Tuesday SOL: What did you just call 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.

In these first few weeks of the school year, one of my ESL students has added so many new English words to his repertoire. He sits very quietly, observing and listening, not visibly participating in our songs, fingerplays, and stories. Later, as he falls asleep at nap, I hear him whisper and repeat, quietly to himself, playing with the English words, the unfamiliar tongue. He is very dear. I'm amazed at how quickly language can be acquired when you are three years old. 

I knew I would hook him with Audrey Woods' The Napping House. I've shared this book with children for so many years that it is a well-worn act for me...a book I can recite from memory. He stared intently at every page, as I recounted the granny, the child, the dog, the cat, the mouse, the flea. Repetition, repetition, repetition. Such a funny tale, really! I watched him watch me with the book, and I wondered - is he following this story? His classmates would spontaneously call out, as if on cue, "where everyone was sleeping!," at the end of every page, but he stayed mute, staring. He stayed quiet as the rest of us laughed together at the conclusion - the broken bed, and everyone playing outside in the sunshine. Then I closed the book and dismissed the children to their lunches.

He sidled over to me and said, "Ok, Granny!"

Ha!

He thinks the word for an old, gray-haired lady is granny! He learned this from The Napping House.  

This makes me smile. 

You tell me, are we really the same?

sol17-20 Are we listening?

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.

Near the end of a day, when many children had been picked up, and the room was growing quieter and only a few children remained, she came to me and said, "Ms. Ingram, I have a song I want to share." "A song?" I asked, "Oh please do!" She began solemnly, "I have a song about Rapunzel. There's no sorceress, only a bad guy and the bad guy, he..." I realized immediately, this was not a song, certainly not a typical song, but a story, a sharing, an outpouring of words that this little preschooler was simply bursting to offer. I got out my pen and wrote her offering down.

I love that she called it a song. 

I love that she knew I would want to capture it, that I would write it down and read it back to her.

I love that I have created the space for such sharing to happen.

I worry that I am not hearing everyone's stories.

I worry that my days get too busy, that I have too many to do's.

I worry that one day someone will say, "excuse me, that child is not focused on what is in your lesson plan for this part of the day." 

Well, I don't really worry about this happening to me, because I would no longer be teaching if that were the expectation. But, honestly - it is happening in classrooms. Yes, even in the preschool classroom, there is an ever-increasing burden for writing detailed lesson plans, noting each and every standard or objective you will teach. 

I worry about novice, less-experienced teachers who bow to administrations that ask this of them, who faithfully expend hours making the minute and predictive details of curriculum planning and who teach to these plans, but have not the time to observe, or reflect on, or to be truly present with their students. If the expectation is on the paperwork, the forms, the "shell" of teaching, how do teachers learn to focus on the individual student, to create a classroom that builds on children's own interests, and where children are curious, investigating, moving, conversing, trying, questioning, wondering?  

This little girl and her story song - these are opportunities woven like a golden yet invisible thread into the fabric of my planning. You won't find them listed anywhere in my plans. These moments are when I feel my teaching is at its best: children who have been so riveted by books, so engaged by their play, so delighted by dramatizing stories, so lost in their learning, that they must, simply must, tell you all about it. 

We teachers must be there to listen.

Isn't this what children deserve? 

sol17-10 What is today's surprise?

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.

The day did not bode well. 

A five a.m. text from my Teaching Resident that she was home sick with the flu. 

I left my house later than I should have and I just missed a metro train.

The morning air was much cooler than expected and I felt chilly throughout my commute.

Darkening skies, I knew the rain wasn't going to hold off for outdoor recess.

The day did not bode well.

Look! 

A surprise at my classroom door!

A treehouse! 

Yes, for real.

A colleague's children and home had outgrown this treasure and she knew my preschoolers would welcome it. Just looking at it made me break into a smile. It was adorable.

I set it up on the center of our welcome carpet and just let it speak for itself. 

The children's delight was as instantaneous as mine. They brought dolls, animals, toy furniture, shells, dominoes, all their favorite treasures to visit the new treehouse. They opened its doors, looked through the floors, walked dolls up the stairs, touch, feel, open, shut, turn, spin, wonder.

For the first few minutes of their play, I was able to sit and listen and take notes. I love to eavesdrop on children! What are they thinking about? Here's what I overheard - 

"I saw something missing."

"Where is the Mommy?"

"We don't have a baby."

"We can have many Mommies.

"It's a treehouse."

"Mommy, I have to go to bed."

"You are not going outside, come back inside."

"There's no room."

