Bliss

On my organic milk carton, there is a bit of marketing that says, "We allow cows their bliss: Green Pasture."

I think of this every day when we launch into our long-awaited free choice time in my classroom. The children are so happy. Finally, after our circle time, our literacy rotations, our specials, our lunch, recess, and rest, I allow them what they've been waiting for. Play is a child's bliss.

visiting the frogs

We had tadpoles in our classroom. They were my first as well as the children's, and I learned as much as they did. It turns out that it's a very short season in a frog's life when it swims like a fish and eats little bits of spinach. Then suddenly it's a froglet and must be returned to the pond post haste, or it'll drown. I missed the chance to drop off our froglets, with their proud, brand-new little front legs, with our science teacher. She took the rest of the school's froglets back to the local nature center, from whence they came as eggs.

So my daughter and I loaded them in the car and took them ourselves. It was just before dark on a peaceful spring evening. I took photos of the froglets' homecoming to show my students, sad that they couldn't see them as frogs after all our careful observations and conversations about these little guys. My daughter and I wished them good fly hunting and all the good things in a froggie life, then released them back into the pond.

In the meantime, I was busily planning a trip to the Smithsonian American Art Museum in DC. Specifically, I wanted the children to see the folk art wing, where they could see art created with tin foil and bottle caps and bits of wood, and other stuff that would look familiar to them--and yet brand new--after our work with found materials. I couldn't wait for my low-income students to set foot in their very first art museum.

But it wasn't working out. The museum was hesitant to schedule a docent for a group so young, and if we waited until the museum opened to the general public, then we couldn't get a bus. I was disappointed and annoyed--the first field trip that I had conceived of from scratch and eagerly anticipated, and it wasn't gelling.

But then there I was with my lovely daughter, among frogs and birds and dappled sunlight, and I knew I'd found our field trip. We would come visit our frogs! It turned out that the nature center does a frog lesson just for our age group. We're going to take bag lunches and frolic around the pond for the better part of the day. It'll be grand.

We go on Friday. The children can hardly wait to see "their" frogs.

Next year, I'm going to figure out how to go the the Smithsonian American Art Museum AND the nature center. I love field trips.

A shout out on the NASA site

My school has an education partnership with NASA, and our recent science fair is currently highlighted on their website. You can check it out here:

http://wiki.nasa.gov/cm/blog/NES_Teachers_Corner/posts/post_1304087977891.html

I'm especially excited about this because it includes a photo of the little pre-K science project my class did. As the photos scroll, look for the one that says "Float or Sink," made out of bread. It's brief, but it's there!

There are times when pre-K can feel like a bit of an afterthought in an elementary school, and it made my day to see that our work was included in our submission to the NASA site. Yippee for us!

It was a really fun experiment, too. Big, airy slices of bread (low density) float on the surface of the water, but if 4-year-olds mash up that bread into tight little balls (high density), then lo and behold, they sink! Good times.

Push down

I wanted to make sure you saw this article over at Slate. I didn't know about these two, independent studies on the importance of play in early childhood, and I am really glad to know about them and their consistent but independently reached conclusions that play is essential. Two more studies to point to in the growing body of data calling for a focus on play in early childhood education.

I think about this issue every day, about the pushing down of curriculum. I think about how my pre-K classroom for at-risk four-year-olds is what many people envision a Kindergarten classroom to be. I bend over backwards to keep our learning fun and hands-on and full of light-hearted exploration, but I'm still asking them to come meet me in what I have designed, and it normally involves numbers, letters, and concepts that they are expected to know before they get to Kindergarten in my school district. I jealously guard their precious self-directed time, but it's still not enough in a day of so much curriculum to get through. I think about how many middle-class peers of my low-income students, in their private preschools around town, are getting lots of richly resourced, free exploration time.

There are times when I'm proud of what my students are learning and all the fun they're having while they're learning, and then there are times (when I read this article for instance) and I think, yowza, my program is part of the problem.

