Why teach about Black Lives Matter to preschoolers?

I am posed this question a lot.

Some have challenged me, saying that Black Lives Matter is inappropriate for preschoolers. When I begin to explain the work that I do, others have said - "oh, you are just watering it down. That's not Black Lives Matter. That's 'all lives matter.'"

Here's the thing:

What do we hope for high schoolers when they graduate, regarding mathematics? Don't we hope that they will be very strong in math, that they will be able to wrestle with concepts in algebra, trigonometry, calculus, and more? What about their literacy skills - aren't we hoping to create fervent readers? Aren't we hoping to create strong writers? Aren't we hoping that they can compose their thoughts into intelligible arguments, to be able to give bold speeches, to stand up for themselves, and to defend principles?

I do not ever speak of algebra or calculus in my preschool class. I do not ever speak about literary classics. However, I offer strong mathematical and literacy opportunities at the preschool level, laying the foundation for more challenging skills as they advance through their schooling.

Black Lives Matter can be treated similarly.

What are the skills that we want to foster in our young children so that they might be able to advocate for all? How do we lay the groundwork so that they are fortified to create a softer, kinder, inclusive world where all are supported and nurtured?

It is not okay to postpone or avoid this teaching. It begins now.

What is nap time like, this year?

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

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

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

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

To no avail.

The singing keeps on.

Is it louder?!

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

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

He asks, "You take me for walk?"

Ahhh.

He has seen me do this with others.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sweet cheeses!

Game over.

Preschoolers are powerful beings.

What did I forget?

The weekly note from my principal included a shout out to a very long list of teachers, with the words "A big thank you to the following teachers who completed all their administrative paperwork for the new school year." I scanned the list to see my name - and, ha! Amusingly, my name was NOT on the list.

I just assumed it would be there.

You see - I didn't know I had forgotten to do something.

I thought this was hysterical. I immediately found myself in a weird kind of limbo - aware that I did not complete something, but I had no idea what it is that I hadn't completed.

In addition to all the other to do's on my list, I needed to figure this out.

Exhausting.

What's happening along the edges?

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.

I spent this past weekend on the most amazing silent retreat. The retreat is nestled in a forest conservation area, surrounded by beautiful meadows with simple mowed paths for contemplative walking. I did a lot of walking, a lot of noticing, and a lot of writing. Entering the retreat, I was aware of the many transitions in my life right now - we are newly empty nesters, my husband is retired, and we will become grandparents in late October. Plus, of course, a new, fast-paced, and full school year is underway, with many new preschoolers and their own powerful transitions. I had a lot on my mind. Rev. Sarah Anders, our retreat leader,  challenged us to put our own lives and worries on hold throughout the weekend, and, instead, focus on being present in our walks, in our silence. We were invited to stop and notice the nature around us. We were invited to pay particular attention to the edges - what's happening along the edges? Such a magical pursuit! I threw myself into it...

...and it was extraordinary!

I walked slowly, noticing. There was a very inconsequential rain throughout, with sun streaming as well - a 'last vestiges of summer' kind of rain. My protective hat was just enough to keep the rain away from my face, and that's all I needed to ensure my continued walking. The meadow was filled with gorgeous yellow yarrow, milkweed, and purple thistle. There were so many insects busy at work...there are, in fact, I soon realized, an amazing number of lives in a meadow...butterflies, dragonflies, crickets, bees, hornets, spiders, beetles, flies, ladybugs, on and on, innumerable small and new, anonymous species. Within each of these categories of insects, there was tremendous variety...I saw so many different types of butterflies, for example. Are there a zillion types of dragonflies? Thin-bodied, thick bodied, blue, black, small, medium, large, and more?

As I walked, I seemed to stir up the insects...my footsteps instigated immediate, quick, and yet nearly invisible movement - as if we were playing hide and seek. As I wandered, all sorts of insects would jump from the mowed path that I was walking on, into the recesses of the tall grasses and plants in the meadow. How to describe the movement of all these small beings, all at once, as if on cue, with every step I took, within five feet of my own steps, always in the direction I was walking? If I stopped and went completely still - well, they would go still as well, nothing moving, quiet all around. But if I stepped again - voila! Immediately, the grass started jumping, coming alive, shimmering and flickering, almost like a light show with teeny tiny lights. Surreal. 

