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?
Thursday, June 30, 2011
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!
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