I have a lot to think about.

Hypnotic

I was getting to the point where I hated rest time. We would be on the playground, running and playing and getting fresh air, and I would already start to dread going inside, because it meant minutes on end of policing a wiggly group of pre-K children who would rather do anything, anything, than lay quietly on their mats. I tried offering them books. One book. Two books. Unlimited books as long as you stay on your mat. I tried little stuffed animal friends. I tried passing out everyone's journal. I tried letting them choose their own spots, and I tried assigning spots. I tried music and no music. I tried singing a little ritual song as they lay down. I tried guided relaxation. I tried stern looks. I tried shaking a little egg shaker when they were too loud (which was always). The only thing left, the thing I'm not permitted to do, was to get rid of rest altogether.

Besides, they are only four, and a whole day at school is a very long time when you are four, so a true rest would be a good thing. If only I could figure out how. Instead, they were subverting any rest rule I made, and I was spending a chunk of each afternoon in the role of police officer, which is by far my least favorite role. I would sit at my computer and try to accomplish something (this is supposedly my planning time/lunch break, because they are supposedly asleep), and chaos would erupt behind me. (Sadly, I have a built-in wall desk in my classroom, so having my back to the action while I'm at my desk is not something I can fix.) I hated rest and so did they.

It was time to try something completely different. It just wasn't working as read aloud time, so I recast it as read aloud time. I read aloud to my own children at home almost every day, even though they are now eight and eleven years old, and it's something I love to do. I can read aloud quite happily for long stretches of time.

I told the children that today there won't be books to look at, or animals, or journals. Today I would read a book that's just words, no pictures. They will lay on their mats just like statues and listen, just like a statue stands in a garden and listens to the birds. Then I read aloud from a book of fairy tales.

On the first day I tried this, seven children out of fourteen fell asleep. This is up from zero. And the other seven were as quiet as, well, as statues. The next day, nine fell asleep. The next day, eleven, out cold. My wonderful assistant, who is out of the room for most of this on her lunch break, says that listening to me read fairy tales in our darkened room, in my purposefully lilting voice, is hypotic, as if we are all in Sleeping Beauty's castle under a deep spell.

I love rest now. True, I'm still not ticking anything off of my endless to-do list, but I am getting a mental break, a dose of deep quiet, and a journey to never never land in the middle of my day. More importantly, the children are, too. The rest of the afternoon, after we open the blinds and fold away our mats, is noticably smoother.

Now the number of sleepers tends to hover around nine or ten. Today, one child asked me if we were having rest (we don't have it on Wednesday due to an early dismissal, so he was making sure today was a normal day). Yes, I said, and he said, yay! My clearest indicator yet that I'm onto something. Something hypotic.

Society's preschool investment: a bargain

I love reminding people I meet that while Virginia spends millions to run the Virginia Preschool Initiative (the program in which I teach), to prepare 4-year-olds from low income families for Kindergarten, that's actually a bargain.

Sounds like Mr. Bernanke thinks so, too.

"In the long run...the most important fiscal issue is whether the structure and composition of the government budget best serves the public interest. Research increasingly has shown the benefits of early childhood education...to promote the lifelong acquisition of skills for both individuals and the economy as a whole."

- Ben S. Bernanke, Federal Reserve Chairman

parents and teachers and conferences

I just held my first round of parent/teacher conferences with the parents of my pre-Kindergarten students. In some ways this felt extraneous, since I see these parents every day when they pick up their children (it so happens that I don't have any bus riders this year). But in other ways it felt absolutely essential, because most of them speak Spanish as a first language, and my Spanish is only good enough for a casual conversation, not for an in-depth discussion. (I am working on this. I need to improve my Spanish, stat.) At the conferences, we have time devoted just to that one family, and I have a translator, and I have materials ready for them to see and for us to talk about. So it's very useful and very artificial at the same time.