It felt like a celebration.

Why all this movement? Did the insects hear me? Did they feel the shaking of the ground? Or did they see me moving their way? Was I disturbing them? Or were they delighted to see me? Were we playing a game of following the leader? Who was leading whom? 

Here I am, back to my normal life, for just two days now - and I have remembered to "stop and notice" throughout the day. At school, I've started a fun little personal challenge, thanks to this retreat - what's happening along the edges in my classroom? Who's on the sidelines and what kind of merrymaking are they up to? The possibilities are endless.

What is most important?

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 beloved colleague Connie came up to me and said, "I'm going to tell you something that is going to make you mad, and, here's the thing, you can be mad for a minute and then you are going to get over it and we are just going to get it done." I looked at her surprised, wide-eyed, perplexed - and then asked cautiously - "Well, what is it?"

Connie quickly told me what the problem was, and the necessary solution. I'm not sharing what the problem or situation was, because, honestly, it doesn't matter. Teaching days can be filled with problems like this. Suffice to say, it was annoying, and small, not a big deal.

Her preceding words echoed in my head: "...you can be mad for a minute and then you are going to get over it and we are just going to get it done."

I stared at her a moment and then I burst out laughing, amused by Connie's clear-eyed insight about me. I said "Well, let's skip my 'getting mad' part and just get down to it." We laughed together as we worked. And, yes, we got it done.

I want to celebrate Connie's approach with me.

She held a mirror up for me to see myself - and she did so in a caring and amusing way. She made me laugh about my own foibles. She was showing empathy and understanding for my expected frustration with her news, while simultaneously urging me to not get bogged down by my annoyance and, instead, stay focused on the larger goal and complete the task.

It was more important to get past my frustration and anger and to just shine in our work. 

I wonder how long I will carry this wisdom: don't let my anger keep me from doing what matters. Or, maybe I should state it this way: save my anger for that which matters. I know anger is a powerful tool for change...I don't need to squander it on the small stuff.

Stay focused.
Don't get bogged down by what doesn't matter.

Don't get distracted.

Keep on with my purpose.
Be joyful.


Thank you, Connie. Such powerful insight for me at the outset of a new school year!

What do you remember about school?

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.

On our first day of pre-service this past week, the teaching staff wrote reflections about key educational events in their lives that brought them to where they are now as teachers. Everyone went back through their memories of school and classrooms, and considered what stood out. Here's one of my school memories -



The butterfly was painted with every color of the rainbow, and it spread its wings across the entire front of my bright orange sweatshirt. It was a tween's dream - it looked magical, beautiful, and fabulous. I was in eighth grade, a new student at public junior high, and a recent transfer from a parochial school where we wore the same stale uniform every single day. The butterfly sweatshirt was my exhale, my celebratory release. It was also a gift from my Dad, who was in the Navy and had just left for Vietnam. This sweatshirt splurge was his way of saying "I love you and I'll miss you" to his 13 year old daughter.

The first day I wore the sweatshirt to school, it was unusually warm. I had worn it over another much more boring top, and that turned out to be a good thing...I couldn't stand the sweaty feel of both layers and by mid-morning, I had slipped off the sweatshirt and hung it in my locker. I double-checked the lock after closing the door. I hoped it would be cooler when I walked home from the bus stop; I knew, even if it wasn't, I would 'suffer for beauty' and put that sweatshirt back on, hoping to impress my friends. I raced off to my next class.

At the end of the day, I excitedly opened my combination lock - only to discover the locker empty, the sweatshirt gone.

Gone.

Gone.

Gone.

I couldn't believe it. It didn't make sense. I know I locked the locker. Where did the sweatshirt go? Who would take it?

This 'underground' world where students surreptitiously broke into others' lockers was new to me. I had never had a locker before; I didn't know it was possible. But, yes, it was. This was my sad reality, my tough learning.

It was a hard loss, not something I could easily replace.

The very next day, as I made my way through the halls after lunch, there was Ramona Carter wearing my butterfly sweatshirt! Well, what was left of it. She strutted down the hall in a bright orange sleeveless sweatshirt - yes, sleeveless. At the shoulders, the arm holes had all those tiny triangular edges where the sleeves had been cut off with pinking shears. The body of the sweatshirt - with its beautiful multi-colored butterfly - was covered in signatures. Yes, it was signed in black permanent marker by 100 or more of Ramona's closest friends.

