On Subsequent Inspection...

Imagine you're in bed, about to fall asleep. Your significant other is cuddled up to you (or on the other side of the bed, maybe you prefer a little space), your blankets are right where you need them, and you can barely keep your eyes open; not that you want to. Suddenly, your neighbor walks in. You're on good terms with your neighbor, but they're not your best friend or anything. Why are they in your room? Even more to the point, why are they stroking your hair and telling you how old and fat you're getting? This is rapidly encroaching on illegal, right? Why is this socially acceptable to do to people who can't speak up to protest? Why are there people who feel the need to pick up, pat the head, or tickle the feet of every small child they encounter? Why are strangers more willing to touch a strange baby than a strange dog? It seems to come back to the image of the child, and the idea that they are less human and more ornamental. It takes a perspective shi...

As I've grown in my own understanding of what play is, I've been working on acknowledging that everything young children do of their own volition has value to them. I was reminded today of the value of watching and biting my tongue. One preschooler began squealing unhappily. Another had taken a dish from her and was running away. They began chasing each other across the house, both yelling now. I looked at the first child's (Henceforth referred to as A) face to decide if I needed to intervene. I looked at the other child's face (henceforth referred to as E). To my utter surprise, they were both smiling. A moment later, A exclaimed, "Shiver me timbers! Give back my ponies!" What would I have done if I hadn't paused for that moment? I would have intervened, thinking I was helping model problem-solving but instead ending their game abruptly. They would have lost their game entirely, as I ended it with a "teachable moment". Their developing social ...

African-American 3 year old brings me a copy of The Magic School Bus On The Ocean Floor to read to her. She opens the book to find Keesha on the third page with her hair in cornrows. She smiles, and pulls down the hood on her sweater to expose her own cornrows.

As an advocate for viewing children as competent, whole humans, I spend a lot of time reflecting on how to ensure the children get that message from what I say and do with them. It turns out the best way I've found so far to convey this is to sit on my hands and bite my tongue. Now, of course, those hands have plenty of uses, turning pages, fetching necessary supplies, providing endless hugs and "uppy"s, but when a child is engaged in a project, it is my job to keep those same hands as far away as possible. When the Duplo block is not pushed all the way onto the one below it, would it be simple and nearly unnoticeable to push it the rest of the way while the child was searching for the next piece? Of course. But if I did that, the child would miss out on the chance to notice it themself, and either correct it or not. By not correcting, that child will learn One way that structure is susceptible to outside forces like gravity.  To notice where the structure broke, wh...

While we were walking downtown recently looking for signs of fall and useful print, a man on the street made a comment that caught me off guard. "Those are some well-disciplined children!" Now, if you had asked me, I would have said they are disciplined. I also would have said they know what to do and we work well together. They know how to be safe in the road, we went out at a time when they weren't yet hungry or tired so they had the brainpower to follow street safety rules and staying to the sides of the road. Undoubtedly the man was commenting on the children between me and my assistant (I was up front holding hands with the two youngest walkers, then there was a preschooler sandwich of four children paired up holding hands, then my assistant pushing the stroller with four infants and toddlers) who were walking carefully and safely. I have argued before that we should be using the term "discipline" rather than guidance, because of it's stress on ...

The last week of my program has seen a sudden burst of "I hate you!" from a couple of our preschoolers. I can understand the appeal to three- and four-year-olds; it's a very powerful phrase. Efficient, ruthless, and maybe a little daring. Gets a reaction from surrounding adults. My coteacher and I were discussing how we are handling it, and what, if anything else, we should be doing. After some reflection, we decided that acknowledging "It looks like you're really angry that I/she/he/they (fill-in-the-blank here with the offending action). If you want to cool off and be alone, you may go somewhere else for as long as you need to." This has been working rather well, with the children taking the opportunity to find a place by themselves, whether that's their cot, the porch swing, or just a quiet corner that no one else is presently occupying. We're also working with the children on the receiving end on how to let the child be by themselves when they ...

I ha ve trouble articulating what exactly it is that I do all day- let alone what I should be doing. It's easy enough to brush off my activities as wiping noses and putting away toys. But- it's Sunday evening, I've had a few moments to reflect, and I've settled on a metaphor, The job of the adult in this setting is to be a trampoline; support the child and move them to greater heights than they could achieve on their own, while maintaining a reliable safety net. As each child “touches down” or checks in with me, whether to tell me about their plans or to ask a question, I try to expand their thought process, add vocabulary or materials that will propel them higher in their thinking.  This is a journey for me as well as for the kids, and we're all learning along the way. The day I stop questioning and redesigning and tweaking is the day that I need to find something else to keep me out of trouble during the day.