To cut down on the artificial quality of it, I try to keep it as conversational as possible. I greet them at the door, to communicate that they are my welcome guests, not an appointment. I offer them cookies and water. I sit next to them so we can look at the portfolio and discuss it together, not across the table from them like I'm conducting a job interview. I ask them if they have questions or concerns or comments, so I'm not talking the whole time.

I've been the parent in this equation at many, many parent/teacher conferences, and I would have liked (and occasionally received) this kind of treatment. But the bottom line, what I always wanted to know (especially when mine were really small, as the children in my class are) was this: is my child loved? Is my child safe? Does my child have friends?

So that's the message with which I start and end the session. I'm so glad to be your child's teacher. I love your child. Your child is safe here. Your child has friends. Frankly, how many letters your child knows, or how high your child can count, feels like small potatoes compared with that. Or, perhaps what I mean is that any academic issues feel solvable after that.

I'm humbled after all these women and men up-ended their schedules to sit down with me and attend so carefully to every word I said. I'm reminded what a huge gift and responsibility I have to care for and educate their little ones, every day. It's the way I feel about all my own children's teachers. I am trusting them with so much.

My parenting life informs my teaching life every day.

The book that has it all

Well, no book has it all, and that's why we need a million, but The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Erik Carle comes pretty close. Sometimes I think I could develop a year's pre-K curriculum around it.

Rich vocabulary? Check.

Rhythmic text? Check.

Colors? Check.

Counting? Check.

Growing pattern? Check.

Shapes? Check.

Days of the week? Check.

Opposites (little, big, hungry, full)? Check.

Science lesson on metamorphosis? Check.

Science lesson on the effect of healthy and unhealthy foods? Check.

Social studies lesson about the value of restraint? Check.

Gorgeous collage artwork to study, discuss, and try for ourselves? Check.

Big guffaw laugh on the Saturday page? Check!

I love this book. Mr. Carle, thanks.

In the days of Judy Instructo

This is an example of some of the teaching materials I found in my new classroom. This tagboard matching game was in a tattered, taped box from the Judy Instructo company, copyright 1966.

I'm trying to keep some of these, the ones in good shape with all their pieces intact, because a little bit of times past seems like a valuable thing. Besides, that car! That sink! Number 3, here! They crack me up.

But at the same time, I can't keep too much. There are so many other materials to have on hand. And people of color, or artifacts outside of main stream 60s Americana, are not represented in these materials.

It's a balancing act.

Bust out the good crayons

I am starting my position mid-year because the teacher I'm replacing retired after many, many years of teaching. There was a lot of stuff in the classroom. A LOT of stuff. She didn't throw or give anything away, as far as I can tell. I have found instructional materials from the 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s, and 00s. I know how incredibly lucky I am--I have heard stories of teachers walking into absolutely bare classrooms.

We all have our own styles, and I am finding that I need a little less stuff and a little more space to function well in this classroom, so I'm moving on a few things to new homes. This is a long process, to look at each item and evaluate it. So many things have value in an early childhood classroom, but a balance must be struck between storage for lots of good resources, and lots of good space for the children to explore those resources.

Something I am noticing in this process is that a lot of excellent, barely used or never used supplies were in the cupboards. Some were still in the shrink wrap. But, a lot of the things out for the children were well past their life span, like puzzles so frayed on the edges that they really couldn't be put together anymore.

I understand this impulse. It's easy to keep a new set of paints perfect on the shelf, and hard to put them out, to their inevitable fate in small hands. But, of course, who are the paints for? What is their purpose?

What is the lesson I'm taking from this? It's to bust out the good crayons. If you, too, have a lovely set of high quality oil pastels hidden away, let's do it together. Let's both offer the good stuff to these children, this year. Maybe even tomorrow.