My sweatshirt. Destroyed. Vandalized. Ruined.

I didn't know Ramona. I only knew OF her. She was tough and cool and ran with a very different crowd than mousy, awkward me. I was very afraid to confront her.

I didn't know what to say.

I didn't know what to do.

She stole my beloved sweatshirt! Out of my locker!

I went to the Assistant Principal and told him what had happened. I hoped to get his advice and input. I remember he listened to me and didn't ask me a single question or clarification. He was quiet for a brief moment and then he said, "I'm sorry but you can't prove that the sweatshirt is yours. You'll just have to get over it."

I think his reaction hurt worse than the theft itself.

I walked out of his office, stunned, numb, and surprised. I am still so saddened at his lack of effort to help with the situation. His reaction made me feel both isolated and, somehow, wrong. I spent the rest of my time at junior high school avoiding Ramona.

As the years have passed, my reflection is - what a missed opportunity for conflict resolution, for restorative practice. We have to grab onto these challenging moments between students and help them to hear one another, to consider each other's perspective. Without a doubt, this Assistant Principal had a huge influence on me in my teaching - I work hard to help students resolve their conflicts.

SOLSC 20: How do you spell 'Hot Diggity Dog'?

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.

As soon as I arrived at school this morning, I changed around the dramatic play area in my classroom. I'm such a pro at these reorganizations that I only needed about twenty minutes to make it happen. Out with the suitcases and the travel theme, in with a restaurant! I set up the kitchen as one long galley against one wall for our many passionate chefs; I moved two small tables to the center of the area, draping them in tablecloths and setting them with dishes, to entice our hungry customers; I transformed the puppet show booth into a hostess stand, right at the entrance, so that we might welcome guests to our charming establishment. 

It may seem strange to change it just four days before spring break, but changing the area was more than overdue. All three of us teachers (my two Teaching Residents and I) felt invigorated by the change - it was like a breath of fresh air to imagine new play and conversation with the children. Also, I feel as if it gives us a chance to see what the children most like to do with the area, and we'll be more informed about the children's interests, as we plan the learning for the remainder of the year. The Teaching Residents are running a unit on Cooking, and this dramatic play area will be a fabulous complement to that unit. 

As students walked into the classroom at this morning's arrival, I met them at the hostess stand and said, "Welcome to the Big Cats' Restaurant, today is our 'soft opening.' Please come in and visit with us." Their eyes grew wide with delight and incredulity - everyone loves a happy surprise! They immediately entered into play, searching for plates, cookware, pretend foods, and taking on various roles. (I was most amused by the two children who honed in on using the broom and dustpan! Every good restaurant needs this kind of teamwork!) Their excitement was palpable...yes, it was more than time to make changes to this area! At our morning gathering, I shared that we will brainstorm ways to grow this  restaurant over the next many weeks, adding in their suggestions of what to name the restaurant, making menus, taking down people's orders, deciding what we should cook, and so much more...we will all work together to have a great time at the restaurant. One student exclaimed, "Hot diggity dog!!" and we all burst out laughing.

The restaurant had an excellent 'soft opening.'

That wasn't the only happy surprise of the day. Fast forward, I am home from school. Unbelievably, just after 7pm, D.C. Public Schools announced that schools are closed tomorrow. Snow day! Wow!! This. Day. Off. Is. So. Needed. It feels as if I have been given an extra day this week...my list of to do's has been bursting at the seam, and now I can be home and focused, with feet up, hot tea at my side, computer on my lap...oh my, oh my, oh my! I feel like a little kid, I am so excited. 

(Of course, the power must stay on, if my fantasy day is truly going to be fulfilled ;-)

(I wonder how much shoveling I'll have to do? My husband is in Atlanta...this is going to be all on me...hmmm. Fresh air and exercise is never a bad thing, right?!)

D.C. Public Schools are like the "little engine that could" of this area...all the surrounding counties will cancel school (as they have many times this school year), but D.C. chugs on, "I think I can, I think I can." This storm must be a doozy, to have them announce the closing the evening before. Oh my, it just dawned on me - I don't have to wake up early and search for the announcement! Is a "no alarm clock" morning - woohoo!