"Open the door!" 

"Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me."

"Hey, what's the problem?"

"Close the door." 

"There's a moment."

"I wanted to check the door."

"It's a surprise."

Children consumed with thoughts of family and home. Beautiful. Loving. Magical. 

We were only a few minutes into our day together and I felt that I had set a huge "reset" button from my earlier moments. One never knows what surprises a day holds!

SOLSC #3 Who decides what we're doing today?

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.

We are less than three weeks away from our Learning Showcase, the culminating event at the end of our trimester, when families come into school to see their children's work. I am in production mode, ensuring that I have work from each of the preschoolers to display. I had the best of plans for the morning, a clear agenda. I was focused on a student, helping her with final details on her engineering project (creating with cardboard recyclables, tape, and scissors) and I was eager for her to share a story with me about her work. I leaned in, to catch her somewhat quiet voice, not wanting to miss a word. Ah, but it was not to be. 

Before I can listen, one child interrupts - "Ms. Ingram, what are you doing?"

Before I can answer my interrupter, another - "Ms. Ingram, what is she making?"

Before I can answer this new one, still another pops up at my elbow -  "Ms. Ingram, may I be next?"

Before I can answer this one, another runs up - "Ms. Ingram, may I come? "

Before I can answer another request - "Ms. Ingram, I will do this, too! I need scissors."

Before I can answer this request, another interrupts - "Ms. Ingram, I want to build, too!"

I am no longer listening, I am no longer talking, I am simply motioning, directing with my hands. Oh, what a story my first student is sharing, she is so excited to tell me, her words are flowing, her hands are moving with expression, and it is all for naught. Imagine the scene with no sound - two of us wildly gesticulating, she sharing an amazing story, while I am motioning the others to please oh please go quiet and let me hear these precious words of hers. I try to get her to wait for me, with a breathless - "Please, wait, just a minute, I have my pen - I want all your words," but she is too excited and keeps on, in a voice just under the volume of all her eager peers. Who am I kidding, this isn't going to work; I can't hear anything above all this interrupting chatter. Clearly, this was not the time to focus on my agenda.

Breathe in, breathe out.

I speak to everyone else, "Hold on, everyone, let me help you one at a time; let's start with - " and before I can name the child who I will help, all voices start at once and it sounds like,
well,
how does one describe many voices at once?
It was total confusion, a garble that grew into a rumble, as children competed to be heard.

My eyes grew wide.

The children went quiet for one brief moment, and I said, "Wow, that sounded like this - brrtmtmFIPP! All of you speaking at once!" And everyone laughed.

I shifted to their needs. "Please, slow down, sit with me, join us at the table. Let me make room for you." I let go of my goal of hearing a story from my first student - I would try again another time, maybe later in the day, maybe tomorrow. She was happily building with recyclables, totally engrossed in her work. I pulled over as many chairs as I could, making room for the crowd. "I'd love to be with each of you, please join us."

Because, honestly, I think that's what this was really about. Everyone wanting to build, everyone wanting scissors, tape, cardboard recyclables, everyone wanting to be with me.

Some days are just like this.

SOLSC 2015 #22: How do you make stone soup?

Each day during March, I am participating in the Two Writing Teachers Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOLSC). 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 lots more reflections on teaching. Thanks especially to Stacey, Tara, Anna, Beth, Dana, and Betsy for hosting this writing challenge. 

*******

Stone Soup

1 magical stone (washed several times for sanity's sake)

1 onion (will the children cry when cutting?)

1 rib of celery (chopped up as small as possible)

2 halves of a red pepper, seeded (chopped up as small as possible)

3 small potatoes (let children use sharp knife to cut these into small chunks - with close supervision) 

3 cans of beans (black, cannellini, garbanzo) (fun for children to use can opener)

4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 baby carrots (as many as children enjoy cutting)

6 cups of vegetable stock (let children measure each cup)

0 salt and pepper (because "I don't like that, Ms. Ingram!!")

Let cook all day in crockpot, until classroom smells delicious, serve and eat.

0 leftovers

21 happy preschoolers, celebrating the end of our folktale unit!

SOLSC 2015 #4: May I sit and hear the book with you?

Each day during March, I am participating in the Two Writing Teachers Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOLSC). 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 lots more reflections on teaching. Thanks especially to Stacey, Tara, Anna, Beth, Dana, and Betsy for hosting this writing challenge. 

*******

I love reading to children, but it is also a real treat to sit alongside them as someone else reads a book. Sitting there amongst the children, I see them in new ways.

