every time I think about making changes in my life -- food, style, organization, spiritual practice -- I get very scared. I am afraid of peace. I am afraid of what I will lose by making the change. and so, I get loads of ideas, I read magazines and books and websites, and it seems like nothing is ever any different. Why? because even though I know in my brain what a good idea such and such thing might be, when it comes time to actually do something, or more often, when I get stressed or tired or busy, I revert to doing what I've always done. Eating entire bags of rice cakes, drinking coffee, letting laundry pile up so that I have seven loads to do, letting my desk get covered with papers, showing up to work with only a germ of an idea of what I'm teaching that day.
How do you change?
What do you do to goad yourself to move forward and blossom and DO IT THIS WAY, THIS TIME?
I'll be 35 in less than two weeks. While I'm much more of a competent, capable adult than I ever thought possible at 21, I know I have more to offer this world. There is way more amazing stuff that I could do, could give, even though I am just this little, habit-bound individual.
share your stories with me, please.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Bedtime, part 2
Oh, dear friends, unless you have seen a child through learning to go to sleep, you have no idea what amazement is mine.
This week, not only did Small Son go to bed at his usual bedtime for Grandma when she and Grandpa were babysitting Tuesday evening, but tonight, he went to bed and did not even ask to nurse. It was later than usual, as we were at the coffee shop helping out with getting ready for our opening day on Saturday. We did our bedtime routine, and after story, I sang him a song or two, tucked him in, then sang one more from the rocker as he snuggled in bed with his wolf and lamb and doll...
And that was it. I sat for a few minutes after the song, then tiptoed out. Dreamland.
Visions of being able to go out in the evening without worrying that he'll be up until I get home, even if it is 11 o'clock at night, are dancing in my head. Would he go to sleep for his other Mama, maybe? For a babysitter? Hmmmm...
I dont't think we are totally done with nursing. I think he may ask tomorrow or the next day, and if he does, I'll nurse him. My guess is that it will start to fade away, though. His circle of friends and family is widening, and he is ready to venture into bigger and bigger experiences of the world, but he still needs the small, warm circle of his family, and the smaller one of loving arms to hold him.
May he always know there is room in those arms for him.
This week, not only did Small Son go to bed at his usual bedtime for Grandma when she and Grandpa were babysitting Tuesday evening, but tonight, he went to bed and did not even ask to nurse. It was later than usual, as we were at the coffee shop helping out with getting ready for our opening day on Saturday. We did our bedtime routine, and after story, I sang him a song or two, tucked him in, then sang one more from the rocker as he snuggled in bed with his wolf and lamb and doll...
And that was it. I sat for a few minutes after the song, then tiptoed out. Dreamland.
Visions of being able to go out in the evening without worrying that he'll be up until I get home, even if it is 11 o'clock at night, are dancing in my head. Would he go to sleep for his other Mama, maybe? For a babysitter? Hmmmm...
I dont't think we are totally done with nursing. I think he may ask tomorrow or the next day, and if he does, I'll nurse him. My guess is that it will start to fade away, though. His circle of friends and family is widening, and he is ready to venture into bigger and bigger experiences of the world, but he still needs the small, warm circle of his family, and the smaller one of loving arms to hold him.
May he always know there is room in those arms for him.
Monday, July 25, 2011
bedtime
We are learning to fall asleep here. Small Son is 2 1/2. He still nurses, though it's mainly limited to naptime, when he wakes form his nap, and bedtime.
I suppose it would be just as accurate to say, "We're working on weaning here." It's a process. We stopped nursing at night this past winter. That was far less traumatic than I expected. I never planned to be nursing my son into his third year. I had thought, I'll give it a year. And then, I thought perhaps a few more months. And then, perhaps until he's two...
I am not in a rush to wean completely. Weaning begins when the child starts to take other nourishment, and that started when A. was 6 months old with his first tastes of banana and avocado. By 9 months, he was eating Happy Baby rice cereal mixed with baby food once a day. We were not big solid food promoters. He ate when he showed interest.
He certainly has plenty of interest now. Small Son's favorites include most fruits, but not melon, chicken, ham, toast, oatmeal, broccoli, peas, and raisins. Nordic Naturals Nordic Berries vitamins are also high on his list. I don't blame him -- they're yummy.