This preschool teacher is smiling! Yes, she is! All I can say is, "Hot diggity dog!"

SOLSC #15: What if you could take it back?

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.

There is a sad, bluesy song by John Hiatt called "Slip of the Tongue," which I have always been haunted by:

Some words flew out
And made a crash landin'
No love survived
Not a trace could be found

I broke your heart
With the back of my mind
From the tip of my tongue
To the end of the line

When I listen to his heartbreak, I wonder - What exactly did he say? How come he couldn't make amends? What causes us to be thoughtless? 

These 'slips of the tongue' are so ordinary, so human, and so horrid. We're living through one right now. A colleague received a text that was intended for another colleague, and - here's the heartbreak - not only was it written ABOUT the colleague who inadvertently received it, it was offensive and hurtful. 

How will they ever make amends? How will the beautiful and important work of teaching resume?

Ugh.

Teaching is hard work...you team with people that often are not your favorite folks and you have to make it work. I often joke that working on a teaching team is like being in an arranged marriage, one where even your children are chosen for you! It's not like you are sitting at a computer terminal with your back to the other person, hopeful that your one meeting together is over quickly. No, teachers spend their daily life so close together, mired in lots of social-emotional issues, communication problems, family discussions, thought-provoking strategizing, planning, planning, planning...working together as teachers in intense. Truly, intense.

We plan to have a restorative circle about this. We will now put into practice what we try to teach children - how to care for one another, how to be respectful, how to make amends.

Ugh.

SOLSC #10 What about sleeping in?

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.

There is something so sublime, so nourishing, so lovely about sleeping in. My fast-paced, full teaching days have been coupled with busy weekends and I've had this sense of unceasing push and pull. Then, finally, I land with this incredibly soft, luxurious discovery: I open my eyes just barely and I see sunshine peeking around the curtains, and I smile and roll over and close my eyes again, submitting easily into another deep, rich snooze. What power is sleep! Energizing, rejuvenating, delighting. Saturday morning, I love you.

I'm on a classic quest - finding that elusive balance. My dear husband is retired, and I have several more years before that will be true for me, as well. His easy paced days are a sharp contrast to mine. His retirement has eased my life in so many beautiful ways - he takes care of meals, laundry, house repairs, cleaning...he drives me to and from the metro each day. Yet, I continue to look for ways to bring our two lives more in alignment...while teaching. Put me in a room of preschoolers and I have a blast...let me follow their lead, hear their wisdom, watch their problem-solving, feel their love, joy, and energy...let's dance, sing, build, draw, read together.

That's not my daily reality. There's more to it, always. There are so many things about teaching that seem hard and challenging in ways that shouldn't be - so many constructs that take away the joy. This week alone:

writing report cards in this sterile way, making sure that all of these are aligned across the preschool classrooms, being told that mine were too detailed (me - details personalize, individualize, let parents read about their child and not some formulaic gobbledy-gook that describes any preschooler)

expected to make more and more and more planning details, with increasingly less flexibility or autonomy for individual classrooms...less wiggle room for that special book that suits the conversation or play that organically came up...the goal being to have set plans for the school year - i.e., teaching the same way every year, rather than knowing your kids and running with their interests. 

feeling distance with my colleagues ... an intense planning discussion where no one asked any big 

questions, such as Why should the children study this? What's the larger goal? What are we hoping they'll discover? What are the children wondering?

Yes, it's been a tough week, a tough couple of weeks, a tough school year. But I have Saturdays.

I want, simply, to teach.

SOLSC #8: What am I grateful for?

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.

This is a school day that was so low, I need to go high...and the best way to do that for me is to write ten gratitudes:

1. I am alive and healthy.

2. I have a husband who I love dearly and who loves me back.

3. The day is basically over.

4. My son Bryce is coming over to hang out (rather late on a school night, but when you are 22, you don't feel these schedule burdens!)

5. Yoga class made me feel so much better, and reminded me to write gratitudes.

6. Tomorrow is Friday.

7. I took Monday off because it is our 30th anniversary.

8. Tony and I are going out of town for the weekend. 

9. I have brownies in the oven.

10. There is ice cream in the freezer.

Bonus: This counts as my slice of life today.

SOLSC #2 Is that the way the wind blows?

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.

4:17am. The howling wind wakes me up, much too early for the school day, much too late to get back to sleep, just right for writing and reflecting. Just write.

