What is new?

Two year old Frog is full of questions, and one reins supreme these days - "What is that?" Nothing new or different seems to escape her view. Often, what is new or different is purposefully planned by me - I will set out something playful for her, maybe hiding it in a special box or container first, and leave this near the spot(s) of my house that she most enjoys playing. These provocations always excite her; "what did you find for me?" she asks, "what is new?" 

In recent weeks, I have been madly culling and cleaning and rearranging my home, and this means that there have been many "new to her" things for Frog to notice. When her Nana is a newly-retired preschool teacher, the rewards are many for this youngster! I have created a writing studio for myself in my basement, setting out many of my school journals and photos as inspiration. My days with children are definitely my writing muse; my grandchildren are, as well. The basement is now also a more welcoming space for Frog to play and explore, with all my picture books on bookshelves, and a variety of toys included. We have been spending more and more time in the basement in recent weeks.

The other day, Frog pointed to something at the top of a bookshelf - "What is that?" Hmm. What had I moved there? Oh! It's a catapult! Immediately, she was intrigued and wanted to see it; immediately, I was transported back to my time at a conference at Bev Bos' school, which I had the delight of visiting in the summer of 2011. TEN YEARS AGO. Wow. Has it really been ten years, already?

This little wooden catapult was made especially for preschoolers, and it uses ping-pong balls - there's no one getting hurt by this play! I was excited when I saw it, and bought one on the spot, thinking it would be a fun thing to explore in my classroom. Bev Bos believed passionately in joyful, exploratory play, letting children be curious and figure out things through doing. She (and I) liked to sit back and observe what children did with things - How might they use them? What are the children wondering about? What do they think to do, as they play?

I never ended up bringing that catapult into my classroom. I began teaching at a DC public charter in the fall of 2011, teaching a minimum of 22 preschoolers every year. Although I believe firmly in the whimsical play of the catapult, I couldn't figure out how to bring in this one gadget and share it successfully with so many students, without many of the children feeling left out a good deal of the time. That was NOT an experience I wanted my students to have. Yes, truth is, these early learning years require materially-rich school environments, where children play freely and effortlessly, without fear of there not being enough, without threat of not being included.

That little catapult sat in a closet at my house; I suppose, waiting for grandchildren? I moved it to the top of a bookshelf in the midst of my decluttering and cleaning, and there my dear Frog noticed it.

I got it down from the shelf and placed it in front of Frog, along with the small bin of ping-pong balls, and I said "It's a catapult. What do you think it can do?" There ensued such a happy, laughing time. Frog roared with laughter when the ping-pong ball went sailing into the air over her Poppa's head. Over and over again, she repeated the performance. She had a little trouble keeping the base of the catapult steady, and soon realized that these shifting positions seemed to send the ball into different directions - this cause and effect fascinated her. Frog began to hold the catapult in one place, and then to aim it in certain directions. This is what I love about such discovery - it is ripe with natural, organic learning. Balls flew far and wide, with Poppa and me racing to collect them for her. So many laughs! This fabulous play did not last just a few minutes; in fact, Frog played with the catapult for more than an hour of play, ending only at her nap time. I am awed by how long a young child's attention span really is, when they are engaged in play.

What was her first question upon waking up from nap?  "Catapult, Nana?" 

A few days later, Frog - who is a very verbal 27 month old - reflected on the experience, hoping to play with the catapult again:

"We're going to get the balls and I'm going to push the button and then the ball goes everywhere and we were laughing. That's a catapult. Balls go on when you push a button, it will go. Wanna collect that one ball."

I am reminded about how important it is for children to DO - to discover, tinker, stretch, wonder, figure things out on their own.

I am grateful for Bev Bos and her wisdom about children's play.

I am grateful for Frog and catapults and laughter.

What about skin color?

Scene:
Two young children, preschoolers, playing in our dramatic play center, which is all about travel these days. We have created an airplane out of a large cardboard box and this has been great fun. The two children are playing "Frozen." (How many years now has this movie been such a hit theme for our little ones?) I'm hanging out nearby, trying to catch their words and play, curious about what is going on.

The White preschooler, holding a large, old, broken calculator, which is kind of like an iPad if you use a little imagination, asks, "What color hair do you want?"
I think she is running some sort of salon, just outside that plane - maybe in the airport?
The Black preschooler steps out of the airplane and says, "Blue."
The White preschooler asks, "What color hair do you want, Ms. Ingram?"
I say, "I like my gray hair. I don't want to change it."
She laughs and says, "You have to have blue or white."
I say, "Well, let's go white. I'm almost there already."
The White preschooler turns back to the Black preschooler and asks, "What color skin do you want?"
The Black preschooler says, "Brown."
The White preschooler says, "No, you can't have that skin color."
I get the creepiest sensation up my neck.

Oh my.
The week of Black Lives Matter Week of Action in Schools has just ended. We had a very good, strong week, sharing developmentally appropriate activities with preschoolers. One activity I did was a reprise of something we explored at the start of the school year, as we thought about "me, myself, and I" - a focus on skin color. This week, we compared our hands with one another, noticing all the different skin tones, and how beautiful each of us was, in our own skin. We made handprints using multicultural paints, matching our skin tones to the paint that was closest. We made a sweet poem with our words, simple lines of affirmation, "I Am in This Skin."

One of my fears,
as a somewhat inept teacher,
always learning,
making mistakes,
striving,
is that I will somehow teach children a partial truth that they will hold on to and use in some ugly way.
Certainly,
we have so many examples of this in the world today.
How do I know that they truly
GET
discussions of skin color?
How do I know that they will use these as a means of accepting all our beautiful differences and basking in this as a precious and wonderful thing?
How do I know they won't find ONLY a partial truth, and forever use skin color as a horrible tool, a bludgeon, of one being better than the other (as so many have done throughout time)?
Ugh.

To repeat...
The White preschooler turns back to the Black preschooler and asks, "What color skin do you want?"
The Black preschooler says, "Brown."
The White preschooler says, "No, you can't have that skin color."
I get the creepiest sensation up my neck.
I ask, "Wait - what?"
The White preschooler clarifies, "You can't have that skin color for Elsa."
All my fears jump out into my frontal cortex and I am in a heightened state of anxiety and I interrupt the play -
I say, "I am uncomfortable with this. Our skin colors come with us at our birth, they are so lovely and beautiful, each and every one. We don't get to change our skin colors. I don't like that you are asking this."
There.
Ha!
I am teaching the right way! Right?

The Black preschooler says, "Ms. Ingram, we are just playing!"
The White preschooler says, "Yeah, this is just a game!"

Oh my.

There I go again,
putting an adult lens on
children's play.

Ridiculous, I am.

Uncomfortable, I am.

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!

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.

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!