So, now we are starting to shift away from nursing to sleep, which he has had a lot of trouble doing in the evening for the past few weeks. He still nurses down quickly for naps, but bedtime was starting to take all night.
We're working on shifting the routine, simplifying, making his own bed the place where he falls asleep, tucked in all cozy with his Lambie, Wolfie, and Blue Baby.
It's starting to work, slowly, slowly, slowly, but tonight I left the room before he was totally zonked, and he slept. It was like a miracle.
It seems like falling asleep ought to be so easy, but as anyone who has lain awake, counting the minutes, mind racing, can tell you, sometimes, it isn't. I want bedtime to be a welcome respite for our son, a safe, sweet, cozy time, when he knows he is loved and cared for, and where he can recharge for the next day's adventures. I want him to look forward to his journeys in Dreamland, and to learn to sleep easily and deeply.
We are learning to fall asleep and to wake up, and teaching these things is part of being a Waldorf educator, as well as part of parenting. We have to put our own thoughts to sleep to really listen to someone else. We have to dream our way into stories, and our feeling life is like a dream, half-remembered, barely understood. Sleep and waking and the liminal spaces in between -- if we can make these transitions well, then we can learn to move from action to stillness, from lassitude to industriousness, with ease and calm in other realms of life, too.
There is much to say on the topic of sleep, and for tonight, I will talk less and sleep more, hoping to bring some insights later in the week...
Sweet dreams, dear reader.
I suppose it would be just as accurate to say, "We're working on weaning here." It's a process. We stopped nursing at night this past winter. That was far less traumatic than I expected. I never planned to be nursing my son into his third year. I had thought, I'll give it a year. And then, I thought perhaps a few more months. And then, perhaps until he's two...
I am not in a rush to wean completely. Weaning begins when the child starts to take other nourishment, and that started when A. was 6 months old with his first tastes of banana and avocado. By 9 months, he was eating Happy Baby rice cereal mixed with baby food once a day. We were not big solid food promoters. He ate when he showed interest.
He certainly has plenty of interest now. Small Son's favorites include most fruits, but not melon, chicken, ham, toast, oatmeal, broccoli, peas, and raisins. Nordic Naturals Nordic Berries vitamins are also high on his list. I don't blame him -- they're yummy.
So, now we are starting to shift away from nursing to sleep, which he has had a lot of trouble doing in the evening for the past few weeks. He still nurses down quickly for naps, but bedtime was starting to take all night.
We're working on shifting the routine, simplifying, making his own bed the place where he falls asleep, tucked in all cozy with his Lambie, Wolfie, and Blue Baby.
It's starting to work, slowly, slowly, slowly, but tonight I left the room before he was totally zonked, and he slept. It was like a miracle.
It seems like falling asleep ought to be so easy, but as anyone who has lain awake, counting the minutes, mind racing, can tell you, sometimes, it isn't. I want bedtime to be a welcome respite for our son, a safe, sweet, cozy time, when he knows he is loved and cared for, and where he can recharge for the next day's adventures. I want him to look forward to his journeys in Dreamland, and to learn to sleep easily and deeply.
We are learning to fall asleep and to wake up, and teaching these things is part of being a Waldorf educator, as well as part of parenting. We have to put our own thoughts to sleep to really listen to someone else. We have to dream our way into stories, and our feeling life is like a dream, half-remembered, barely understood. Sleep and waking and the liminal spaces in between -- if we can make these transitions well, then we can learn to move from action to stillness, from lassitude to industriousness, with ease and calm in other realms of life, too.
There is much to say on the topic of sleep, and for tonight, I will talk less and sleep more, hoping to bring some insights later in the week...
Sweet dreams, dear reader.
Friday, July 22, 2011
This Moment
{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. Inspired by Soule Mama
If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.
If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
where did last week go? PLUS: hot weather fun!
Uh, sorry, readers! Last week kind of slipped away... It was glorious and cool last week on Wednesday and Thursday, and then HOT arrived. HOT has been here, making toddlers stir crazy in the A/C and mamas testy and tired.
What do you do in the HOT with a little one? Or with a slightly bigger one?
I have found one sure-fire solution: water. Drink it, play in it, wear it. We have made two trips to the beach, played in the wading pool in the back yard, and run wildly through the sprinkler. Now, we have central air, and I am a delicate flower because of it. My heat tolerance is not that high, as the ridiculous state of my skin will attest. However, in the sprinkler, with a breeze blowing, even 98ºF is bearable.