Just this past week, Ms. Kim [my Teaching Resident] was reading the truly fun and fabulous 'twisted' folktale The Three Little Wolves and the Big Bad Pig (by Eugene Trivizas and Helen Oxenbury) and I had this opportunity. Ms. Kim sat in our big cozy chair and all the children sat on the rug in front of her; I joined the children on the floor, sitting at the back of the group.

I spent the rest of the day chuckling about some of the antics I observed. 

Truly, it was like putting out one small fire after another!

The children settled in to hear the good story. Within seconds, they were very excited by the title itself, offering immediate feedback - "That's funny! It's not three pigs!" "Why is it the Big Bad Pig!?," many voices at once, a few "No, ME! I'm talking NOW!", and I am on alert, watching the many sparks fly due to their unbridled enthusiasm…Will they settle down? Will Ms. Kim regain control? Do I need to intervene?

[Yes, Ms. Kim's voice was strong and confident, her body language was completely at ease, and she quieted the children with the simple invitation, "Well, let's see! Let's hear the story."]

Ms. Kim had set up her phone on a nearby chair, in order to tape herself doing the read-aloud. From my place in the audience, I notice one preschooler become engaged with this phone...he immediately loses interest in the book. "I see phone, I see phone," he whispers, and he scampers towards the phone, adding, "phone games." 

[That is a fire that must be extinguished! Sorry, buddy, you will play phone games when you are with your family - it's not happening here at school!]

I no sooner intervene, scooping him onto my lap, when another child shrieks "I can't see! I can't see! I can't see!" A small fire begins. Unbelievably, the preschooler in front of her - who is breaking our sitting rule by being on her knees - gives her a quick glance and immediately adjusts her body position, sitting down on the floor, without a word from me! Yes! Fire extinguished!

[This is learning, preschool level - and I get to relax, now, right? Let's hear that book!]

Right next to me, a child gets up on his knees and starts groping his own bottom. Not just scratching, but both hands in - SPONTANEOUS FIRE! I am on the scene! I give him a very strong stage whisper and point towards the bathroom. 

[This same toilet trainer once explained - with similar mannerisms observed - "I am keeping the poop in." We will have none of that during this fine book! Oh my!]

Okay, let me settle back. I realize, somehow, there are now three children on my lap. Something about holding my phone lover in my lap has attracted two others. And these new two become my set of kindling wood, as they begin to argue over space on my lap. "Shhhh!" I admonish, "We are listening!" Both children go quiet. However, one, who always does the right thing, looks at me with furrowed brow, frustrated to be admonished, and her look alone is about to send me into gales of laughter. There are a few residual embers, but this small fire has been extinguished. 

We get to the part in the book where the Big Bad Pig takes a sledge hammer to the wolves' house and the children are beside themselves with confusion, excitement, perhaps even horror.  It begins to feel again as if twenty-one small fires are erupting, there are so many comments and questions. Ms. Kim gains control with a simple, "We are listening to [names of child] now," and this child explains artfully - "Maybe the Big Bad Pig does not know how to make friends?"

I'm not sure I have ever heard something so funny - we teachers are now creating our own small fires, trying hard to not giggle, and it takes a few more minutes for us all to settle down. Ms. Kim adds, "No more questions right now - let's find out what happens."

Okay, I settle in. This should be nice.

Immediately, a girl begins to wail! Not whimper, not a small cry, but a full-blown loud-pitched wail. This is quite a disruption for a videotaped read-aloud! This is an emergency fire! I must get to the rescue! I toss aside the three on my lap (well, I'm sure I was more polite than that), and embrace the one who is crying, turning her wailing head onto my shoulder, to muffle the cry, and I whisper calmly, "Breathe, breathe, breathe" while my eyes race madly over her body to see what is bleeding, what has happened. She begins to soothe, and I whisper, "What happened, what is wrong?" and she whispers back "That boy said I cannot ask any questions right now." 

[Oh, I see, that was not an "I am bleeding" cry; it was an "I feel indignant" cry. This is something else we are working on in preschool - appropriate reactions to problems. I see we have much more work to do!]

Truly, the rest of the read-aloud is a bit of a blur. I know a couple children jumped up to see the book more closely, one stepping accidentally on another child's hand; two "best friends" had to be separated from one another because of their private, staccato conversation in the midst of the teacher reading; someone was pulling at a loose thread on my shirt, who I largely ignored because he was at least very quiet; and a variety of other small fires. 

Yes, it is fun to be sitting in the midst of the children, seeing the book with all new eyes.