Tuesday SOL: Where do you find grace?

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

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

for teacher-writers to share and reflect.

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

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

I've got peace like a river,

I've got peace like a river,

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

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

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

I've got peace like a river,

I've got peace like a river,

I've got peace like a river,

in my soooouuuuul!

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

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

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

I've got peace like a river,

I've got peace like a river,

I've got peace like a river,

in my soul.

I've got joy like a fountain

I've got joy like a fountain

I've got joy like a fountain

in my soul.

I've got love like an ocean

I've got love like an ocean

I've got love like an ocean

in my soul.

Happy New Year, everyone!

The frustrated preschooler - my elderly Dad!

Bear with me, this is another blog post where I write about how my teaching of preschoolers has helped me in my interactions with my elderly parents. I hope it is not a rant, but a reflection.

Dad has had such a difficult time with this move. He doesn’t want to do it. Yet, inside, he knows “it is time” – time to move to a retirement community. He is not making it easy on himself or us.

When I step back and observe, I see a human being who is experiencing the exact opposite developmental stage from preschoolers. 

Have you seen a child playing with a toy, moving on, doing something else for awhile, coming back and not being able to find the toy again? 

This happens all the time in my classroom. Children forget where they put things, others might knock something down or move it elsewhere, teachers might inadvertently put something away without knowing it was important to the child. 

This can be oh so hard for a preschooler...Why can’t he find it? Where did it go? Who took it?

When this happens, my young students get so frustrated with each other, with their parents, with their teacher – anyone who is nearby is an easy target for their anger. We adults are thrown into the role of interpreting what is wrong and guiding them “through it.”

Many preschoolers get extremely upset when adults move things around. Change is very hard. I try very hard not to change my classroom around too much during the school year, because many children get very upset by things not being where they expected.

The preschooler is often filled with blame, impatience, frustration – 

and I believe this is because his brain hasn’t developed the perspective, habit, or “executive function skills” that will come in time ... 

how to keep track of your things, 

how to plan what you need, 

how to have a place for everything, 

how to organize oneself.

At my age, when something is missing from where I thought it was, I will wince, but I don’t get upset. I stop and think a moment, going back over in my mind all the different steps I took just before I lost the item. What did I do with it? [Sometimes, I say to myself sarcastically, “Ha...it must be the first signs of Alzheimers...here goes, the slippery slope!]

My Dad, age 85, seems to have been transported back to his preschool years – in terms of his response to losing objects. I believe my Dad is losing his executive function skills. And he is aware of it.

It is hard for a preschooler to be calm and patient when he is acquiring these skills; 

it is excruciatingly difficult in your later years to watch them slip. 

My father becomes so frustrated – 

not only about losing items, but 

to not be able to recall, 

to not be able to go back in his mind over all the different steps he took just beforehand, 

to not be able to admit to himself that he cannot do something so basic,

to not be able to do something he use to be able to do. 

A retired Navy Admiral, he was always in charge, always in control, always at the intellectual top. 

This must feel like hell.

Over these past few days, moving from his home, Dad has lost and cannot find

his meds,

his glasses,

his checkbook,

his house keys,

his favorite hat.

These are his things, his responsibility, his to know. These were his to pack, his to organize. I’m realizing this is all is too hard for him now, and, wow, that is a shock to us – his children – and it is oh, so painful for him.

Unlike with preschoolers, I rarely know where he has placed something. I’m not accustomed to “watching him,” I do not consider myself responsible for him, and neither he nor I want to take away any of his independence. I can see now that we are in a time of transition, and he will become increasingly dependent on others – like a young child.

Just like a preschooler, he insists – 

“Where did YOU move it? Where did YOU put it?”

Just as with preschoolers, I am patiently guiding him to find the object – “When did you use it last? Where were you?” 

Just as with preschoolers, it is essential that I use just the right tone of voice – I cannot be patronizing, I cannot coddle him, I cannot be exasperated.  I find it best to use a little humor, a light touch, a gentle and calm voice, ideally allowing him to calm down a bit.

Just as with preschoolers, I am thrown into the role of interpreting what is wrong and guiding him “through it.”

Dad's detailed list of "what's what" for his house electric panel. 

Moving him from his home to the retirement center, he has watched all of his children packing and moving all of household, his treasures, his life story. He is physically incapable of opening boxes, of lifting heavy items, of organizing the contents. He doesn’t know where to begin.

We are working alongside him, letting him give us directions, trying so hard to let him be in charge of what goes where, but often coming up short.

Where are the books about "elderhood"?
Shouldn't we have some parallel reading to all those parenting books?
Imagine books such as
What to Expect When You are Aging,
Your 85 Year Old,
Easy to Love, Difficult to Assist.

Once again, I find myself thankful for my daily work with preschoolers, giving me insight as to what to say, what to do, how to be with my dear Dad.

How do you say goodbye?

This summer is filled with packing and leaving.

The children, as is true every year, packed up and left the building, knowing 

(though not entirely understanding) that they would not be preschool Big Cats anymore.

We teachers, at the school year's end, spent a busy week packing up our classrooms for our move to our new school this August.

Now, here in July, I am at my parents' house in South Carolina, packing them up to move to a retirement community up north.