What else can you do in the HOT? If you are hiding indoors, this is a good time for fort-building, library visits, playdough, and drawing. We've read lots of stories and have been getting the playdough out every day. Small Son enjoys helping to make smoothies and shakes. Forgotten toys have been dug out of storage to enjoy new lives and newly-acquired play skills.
And for the grownups? Iced tea, cool showers, late-evening walks with the dog, and joining the kid in his watery activities have all helped.
The heat won't last forever. I know I'll miss it when it's 115º colder this winter!
Stay Cool!!
What do you do in the HOT with a little one? Or with a slightly bigger one?
I have found one sure-fire solution: water. Drink it, play in it, wear it. We have made two trips to the beach, played in the wading pool in the back yard, and run wildly through the sprinkler. Now, we have central air, and I am a delicate flower because of it. My heat tolerance is not that high, as the ridiculous state of my skin will attest. However, in the sprinkler, with a breeze blowing, even 98ºF is bearable.
What else can you do in the HOT? If you are hiding indoors, this is a good time for fort-building, library visits, playdough, and drawing. We've read lots of stories and have been getting the playdough out every day. Small Son enjoys helping to make smoothies and shakes. Forgotten toys have been dug out of storage to enjoy new lives and newly-acquired play skills.
And for the grownups? Iced tea, cool showers, late-evening walks with the dog, and joining the kid in his watery activities have all helped.
The heat won't last forever. I know I'll miss it when it's 115º colder this winter!
Stay Cool!!
Friday, July 08, 2011
Challenges and Gifts
Apparently, posting daily, or even weekly, to various social media or to this page are tough, even when school is not in session. Seeing the gifts in each day requires that I meet the challenges from a place of openness and strength, not from a besieged hill, bristling with spears, nor as a suffering martyr. Ugh, as I write those, I feel them in me, those small, sad versions of myself. Poor little me! And now I'm laughing...
I was going to write about all the things that stand in the way of writing for me, the housework, the needy toddler, the rabbit-like thoughts that run around in my head, the stuff that seems so much more important, but really, who wants to read about that? Instead, you get the good stuff. Here it is:
* backyard raspberries, tiny and black, tart and sweet, fragrant as heaven.
* watching small son slide his chubby hand between the brambles to free the berries and crush them into his mouth, smearing clear magenta juice all over his face.
* wonderful Kelly at Specs who is a real Daymaker.
* tiny rabbit who has been living under our neighbor's hedge spent much of the evening eating fallen birdseed on our stoop, much to Small Son's delight (and ours!)
* big brown toad greeting me as I mowed the back yard last night, then hopping safely into the undergrowth.
* watching the progress at the coffee shop and seeing my partner's excitement and grace under pressure as opening day approaches.
And that's just yesterday!! What amazing joys are waiting for us today?
I was going to write about all the things that stand in the way of writing for me, the housework, the needy toddler, the rabbit-like thoughts that run around in my head, the stuff that seems so much more important, but really, who wants to read about that? Instead, you get the good stuff. Here it is:
* backyard raspberries, tiny and black, tart and sweet, fragrant as heaven.
* watching small son slide his chubby hand between the brambles to free the berries and crush them into his mouth, smearing clear magenta juice all over his face.
* wonderful Kelly at Specs who is a real Daymaker.
* tiny rabbit who has been living under our neighbor's hedge spent much of the evening eating fallen birdseed on our stoop, much to Small Son's delight (and ours!)
* big brown toad greeting me as I mowed the back yard last night, then hopping safely into the undergrowth.
* watching the progress at the coffee shop and seeing my partner's excitement and grace under pressure as opening day approaches.
And that's just yesterday!! What amazing joys are waiting for us today?
Friday, July 01, 2011
*this moment*
{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.
If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.
If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Sun, Sand, and Strawberries
This morning, the Boy came into our room at 6 and snuggled with me for a while. When he got too squirmy and started telling me he wanted a snack, we got up, and he was very happy to eat handfull after handfull of strawberries from the flat in the fridge. At least he let me wash them first. These were the berries I picked yesterday at Apple Jack Orchards after dropping Boy off at daycare.