I. Love. My. Job.

I am now one week into my new job as a VPI (Virginia Preschool Initiative) teacher, teacher pre-Kindergarten to 4 year-olds from low income families at a public elementary school in Arlington, VA. Even if you have never met me in person, you would recognize me: I'm the one with glitter all over my sweater, paint on my skirt, and a big grin on my face. I am a very lucky person to get to do this work. Yeah, I'm overwhelmed, too, with everything I need to learn and figure out and simple FIND in my new classroom, but I'll get there, with 16 children and a truly wonderful instructional assistant to accompany me on my journey. Life is good.

No, it's real teaching

I had an interesting conversation today in the hallway with a parent. His son is in the Kindergarten class in which I interned in the fall, and the whole family had been a delight to know. I told him the happy news that I am now teaching Pre-Kindergarten just down the hall from his son's class.

His reaction was not what I expected. "Oh," he said, with a look of commiseration on his face, "well, I'm sure it's just a foot in the door, and they'll move you up to Kindergarten soon."

I was pretty stunned. Since then, I have thought of perhaps a dozen or more things I would say, but in the moment I had children to attend to, so I merely said, "No, it's real teaching. It's a good thing."

Now, I know perfectly well that early childhood educators have an image problem. But it still stopped me in my tracks to see his look of disappointment on my behalf. The idea that those who teach preschool are teachers who aren't quite ready for prime time sounds ludicrous to me, but it's a perception that's alive and well out there.

If I had a moment more to talk with him and formulate my thoughts, I would have talked about the crucial importance of the four-year-old year. I would have mentioned neuroplasticity. I would have sited studies on the life-long value of a quality preschool experience. I would have told him that it's not just real teaching, but that it's real learning, too. I would have told him that I'm exactly where I want to be, that I will have a life-time supply of intellectually stimulating challenges in this environment, and that I can well imagine teaching Pre-Kindergarten for the rest of my life.

I'll have my one-minute speech on the value of early childhood education better prepared next time. One parent educated, a few million more to go.

Grades are for Dogs

My eight-year-old daughter is in third grade, and therefore now receives report cards. The first one came home not long ago. She did fine, but it gave me a pang that this form with its boxes and letters was meant to summarize the skills of this joyful, unconventional child and her particular quirky genius. I didn't love the "outstanding" "satisfactory" and "needs improvement" system of last year, but I liked it a lot better than this. I did what parents do: I praised her, and then we brainstormed some ideas she could use to raise a couple of the grades. And then I worried. Because eight seems mighty young to spend precious energy strategizing to raise grades.

I just recently, however, I came across the following in a stack of her drawings, stories, and notes. (By the Way, George is one of our two dachshunds, who we adopted from a rescue society last summer.)

George's Report Card

Sleeping Skills A+

Racquetball skills C-

Talking in class B

Eating the trash A+

Shares his bone B

I shouldn't have worried. If the kid can write a report card for her dog, I think she's got this in perspective.

My new school is a happenin' place

My new school, where I will begin teaching in just a few short weeks, just won a local human rights award for its outstanding efforts in parent outreach and inclusion. I am so excited to be a part of this!

You can read a short blurb about it here.

Giving Thanks for my new JOB!

I have some good news to share with you. I interviewed for a position on Friday, and I was offered it over the weekend. I'm employed!

I will be a Pre-K teacher in Arlington Public Schools, part of what is known here as the Virginia Preschool Initiative, or VPI. This program, funded by the state lottery, offers a high-quality preschool experience to four-year-olds from low income families.

I start in January, just a couple of weeks after I graduate with a Masters in Early Childhood Education in mid-December. I'll teach in a public school just 3 1/2 miles from my home (it's the same school where I had the good fortune to do my internship). I already know and admire my new colleagues.

I'm just pinching myself. This is exactly the work I hoped to do. I am grateful down to the soles of my shoes that I get to have this opportunity, and that it starts so promptly after my graduation. No waiting! Step right up and start your new life!

So, this is how this story ends. I've been wondering for so long now....when I'm done with this degree, where will I teach? What will happen next? And now I know the answer. This story is ending, and another one, a really interesting one, is about to begin.