Packing and leaving.

A summer filled with boxes.

A summer filled with emotions.

How do you say goodbye?

I believe it is so important to 

pause

and identify

and hone in

on all the little, ordinary actions that

comprise your life

and recognize these,

celebrate these,

embrace their significance.

That last day of school, we celebrated saying goodbye to the walking rope.

Honestly, I don't know who was more excited - 

the children, 

for whom "no more walking rope" is a matter of pride, knowing that they are now advancing to pre-K (and they will simply hold hands with a partner as they walk)?

Or me?  

I know I will no longer be using a walking rope every single day at the new building, because, 

yes, yes, yes, we will have green space right on our premises!

We lined the children up 

one last time

with the walking rope.

I emphatically asked 

each pair of children  -

Do you feel ready for Pre-K?

Do you agree that you no longer need this walking rope?

With each enthusiastic "YES!,"

I symbolically cut a ring off   

of this torn, old, worn out rope. 

"Go forth!" I encouraged.

The children walked two by two

towards the dumpster and

threw their ring away.

It was important to me that we "say goodbye to the walking rope" and

the children loved it.

Now, here at my parents' house,

I'm daring to take my Dad down memory lane, too.

I'm hoping that what works with preschoolers 

will soothe him 

and me

as well.

This isn't a family home that we are saying goodbye to.

Perhaps this makes it easier for me and my brothers?

My parents retired here and had some twenty good healthy years in this location.

But now, with my Mom having dementia and 

my Dad with Parkinson's and other physical ailments (perhaps due to all his caregiving),

they are leaving here for a retirement community

close to family.

Mom is already safely ensconced in her new home, 

surrounded by 24 hour care, and

the love and attention of my oldest brother and his family.

My other three brothers and I are here in South Carolina with Dad,

packing and

remembering.

In the midst of all the boxes,

we are going down memory lane with him,

physically,

doing routine things together,

pausing,

identifying,

remembering...

coffee at Sunrise Cafe, 

looking for dolphins at the ocean,

hush puppies and a cold beverage at South Beach,

attending church at Holy Family,

listening to Frank Sinatra, Willy Nelson, Jim Croce on the porch,

eating Philly cheesesteaks from Publix,

walking the neighborhood.

How do you say goodbye?

May it be as soothing for my 85 year old father 

as it was for my preschoolers.

My brothers (Sonny, David, Ralph), my father, and me, attempting a selfie as we begin packing.

SOLS What about transitions?

It is Tuesday and this is a "Slice of Life" (SOLS) for Two Writing Teachers.  Check out their website for lots more reflections on teaching.

*******

Today, delightfully, was a snow day - a bonus day off, after a three day weekend.  I decided to slip a long walk in before the snow hit, heading down to my neighborhood walking path along Sligo Creek in the early morning.

Yesterday, we had weather in the 50s...today we would not leave the 20s.

Just before snow, there is a waiting.
Just before snow, change is in the air.
Just before snow, it is so beautiful outside.

At this early morning hour,
the temperature felt, somehow, both cold and warm.
There was more moisture in the air, yet the breeze felt dry.
The light of the sky seemed to be simultaneously darkening and brightening.
I was amazed, alert, aware.
Yes, change was coming.

The ground itself was brown with leaves and dirt, only the slightest speckles of snow falling from the sky. It was some time before the snow began to stick to surfaces. For this one hour walk, I was suspended, poised, hovering between two weather extremes. Yes, change was coming.

Nature was giving me a full sensory experience of transition.
Pulled between two possibilities,
there is heightened tension,
not fully knowing what would be.

Just before snow, I could see clearly the work of change.


I think the place 'in-between' - as you leave one thing and enter another - is dynamic, restless, filled with invisible movement. What comes next?

It strikes me that this is why transitions are so hard for young children.
Giving up one thing and moving towards the next.

Young children need to know,
What comes next?

When it is time to do something new, aren't there always a few who run away?  or cry? or avoid?
Is it the space "in-between"? 
Is there a not knowing? an unpredictability?

Thus, the essentialness of having routines,
thinking through and planning how you will move from one thing to the next -
thinking it through for each individual child.

How will you help the children leave / stop what they are doing?
How will the children know?
What are your cues? Is there a visual? a special sound?
Are there children that need to be forewarned, to be reminded ahead of time?
Is there a way to make the transition more joyful? more magical? a song, chant, or dance, perhaps?
Is there a way for children to participate in this transition? to feel a sense of control over what is happening? a job or task that they might be responsible for?
Where is the pleasure of this new thing they will be doing? 

As I walked, I saw the most beautiful bird,
unknown to me,
grey-blue with a white ring around its neck,
somewhat 'plump' (the cold?),
flying along the creek, landing every once and awhile,
starting again, each time I approached,
landing aways, up the creek, in the direction I was walking,
flying off again as I got near.
We continued this way some four or five lengths,
when I lost him in the transitioning light.
He became invisible,
melded with the rock, the whitening path, the dark creek water.
My eyes searched, I could not find him,
but heard him only,
until,
at last,
his chirp also disappeared.
This beautiful bird was the magic of this morning's approaching snow,
bringing both suspense and pleasure,
as nature transitioned.