Okay, before we go any further, that last sentence? The one with "daycare" in it? That was hard to put out there. My partner, M, has stayed at home with Boy since I went back to teaching when he was 3 months old. We have been so lucky in this; she was with him during the week all this year, working weekends to make ends meet, and I have been Mama-on-Duty most of the time in the summer. But this summer, we are opening a coffee shop, and I'll be back to school in September, so we're trying something new. Boy is going to our dear friends' home childcare two days a week. In the fall, he'll be there four days, experiencing a rich Waldorf early childhood program with people who love him and whom he knows and loves.
So, back to today... as we were eating berries, making coffee, feeding pets, I told Boy that we had special plans. "We're going to the beach this morning, so we have to eat breakfast and get ready!"
There were lots of questions -- Boy is two-and-a-half, in spades, and there are always questions. Is there a park there? Where is the beach? Is Mama M going? We go there in a car? Is there a park? Will we play there?
I packed popcorn, banana chips, and raisins. I packed sunscreen and towels, diapers and wipes, camera and hats. Boy got out the big canteen and we filled it with ice water. He went several times into our bedroom to shake M awake and crow, "We're going to a beach today!"
When we arrived at the lakeshore, it was very quiet. People were biking and skating and running on the trails, but no one was at the playground yet, and there was only one quiet man pushing himself on the tire swing. I was a little nervous abou the man on the tire swing -- it was 8 in the morning, not a time when many adult men are utilizing playground equipment. Boy was not too interested in the beach at first, and who can blame him with the gorgeous playground that was next to it, dappled in leafy shade and with four different play structures and many bouncy ride-on toys? After a while, the man drifted away, and we meandered over to the beach.
The water was chilly at first, and we shared the beach with one middle-aged swimmer and some ducks. The ducks later proved to be very bold and nearly tame, coming right up to various beach towels and demanding snacks. Boy was cautious at first in the water, but caution soon gave way to laughter and requests for splashing and "Teach me to swim!" We played for an hour before I was able to coax him back to our blanket for snacks and a break. As the beach filled up with other children, parents, and grandparents, he spent more time watching how they approached the water, how the older children swam or built sand castles, how the grandmothers encouraged recalcitrant toddlers and grandfathers snapped pictures.
We went back to the playground for a while, and it was getting hotter. Boy tried out slides and ladders, played in the sand, rode a motorcycle, and was eventually tired enough to come sit on my lap for another handfull of popcorn and raisins, and to be led back to the car. He fell asleep on the way home, woke up for a while when I brought him into the house, and then settled down for a nap. He's been asleep for two hours now, so my time for writing is running out.
I feel so blessed to have this time in the summer to spend with him. It is awe-inspiring to see him trying things for the first time, to hear his laughter and see him figuring out how to do something new. The lake is only a few miles from our house, and there are dozens of lakeshore beaches, wading pools, splash parks, and big pools nearby. This afternoon, though, if we need more water play, we'll be in our own yard, with the sprinkler. The forecast is for 100ºF today, and I can only stand so much air conditioning (but I am so grateful for it)!
Where do you go to be near water? Is it the sea, the ocean, a river or creek?
What new and amazing experiences do you want to share with children this summer?
Okay, before we go any further, that last sentence? The one with "daycare" in it? That was hard to put out there. My partner, M, has stayed at home with Boy since I went back to teaching when he was 3 months old. We have been so lucky in this; she was with him during the week all this year, working weekends to make ends meet, and I have been Mama-on-Duty most of the time in the summer. But this summer, we are opening a coffee shop, and I'll be back to school in September, so we're trying something new. Boy is going to our dear friends' home childcare two days a week. In the fall, he'll be there four days, experiencing a rich Waldorf early childhood program with people who love him and whom he knows and loves.
So, back to today... as we were eating berries, making coffee, feeding pets, I told Boy that we had special plans. "We're going to the beach this morning, so we have to eat breakfast and get ready!"
There were lots of questions -- Boy is two-and-a-half, in spades, and there are always questions. Is there a park there? Where is the beach? Is Mama M going? We go there in a car? Is there a park? Will we play there?
I packed popcorn, banana chips, and raisins. I packed sunscreen and towels, diapers and wipes, camera and hats. Boy got out the big canteen and we filled it with ice water. He went several times into our bedroom to shake M awake and crow, "We're going to a beach today!"
