangular and chunky crayons, short 'golf' pencils that force you to pinch the end of the pencil. It is essential to have a full array of writing tools - and opportunities to build those fine motor muscles.

Of course, writing is language in print. How can you be expected to write if you haven't the words to share? From their earliest days in school, we must give them opportunities to share, converse, tell stories, to build their oral language - and we should capture and document their words.

Writing materials in the art corner

I walked away from this early childhood meeting really excited about teaching. I was struck by the true art of teaching: 

• knowing each child individually - personality, temperament, family, routines, likes, desires, fears, hopes, more; 
• seeing the big picture (knowing the developmental milestones of writing skills, Common Core standards, curriculum expectations) and able to identify the smaller, personalized goals for students;
• having a keen understanding of development, how large and fine motor, cognitive, oral language, and social emotional skills all play a role in the 'academic' goals;
• having an awareness of those 'zones of proximal development' - knowing when it is good to push, stretch, instigate 
• having time to focus on individual students and their learning struggles, and living with the tension of the disproportionate time and attention you give to certain students (teaching can be so much more efficient with our higher level learners)
• collaborating with our colleagues, learning about their approaches, considering questions together, and continually improving one's own practice. 

I also think - not only is teaching an art, it must be activism. We early childhood teachers must be activists. We must speak up for play and exploration, defend developmentally appropriate practice, and remind our administrators and legislators about the individual children behind the data. 

Tuesday SOL: How does their math and literacy look?

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.

It is the beginning of the year, 

preschoolers in a public school setting, and 

time to complete baseline data. 

The most important focus: literacy and math. 

Yes, be sure to gather data on your student's literacy and math skills.

Hello, world, reality check.

Preschoolers.

As the clean up song played, I realized I hadn't seen her in several minutes...there she is! Standing next to the toilet. What's that in her hand? A tea cup from the house corner. Oh my. There are two other tea cups in the toilet bowl. Wait...what is on the floor? Oh my. She has been taking teacups full of water and filling the bathroom floor? 

Oh, I see. She is measuring volume. This is my mathematician at work.

I remember happening upon my son at this age, when he was supposed to be napping, only to find him and his entire bedroom doused in baby powder. Future scientist, experimenting - thinking, what might happen if?

I have a hard time focusing on literacy and math when I am in the presence of three year olds.

Glimpses - 

the little boy who wanders over behind the dollhouse to poop, immediately after we have gone to the bathroom as a class...

the little girl who chatters incoherently, in a lovely sing-song voice, talking to herself, repeating words over and over...

the little one who runs away when I start to read a book that has a picture that scares him...

another child who holds my hand all morning long, using me as her anchor to see the world.

the little girl who stands just to my side as I read a book to the class, holding a separate book of her own, and mirroring my every move with hand motions, head nods, and wide eyes.

a little boy takes apart another child's 3D art project...just wondering.

children carrying baby dolls, lovies, favorite toys, and sucking their thumbs.

a classroom that gets louder and louder and faster and faster, with gales of laughter, as children get to know each other better.

There is so much going on, much of it making me chuckle. This is when I am so happy to be "seasoned" - that this is not my first year in the classroom. Yes, I see math and literacy. And I see so much more.

Tuesday SOL: What do you learn at conferences?

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.

His parents and teachers sit down at the table while he surveys the empty classroom with a smile. This is different, his eyes seems to say. "Where is everybody?" he asks. Family conferences are such a treat for me - watching the children interact with their families, seeing the children one at a time, and no need to juggle conversations with several peers simultaneously.

"This is your family conference," I explain, "we're going to meet with you, to talk about your successes this year in preschool, to share with your parents what you have learned."

"Okay!" he says, excitedly, and then he pulls a chair up and sits down between the teachers, with a big smile.

That one movement - pulling a chair not to the side of the table where his parents were sitting, but to a new position between his teachers - fills me with smiles every time I think of it. This is a child who is at peace at school. He loves school, he loves his teachers, he loves learning, he loves sharing with his family all his joys.

He shared "I am getting really good at writing. I am going to get better."
(Yes, he has learned to write his name this school year.)
"I am super fast at counting! I beat my Daddy at clean up."
His father shared that they have timed games at home for finding things, for cleaning up, etc.
We talked about what a good friend he is, how he will speak up to his classmates when he doesn't like something - "I don't want to play that" or "I don't like it when you yell at me."

So beautiful. So precious. So mature.

Just four years old.

SOLSC #20 What if we take one step closer?

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.

He appeared out of nowhere in the hallway with several of his middle-school classmates, on his way to class. She, the mom, had just dropped off her sweet little guy at my preschool classroom, to start his day. As she passed by, his shoulder knocked against hers, and then he fell to the floor - much to the merriment of his classmates. Mom was a little surprised, asked if he was okay, he nodded yes in the midst of the laughter, and everyone went on their way.