Sad.

This wild burst of a windstorm has cancelled my evening flight; we got the text from the airline late last night. Tony and I were headed to Maine to see my parents. They are 88 and increasingly frail, my Mom with dementia, my Dad with Parkinson's. We try to visit them every couple of months, to check in, to smile, to absorb. We keep our eyes peeled for affordable flights and we grab an available weekend and we make it happen. I am blessed that my brother Mark lives only one mile from their retirement community, and is able to check in on them all the time; we love to visit Mark and Sue, too. 

This wind, this wild, relentless wind has cancelled our flight. So weird. I don't remember ever having this experience before. I don't remember having a wind storm. No snow. I don't hear rain; they say there may be some rain, minimal rain. Just wind, wind that roars like ocean waves. Wind that wakes me and makes me wonder, where am I?

Exhausted.

This has been yet another windy blur of a week. It's end of second trimester, a crescendo of 

data, to be both collected and entered, 

report cards, to be drafted, written, edited, proofed, 

children's projects, to be finalized,

our Learning Showcase, to be readied and executed,

Teaching Residents, to be coached through all of the above, 

and

daily teaching, to be somehow done in the midst of it all.

Whew.

Is that me, toppling over?

Joy.

I can't let the joyful moments just blow by.

1 - My preschoolers were beaming about their projects last evening, showing their treasures to their families, telling them how their (quite whimsical) engineering devices worked, taking their families on a wild imaginative ride, and, literally, dancing through the classroom all evening, like mini windbursts.

2 - My Teaching Residents (I have two this year...that's a topic for another slice!) were so energized and motivated this past week, they were like mini windstorms of their very own...making sure every preschooler's work was completed, adding beautiful touches to our classroom, creating a delightful video montage for the Showcase, juggling all the different professional demands, and keeping light spirits throughout the storm and bluster of this week.

3 - Today will be simply a half day at school with children and a half day of work time, to tie up those loose ends on report cards and data. Whew. We'll be able to take a deep cleansing breath.

Bonus: We will fly out tomorrow to see my parents...losing one day, but perhaps, perhaps, perhaps gaining another? I may take Monday off ... to add just one more wind metaphor, I guess that means I'll be blowing off Monday ;-) 

And now this slice is 

gone with the wind.

Tuesday SOL: What if we talk about race?

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.

What happens when teachers talk about race with one another?

courage
respect
dialogue
grief
honesty
empathy
fear
tension and uncertainty
questions
a feeling of being ill-equipped
listening
patience
time and space
messiness
stamina
gentleness
love

An outpouring of so many feelings,
all at once.

Finding yourself in a mixed-up intersection of
what you know,
what you think you know,
what your gut says,
what you are ignorant about,
what your family taught you,
what you want to believe,
what you are surprised by,
what you need to learn,
what you hope for,
what you imagine.

Talking about race with my colleagues reminds me of the children's song "Going on a Bear Hunt" -

You can't go over it
You can't go under it
You can't go around it
Oh no
You have to go through it.

Looks like we have to go through it.

Tuesday SOL: Why does it have to be like this?

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.

We're entering into the tough part of the school year, that time period in the very middle of the year, when so much fatigue has set in. There is so much to do and there simply isn't enough time to get all that needs doing done. I call out a "good morning" to colleagues first thing every day, but we are quick and perfunctory with one another; there is little opportunity to collaborate or share because everyone is so busy with their own never-ending list of must do's.

We had professional development this past week, and I wanted desperately to be working in my own classroom, getting work done. I work alongside a novice teacher, and as she begins to lead more, taking over more of the daily responsibilities, my need for time to meet, plan, review, discuss, and reflect grows exponentially. A short while into the workshop, I had that uncomfortable sensation of not being fully present; I was in two places at once. I challenged myself to listen. I am, typically, a "good student" - usually very much on-task.

Would you believe me if I told you that the speaker was engaging?

As a general rule, I love workshops, I love learning new approaches, hearing about the latest research. However, this just wasn't something I personally would have signed up to do with my time right then, because I am struggling to complete so many other things...I have other priorities. These priorities don't go away or even lessen as a result of this professional development.

I decided to step back and observe a bit, to give the situation a writer's eye. I looked around the room at my colleagues and took notes on what I saw:

- One, furtively scanning her phone, with a furrowed brow, looking tense, worried, or tired, or perhaps all three...