When we arrived at the lakeshore, it was very quiet. People were biking and skating and running on the trails, but no one was at the playground yet, and there was only one quiet man pushing himself on the tire swing. I was a little nervous abou the man on the tire swing -- it was 8 in the morning, not a time when many adult men are utilizing playground equipment. Boy was not too interested in the beach at first, and who can blame him with the gorgeous playground that was next to it, dappled in leafy shade and with four different play structures and many bouncy ride-on toys? After a while, the man drifted away, and we meandered over to the beach.
The water was chilly at first, and we shared the beach with one middle-aged swimmer and some ducks. The ducks later proved to be very bold and nearly tame, coming right up to various beach towels and demanding snacks. Boy was cautious at first in the water, but caution soon gave way to laughter and requests for splashing and "Teach me to swim!" We played for an hour before I was able to coax him back to our blanket for snacks and a break. As the beach filled up with other children, parents, and grandparents, he spent more time watching how they approached the water, how the older children swam or built sand castles, how the grandmothers encouraged recalcitrant toddlers and grandfathers snapped pictures.
We went back to the playground for a while, and it was getting hotter. Boy tried out slides and ladders, played in the sand, rode a motorcycle, and was eventually tired enough to come sit on my lap for another handfull of popcorn and raisins, and to be led back to the car. He fell asleep on the way home, woke up for a while when I brought him into the house, and then settled down for a nap. He's been asleep for two hours now, so my time for writing is running out.
I feel so blessed to have this time in the summer to spend with him. It is awe-inspiring to see him trying things for the first time, to hear his laughter and see him figuring out how to do something new. The lake is only a few miles from our house, and there are dozens of lakeshore beaches, wading pools, splash parks, and big pools nearby. This afternoon, though, if we need more water play, we'll be in our own yard, with the sprinkler. The forecast is for 100ºF today, and I can only stand so much air conditioning (but I am so grateful for it)!
Where do you go to be near water? Is it the sea, the ocean, a river or creek?
What new and amazing experiences do you want to share with children this summer?
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
What can you expect?
What can you expect here?
* Thursdays will feature some new writing from me, musings on whatever aspect of parenting or teaching or partnering or living is living most strongly for me that day.
* On Friday, I will post a new *this moment* photo, a few links to fantastic stuff, and more musings. I'm not pledging a particular time on either of these.
* other days, there may be thoughts, questions, ideas, projects, polls, or links for you to peruse, use, enjoy...
like this one from mentalmultivitamin
or this one from beautythatmoves
* Thursdays will feature some new writing from me, musings on whatever aspect of parenting or teaching or partnering or living is living most strongly for me that day.
* On Friday, I will post a new *this moment* photo, a few links to fantastic stuff, and more musings. I'm not pledging a particular time on either of these.
* other days, there may be thoughts, questions, ideas, projects, polls, or links for you to peruse, use, enjoy...
like this one from mentalmultivitamin
or this one from beautythatmoves
Saturday, June 18, 2011
muggy morning
Our boy has a fever. He is whiney and exhausted, but wants to play. I spent a lot of time this past week working on my end-of-year reports, which in many ways feels like a fever of the mind. I burned through the year, refining, cutting away what was inessential, looking for the kernels of gold amongst the dross that I could share with the parents of my students. It mean in turn.
And now that work is done, and the school year, the hardest I have ever had, is finally laid to rest. This was the school year that turned me inside out in new ways. Last year, I taught a first grade class of four little girls. They were sweet and charming and tractable. It took no time at all to transition from one activity to another. They were eager to learn, and the chattiness of four children is completely manageable with simple conversation and gentle reminders. I worked with three individuals.
This year, I moved to a large, established Waldorf school in the city. I had a class of 15 which grew to 17 and shrank back to 16. And it didn't work -- almost nothing that I had in my back pocket worked. Changing volume or pitch to get the children's attention? Nope. Playing clapping games or doing tongue twisters while we waited? Nuh-uh. Yelling, which became less and less a last resort, and more and more my usual tone of voice? No way.
And then, mid-year, I was really ill. I came back from winter break, and suddenly I was having intense abdominal pain. It took several days and lots of tests to finally get someone to pay enough attention to figure it out. My appendix was calcified. It needed to come out. Soon. I missed two weeks of school, all told, and I went back too soon. I was worn out, coming off pain medication, and trying to pull a class back together after the holidays, plus two disjointed weeks with a substitute teacher.