The next morning, as Mom left my classroom after kissing her little guy goodbye, there he appeared again, tall, imposing, mischievous, surrounded by his middle-school friends. As Mom headed down the hall, he jabbed his shoulder into her shoulder, all the while sporting a big grin, and he threw himself down onto the floor, accompanied by more laughter from his friends. Mom hurried out of the school, on her way to work, but, unlike the day before, an uneasy feeling lingered. Was he doing this on purpose? Why this interaction two days in a row? After some thought, she contacted our principal, to share her concerns.

She didn't know his name. She could only provide a physical description.

The first I heard about any of the above was when the sixth grade boy was brought to my classroom by the principal mid-day, while the preschoolers were napping. The principal asked me if I had a little boy named Mark in my class. Yes, I do. Then she introduced John to me, the middle-schooler, and asked him to tell me why he was here. "I bumped into Mark's mother today and yesterday," he said in a quiet, uneven, chagrined voice. The principal continued, "John has written a note of apology. I think it is very important for him to meet Mark's Mom in person, to deliver the apology. What time does she pick up Mark?" And so it was agreed that John would return to apologize in person that afternoon, and give the note of apology.

Oh these foolish, young boys. There is nothing more important than making your classmates laugh.

The end of the day arrived, preschoolers were being dismissed to their families, and John appeared as planned. I introduced him to little Mark, saying "You'll be apologizing to this little guy's Mom." John was visibly contrite, looking a little nervous about what was yet to come. Into the classroom walks Mark's Mom and she sees John and me and her eyes grow wide. They step out into the hallway and John says his apology and gives her the note, and then he scoots away. Mark's Mom comes over to me, and whispers "How did he know to come here? I didn't want him to know who my child was. I have to tell you I am very scared of him. He said a very nice apology, but he did that mean shoving two days in a row. I think I'm being stalked. I spoke to the principal because I am scared."

I was caught off-guard by this and simply patted her arm, assuringly, saying, "It's okay. He feels very badly about what he did." Mom and Mark went on their way.

However, I couldn't shake the taste of this interaction, her words to me. I wondered,

Does it matter that this middle-schooler is Black?
Does it matter that this Mom is White?
How are we to be in community together - diverse people, diverse ages, preschool, elementary, middle school?
What does it mean for our community if adults are afraid of certain students?
How do we move towards one another?

I am the mother of three boys and any one of them could have done what John did when they were in middle-school. They did many, many foolish things. My boys are White. Did they get a free pass for silly, immature antics at this age?

After several days of wondering and wrestling with this, I followed Mark's Mom out of the classroom after drop-off and opened up the conversation again. "Hey, I was just wondering, have you seen John again since his apology?"

"No, actually, I haven't. Isn't that weird?"

"Well, I hope you do see him soon. I think it would be great if you gave him a big hello and called him by name. 11 and 12 year old boys are so foolish sometimes; my own boys embarrassed me greatly at that age."

And I left it at that.

Maybe a little preachy on my part...but, I wonder. How do we move towards one another? What if we dare to take one step closer?

SOLSC #15 Is it fair to compare?

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.

Is it fair to compare a 30 minute visit to a classroom of 4 and 5 year olds (Pre-K) to my years of experience with 3 and 4 year olds (preschool)? I had the delight of doing a peer observation in a Pre-K class, and was blown away by the difference from my day in/day out. Here's what struck me:

• Most children stayed in one place, working at one activity. Children had the freedom to move around, freedom to choose a new activity. But, they were very focused and engaged in their play, enjoying what they were exploring, and there was very little movement in the room. 

Three year old children are all over the place, moving about all day, starting something in one place, doing something else for a bit, returning to the first place, moving on again.

• No one was playing on the floor. Maybe it was just the day, but the large carpet area where blocks were available remained empty while children chose to do a wide variety of table top activities. 

In my classroom, it feels as if half the children are on the floor all the time - there are markers, Magna Tiles, and other toys to retrieve, there are roads to be built, there are animal homes to create - three year olds love being on the floor.

• The dramatic play corner, with its dress ups aplenty, featured children getting dressed in one costume, while standing. The floor of the dramatic play area isn't covered with discarded socks and shoes.

In the three year old room, children are rolling around on the floor to get clothes on. There is a constant changing of clothes, because new play ideas are imagined over and over.

• Two children worked at the writing center, writing in their journals, focused on a single page. They were excited to show me the work they had done thus far this school year. There were lots of alphabet letters printed legibly.

What a minute? They haven't scribbled on every page of the journal already? Very few three year olds will work at printing alphabet letters, most prefer to draw - and draw on every single page.

• A teacher called from across the room to a child that was misbehaving, and the child looked up and stopped what he was doing.

I'm not sure that the children could hear me over the din in our room!

• When the children gathered in whole group, they were all sitting pretty still, listening to the teacher.

Remarkable! Three year olds have so many wiggles, so many immediate needs that are different from those of the teacher ("Ms. Ingram, my shoe hurts!," "Ms. Ingram, I can't see," "Ms. Ingram, my water spilled.") Most days, whole group is one enormous juggling act.


Yes, I was astounded. What a huge difference in children's development in this one year! The Pre-K children showed so much more self-control. With three year old classes being added to elementary schools (as mine is!), I hope that we remember and respect these developmental differences.