- Another, totally checked out...what I must have looked like just a moment before...eyes glazed, face tilted down, a mile away in his thoughts.

- Two colleagues were whispering together, very, very quietly...probably not about the lecture, right?

- Still another, typing madly on her computer, in the midst of the lecture, clearly not engaging with the material of the professional development, but in all probability getting something done on her to-do list.
- Several colleagues that I had seen earlier in the day were not even in the room...early departure? Doctor's appointments? 

- There's another colleague, feet drumming on the floor, fingers tapping on the table, is she listening to music? I can't see any evidence of earphones...maybe it's one of those wireless sets...hmmm.

Why does professional development have to be like this?
What is it about these sessions that makes them feel so tone deaf much of the time? 

How can so many of us be this detached from the lecture? 

If this were a classroom, wouldn't the teacher realize that the students were off-task and something is not working right?
Why are we learning about this right now?

There is always so much put on teachers, and increasingly little wiggle room or flexibility to think for oneself.

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: What is death?

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 can tell the morals of a culture by the way they treat their dead." Benjamin Franklin



We buried Flash the betta fish this week. I noticed he was slowing down one day. The next day when I came in, I didn't even see him in the tank. I looked more closely at the tank and there he was, in long, narrow leaves of the fake seagrass. Imagine, this tiny little life still having the desire and power to die in solitude...living life in a glass bowl, everyone looking at you, and then when it is time to die, finding the one available place of solitude to die.

I shared the news of Flash's death with the preschoolers. I let them see him in the reeds. They asked,
"Is he stuck?"
"Is he tired?"
"Why is he hiding?"
"Why did he die?"
"Is he sick?"

I removed him from the tank and into a paper cup with water, so that we could transport him to the garden for burial. I let the children look into the cup one by one, so that they could each be assured he was no longer alive. They asked,
"Why is he not swimming?"
"Is he sleeping?"
 "Can we make him move?"
"Is the cup too small?" asked one.
When the cup jostled, one declared,
"Flash is moving!"
I asked the children to put a hand over their heart. "Do you feel it beating? You are alive! Flash is no longer alive. He lived a good, long life."

We had a solemn procession down the hall and out the door to bury Flash in the garden. We dug a deep hole, placed Flash within, and then covered him over with dirt. I explained, "Flash the fish will help enrich our garden soil. We will be able to visit him in the garden, should the need arise." The children shared a few words,
"I like Flash."
"I miss Flash."
"Flash is in the dirt."

My colleague took several photos and I was truly surprised and moved by this one; I had not even realized this was happening, in the moment:

Do you see how one preschooler is supporting me, as I prepare to place Flash in the burial spot? It is so beautiful, the empathy and concern of preschoolers. It makes me so hopeful for our world!


***

Alongside everyone in our nation, I woke up to the news about the carnage in Las Vegas yesterday morning. Another horrific mass shooting.

Our nation will throw heart-wrenching memorials, so many flowers and candles, surrounded by breath-taking photographs of our deceased loved ones. We will weep, sob, cry out in grief. We will head right back out to the gun shop when we are done. What is life? What is the value of life? 

We are teaching our children to take it all in stride.  

Our Mommies, Daddies, sisters, brothers, grandparents, neighbors, colleagues, friends, lovers, fish,

all come and go.

We go through the pantomime of caring. Against all odds.

"One can tell the morals of a culture by the way they treat their dead." Benjamin Franklin

What can we tell about a culture by the way it treats life?

Tuesday SOL: Just how?

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 a teacher of teachers and it is tongue-twisting,
mind-bending,
metacognitive work.

This is a poetic attempt to describe this work at the beginning of the school year.

Just How

just how

do I know what to say in the moment?

just how

do I hold a mirror to the effect of her actions?

just how

do I help him to see from the student's perspective?

just how

do I discern what is the most essential thing to notice, to give feedback on?

just how

do I encourage her to see the power of her innate tools of voice, emotion, timing, and even physical presence?

just how

do I decide if this is important enough to mention?

just how

do I see the right and the possible in the midst of missteps?

just how

do I move him from simply being alongside a child to fostering the child's ability to play with peers, learn new routines, explore new things?

just how

do I help her see that she can be with more than one child?

just how

do I help him to react with a developmental lens rather than moral authority?

just how

do I give feedback in the moment, while keeping the classroom moving right along?

just how

do I encourage them not to give up, but to see the process and growth of their own learning?

just how

do I say just the right thing?