And they sent in an outside evaluator, one who didn't mince words. One who asked me, "Are you sure you're in the right place?"
I crumbled. I wept. I was enraged -- who was this person, to question my vocation? To be so frank and unsympathetic? How dare she? How could they send someone like that into my classroom, knowing I was getting over surgery and everything?
It took a long time, and a lot of mentoring and coaching, and a lot of humility, for me to move past that point. I had to admit that my eleven years of experience meant nothing to these children. That they needed more from me, and that they needed me to do something differently. I was trying to teach them like I'd taught other children, in another school, at another time, in different numbers.
In retrospect, I liken it to saying to a guest,"My other guests have liked this meal, so I'll serve it to you, even though I can see you don't like it. Other guests liked playing croquet, so that's what we'll do, even though you've told me you prefer chess."
Rudolf Steiner, in one of his lectures to the teachers at the first Waldorf school said (I'm paraphrasing here. Please forgive me), at the end of a year, you will feel that you know how to teach the grade you've just finished. And then it's time to teach a different grade. You should be entering the classroom with fear and trembling.
Now that this school year is done, I can see what I ought to have done differently. I'm making changes to my planning, to how I will establish my classroom rules and expectations, and to how I talk about and think about the children I teach. I know I cannot keep blindly doing what worked before -- I have to stay awake, to notice when things aren't working, and do something differently.
But for now, it is time to let go, to say, that is done. To learn and move on. Next week, I fly to Pennsylvania to spend three days at the Essential Grade Two conference with Eugene Schwartz. When I come home, there are other Big Things afoot, but there will also be lots of time to laze, to breathe, to recover from the fever of burning through the work of this past year, and to discover what lies ahead for me, for my family, for my class.
And now that work is done, and the school year, the hardest I have ever had, is finally laid to rest. This was the school year that turned me inside out in new ways. Last year, I taught a first grade class of four little girls. They were sweet and charming and tractable. It took no time at all to transition from one activity to another. They were eager to learn, and the chattiness of four children is completely manageable with simple conversation and gentle reminders. I worked with three individuals.
This year, I moved to a large, established Waldorf school in the city. I had a class of 15 which grew to 17 and shrank back to 16. And it didn't work -- almost nothing that I had in my back pocket worked. Changing volume or pitch to get the children's attention? Nope. Playing clapping games or doing tongue twisters while we waited? Nuh-uh. Yelling, which became less and less a last resort, and more and more my usual tone of voice? No way.
And then, mid-year, I was really ill. I came back from winter break, and suddenly I was having intense abdominal pain. It took several days and lots of tests to finally get someone to pay enough attention to figure it out. My appendix was calcified. It needed to come out. Soon. I missed two weeks of school, all told, and I went back too soon. I was worn out, coming off pain medication, and trying to pull a class back together after the holidays, plus two disjointed weeks with a substitute teacher.
And they sent in an outside evaluator, one who didn't mince words. One who asked me, "Are you sure you're in the right place?"
I crumbled. I wept. I was enraged -- who was this person, to question my vocation? To be so frank and unsympathetic? How dare she? How could they send someone like that into my classroom, knowing I was getting over surgery and everything?
It took a long time, and a lot of mentoring and coaching, and a lot of humility, for me to move past that point. I had to admit that my eleven years of experience meant nothing to these children. That they needed more from me, and that they needed me to do something differently. I was trying to teach them like I'd taught other children, in another school, at another time, in different numbers.
In retrospect, I liken it to saying to a guest,"My other guests have liked this meal, so I'll serve it to you, even though I can see you don't like it. Other guests liked playing croquet, so that's what we'll do, even though you've told me you prefer chess."
Rudolf Steiner, in one of his lectures to the teachers at the first Waldorf school said (I'm paraphrasing here. Please forgive me), at the end of a year, you will feel that you know how to teach the grade you've just finished. And then it's time to teach a different grade. You should be entering the classroom with fear and trembling.
Now that this school year is done, I can see what I ought to have done differently. I'm making changes to my planning, to how I will establish my classroom rules and expectations, and to how I talk about and think about the children I teach. I know I cannot keep blindly doing what worked before -- I have to stay awake, to notice when things aren't working, and do something differently.