I have so much to be thankful for this Thanksgiving, even in addition to the great bounty of being with my family. Wishing you a peaceful Thanksgiving full of blessings!

I think he was talking about classroom management

"What you do

speaks so loud

that I cannot hear what you say."

~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Serious Play

PLAY: the heart of an early childhood classroom. Vital to learning. Vital to childhood.

In a recent class project, I had the opportunity to defend play in a pre-K classroom to an adult who comes in the room and wants to know why the children are "just playing."

I'm glad you asked! My response:

When you describe the children as “just playing,” I feel you may be defining the word “play” as a time filler between sessions of “real learning” with a pencil and a worksheet. An alternate definition of play I offer is that play is a crucial process that contributes to learning throughout the life span, and motivates learning in addition to contributing to cognitive development (1). Simply put, play the most powerful and efficient way for children to learn and remember what they learned (2).
Serious benefits await children who engage in serious play. According to researchers Bodrova and Leong (3), play builds foundational skills and complex cognitive activities, such as memory, self-regulation, distancing and decontextualization, oral language abilities, symbolic generalization, successful school adjustment, and better social skills.
Children at play not only hone these cognitive abilities, but they also develop specific literacy, math, and social studies skills that connect directly with Virginia’s Foundation Blocks for Early Learning: Comprehensive Standards for Four-Year-Olds (4). As these standards astutely note, four-year-olds have serious work to do. But it can be accomplished with joy, enthusiasm, and engagement; in short, through play.
I integrate play with standards through careful observation and documentation of the children’s self-directed play. When I observe recurring themes, I develop whole group and small group activities to deepen their base of knowledge, their understanding, and their mastery of skills. I organize my classroom so that every play activity builds literacy, number sense, social interaction, and information about the world around them. Their dramatic, constructive, and exploratory play is richly layered with the core standards. They are building the skills they need to excell in their school careers and in their lives.
Play is an even more important component of a young child’s school day than it was in the past, because the nature of children’s play at home has changed; that is, not all children come to my classroom knowing how to play, and I must teach them how. “Nowadays, young children spend less time playing with their peers and more time playing along, graduating from educational toys to video and computer games” (3). When I see children struggling to play cooperatively and constructively, I scaffold their abilities with well-placed play props, questions to get them thinking, and interventions when needed to help them develop these essential skills.

1. Myck-Wayne, J. (2010). “In Defense of Play: Beginning the Dialog About the Power of Play.” Journal of Young Exceptional Children, 2010, 13: 14.

2. Elkind, D. (2007). The Power of Play: Learning What Comes Naturally. Da Capo Press: Cambridge, MA.

3. Bodrova, E., and Leong, D.J. (2004). “Do Play and Foundational Skills Need to Compete for the Teacher’s Attention in an Early Childhood Classroom?” Spotlight on Young Children and Play. National Association for the Education of Young Children, Washington, D.C.

4. Viriginia Department of Education (2007). "Virginia’s Foundation Blocks for Early Learning: Comprehensive Standards for Four-Year-Olds." Retrieved on November 15, 2010 from www.earlychildhood.virginia.gov/documents/foundationblocks.pdf.

An Ending and Many Beginnings

I just came to the end of my 11-week long internship. It was dreadfully hard to say goodbye to the children! I know how lucky I was to be part of their lives for a while. I learned so much! My mind and my heart are full. Now I buckle down to a few more weeks of intense course work, and then I graduate in December! Almost there!

Make lots of mistakes

This message is written on a white board in my school, in a hallway I traverse several times a day. It helps me relax and take a breath every single time I pass it. Make lots of mistakes. Who ever this fellow teacher is, I thank her or him.

Five-year-old children

I'm on a campaign to refer to "Kindergarteners" as what they are: five-year-old children. Not students, pupils, or class members, but five-year-old children. "First graders," likewise, are not that if I had my way, but rather six-year-old children. I think calling them so makes it easier to remember both that they are whole people, interested in and capable of a range of human activities--not just academic ones, and that they are very, very young.