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!

Tuesday SOL: What about critique?

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 feel a lot of compassion for novice teachers.
I know they must wonder -
At what point is teaching done? 
adequate? 
fine? 
At what point have I done everything perfectly?

It is May and my Teaching Resident is leading the classroom. The more she leads, the more feedback she receives. I know she is at that uncomfortable place of trying to please everyone - master teacher (me!), mentor, colleagues, principal, graduate school, on and on...and let's not forget the students.

Let's just be real - you can critique E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G.

How might you speed up the pace?

How might you slow it down?

Why didn't the children have more voice?

(Or conversely - the children are talking too much - How might you teach children to listen?)
What behavior management challenges are you having?
How might you change your approach with that student?
What was the teaching objective?
How do you know the students achieved this? 

What might be a more developmentally appropriate approach?
How might you make transitions more efficient?
What else is happening in the classroom while you are in small group?
Was everyone engaged? Why or why not?
How might you engage all the children?
Why did you include that?
Did you notice such-and-such?

Everyone has questions, everyone has commentary, everyone has their perspective on how things should be. Often, these ideas are contradictory. Who is right?

I don't believe you ever reach perfection in teaching. There is always room for change, modification, improvement.

Perhaps the very best student teaching experience 

helps you grow into that place where 

you seek advice from others 

while simultaneously

listening to yourself, 

trusting your instincts, 

being aware of and working on your deficits, 

daring to teach as you feel is right, and

humbling yourself for a do over.

Tuesday SOL: Is it already past?

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.

A beautiful spring at the Franciscan Monastery.

My spring break was last week. For the first time in years, we stayed home. My husband is recuperating from minor surgery and therefore unable to walk long distances; it was not the time to be sightseeing and touring in some new locale.

We managed to have the most delightful week, all the same. Of course, I live in the Washington, D.C. area, so there were many things to see and do very close to home. I'll share a few photos. My brother Ralph and his family visited for a couple of days at Easter, and I slipped down to tour some of the monuments with them and to paddle boats on the Tidal Basin. I visited the Franciscan Monastery for the first time, enjoying its tranquil, meditative grounds. On one perfect, irresistible spring day, Tony was feeling well enough to visit our local park (Wheaton Regional Brookside Gardens), and I walked the grounds while he rested on a bench. Our special week at home together ended with a powerful, surprise hail storm followed by a double rainbow. I'm sure there is some meaning to this finale!

I realized, there's a surprising amount of relaxation and respite that comes with a "staycation." Simple walks around my neighborhood in the middle of the day seemed so peaceful and dear. Digging weeds out of my garden beds seemed both long overdue and low-pressured. Reading, journaling, and napping were three essential daily activities.

Gorgeous day at Wheaton Regional Park

How to describe the lazy pace of a week at home, without any school pressures? Things moved slowly, slowly, slowly...in the best possible sense! Example number one - I sorted through my clothes, moving winter things into the hope chest and freshly folding and hanging spring and summer clothes. (This is the seasonal reality of an old house with small closets.)

Another example - I cleaned my classroom betta fish's aquarium...a task I had put off for so very long. When would I have found this hour, without a lot of down time all around it?

Perhaps my most vivid example of the delightfully slow pace of a week at home - I often went on not one but two walks a day in my neighborhood.  I had so many noticings...the quiet all around, the bright colored azaleas, the beautiful dogwoods, the dappled light under trees, the unexpected breezes. Is it possible that I hadn't done this since my children were little? When I returned home, I reflected in my journal...which, of course, resulted in this blogpost.

Does it get any better than this, this delight of slow, found time?

Yes, it was a fabulous week - and leisure was the rule.

Here it is Tuesday, a mere 48 hours later. Is it already past?

Wheaton Regional Park...you'll have to look very closely to find Tony on a bench!

I loved the reflections of the Jefferson Memorial on the Tidal Basin.

Tony and I headed out to a movie in downtown Silver Spring, and caught a double rainbow!

This teacher couldn't resist the ABC's of Life at the Franciscan Monastery.