But for now, it is time to let go, to say, that is done. To learn and move on. Next week, I fly to Pennsylvania to spend three days at the Essential Grade Two conference with Eugene Schwartz. When I come home, there are other Big Things afoot, but there will also be lots of time to laze, to breathe, to recover from the fever of burning through the work of this past year, and to discover what lies ahead for me, for my family, for my class.
Friday, June 10, 2011
This Moment
Inspired by Amanda at Soulemama
{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.
If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.
Have a lovely weekend!
{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.
If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.
Have a lovely weekend!
Friday, May 20, 2011
lilac scented night
Gentle reader, it is May. Have you ever experienced May in Minnesota, or anywhere there are lilacs? Oh, the LILACS! I am a deep lover of the second and third weeks of May for the sake of two things: Lilacs, and crab apple blossom. I grew up in a house with a huge, pink crab apple tree smack in the middle of the front yard. In the spring, I would go out and cut branches heavy with bright pink, fragrant blossoms and put them in glasses in the house. I tucked sprays of it behind my ears. I carried it around with me.
There were lilac bushes outside my high school, and in the last weeks of classes, every room had at least three girls with stolen spikes of purple or white tucked into their hair, their pockets, or their books.
Lilac is not a shy scent. Neither is crab apple. They are heavy and cloying in small rooms, but out there, tonight, in the cool spring rain, they are the scent of heaven.
In his little bed, my boy is sleeping. Today, my first graders performed their play, and it was gorgeous and chaotic and somehow cohesive and coherent. My partner and I across the room from one another, typing at our respective machines, and I am thanking God for lilacs and crab apple trees, for children and strong tea, and for soft rain.
Blessings on your night.
There were lilac bushes outside my high school, and in the last weeks of classes, every room had at least three girls with stolen spikes of purple or white tucked into their hair, their pockets, or their books.
Lilac is not a shy scent. Neither is crab apple. They are heavy and cloying in small rooms, but out there, tonight, in the cool spring rain, they are the scent of heaven.
In his little bed, my boy is sleeping. Today, my first graders performed their play, and it was gorgeous and chaotic and somehow cohesive and coherent. My partner and I across the room from one another, typing at our respective machines, and I am thanking God for lilacs and crab apple trees, for children and strong tea, and for soft rain.
Blessings on your night.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
there's got to be a pony in here somewhere
Okay, I started to write you a post about how awful teaching first grade is sometimes, but instead, I am going to give you this:
Because that is way, way better than complaining, which you didn't want to read anyway, right?
Stay tuned for a write-up of our class play!
Because that is way, way better than complaining, which you didn't want to read anyway, right?
Stay tuned for a write-up of our class play!
Sunday, May 15, 2011
our new title
When I first started this blog, lo these many years ago, I titled it, "teaching on the edge of time," because Waldorf education is so very forward-thinking and future-oriented, despite carrying with it some vestiges of early-twentieth century educational practice. Later I shortened it to "on the edge of time," which reflected more the urgency and anxiety I was feeling about my parenting and teaching, whether it showed at the time or not.
Our new title, "the clear land," comes from my favorite read-aloud book, The Wind Boy by Ethel Cook Eliot. The Clear Land in this story is the one just above ours, the one where our nobler selves live and play amongst the Clear People, and where everything is a bit simpler, a bit finer, and a bit wilder than here in our land. There are things we humans can do that the Clear People cannot, because we have free will. There are things we can do in the Clear Land that we cannot do here on earth, because there, we live from our hearts.
I wish for all my students, my son, my family, my readers, and myself that we may find that clear land within us where we can climb the air, where we find our true selves, and where we can find one another in a deeper, truer way.
Welcome to the clear land.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Having a Life, and Living a Life
Sometimes, I wonder when, as a parent and a teacher, I get to have a life again. When will I get to go to movies, have coffee with friends, go on dates with my spouse, go dancing, read novels, sing in the church choir, plan a day without considering lesson prep or naptime, be on the computer or watch tv whenever it strikes my fancy, spend hours in bookstores...? When will I live again?
And at other times, I realize what a silly, silly question this is.
As parents, and as teachers, writers, doctors, lawyers, priests, therapists, managers, entrepreneurs, or whatever, we are not here to "have a life," we're here to live one. This one, right here. It's pretty easy to get caught up in the swirl of daily life, and to resort to casting myself as a pawn of fortune, at the mercy of others and of circumstance. When I start wondering when I get to have a life, there are two problems:
1) I am not living my life. I am so busy worrying about what I'm missing out on, what fun is happening without me, that I am missing out on what is actually happening. When we pout and fume about what we're not doing, we also fail to be doing what we are, um, doing.
and 2) I'm casting myself as the victim, not the hero in my story. When I get a role in my own life as the victim, I am totally robbed of my power. The power to create, to love, to work on being human, this is a huge, fantastic, gorgeous gift from God. Self-pity is like saying, "Thanks for the one-of-a-kind pearl tiara made just for me (or whatever other precious, amazing giftie you want to plug in there), but it's not my style." Uh, no.
So, when do I get to have a life? I have a freaking AMAZING life. I am so grateful for it. When they say, "In all things, give thanks," or "Rejoice in the Lord always," or "Cultivate gratitude," it's not some Pollyanna Glad Game BS. When stuff is really awful, it's really awful, but I don't sit around thinking, "Gosh, I just want an hour along in Barnes and Noble." When there's seriously bad stuff going down, I'm too busy trying to breathe, or yelling for help, or dwelling in it and letting myself experience what I'm experiencing, or doing What Must Be Done, to waste time in self-pity.
I'm working in a school that was new to me this year, with another new first grade class, and I am having to work my butt off. But having to work hard? That's a world-rocking gift. My son is 2 1/2. Every morning, he is UP and ready to play before 6:15 am. He is a non-stop teacher of living in the moment, of loving the world, of patience and full-tilt love.
I do an awful lot of grumbling about my lively class, about my loud, stompy, treat-demanding son. I'd love to complain less, to do more, to get up and say, well, I would love to go to a bookstore, I would love to read a novel. And then? Then I can say,
"YES! and let's make it happen."
or
"Nope. This other thing is what I am CHOOSING, for a valid reason, right now."
Choice. Power. Gratitude.
I have a life. I am living my life. And when I'm not, may someone kick my ass right back into shape, so I can get back to the real work I'm here to do.
And at other times, I realize what a silly, silly question this is.
As parents, and as teachers, writers, doctors, lawyers, priests, therapists, managers, entrepreneurs, or whatever, we are not here to "have a life," we're here to live one. This one, right here. It's pretty easy to get caught up in the swirl of daily life, and to resort to casting myself as a pawn of fortune, at the mercy of others and of circumstance. When I start wondering when I get to have a life, there are two problems:
1) I am not living my life. I am so busy worrying about what I'm missing out on, what fun is happening without me, that I am missing out on what is actually happening. When we pout and fume about what we're not doing, we also fail to be doing what we are, um, doing.
and 2) I'm casting myself as the victim, not the hero in my story. When I get a role in my own life as the victim, I am totally robbed of my power. The power to create, to love, to work on being human, this is a huge, fantastic, gorgeous gift from God. Self-pity is like saying, "Thanks for the one-of-a-kind pearl tiara made just for me (or whatever other precious, amazing giftie you want to plug in there), but it's not my style." Uh, no.
So, when do I get to have a life? I have a freaking AMAZING life. I am so grateful for it. When they say, "In all things, give thanks," or "Rejoice in the Lord always," or "Cultivate gratitude," it's not some Pollyanna Glad Game BS. When stuff is really awful, it's really awful, but I don't sit around thinking, "Gosh, I just want an hour along in Barnes and Noble." When there's seriously bad stuff going down, I'm too busy trying to breathe, or yelling for help, or dwelling in it and letting myself experience what I'm experiencing, or doing What Must Be Done, to waste time in self-pity.
I'm working in a school that was new to me this year, with another new first grade class, and I am having to work my butt off. But having to work hard? That's a world-rocking gift. My son is 2 1/2. Every morning, he is UP and ready to play before 6:15 am. He is a non-stop teacher of living in the moment, of loving the world, of patience and full-tilt love.
I do an awful lot of grumbling about my lively class, about my loud, stompy, treat-demanding son. I'd love to complain less, to do more, to get up and say, well, I would love to go to a bookstore, I would love to read a novel. And then? Then I can say,
"YES! and let's make it happen."
or
"Nope. This other thing is what I am CHOOSING, for a valid reason, right now."
Choice. Power. Gratitude.
I have a life. I am living my life. And when I'm not, may someone kick my ass right back into shape, so I can get back to the real work I'm here to do.
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