Am I Doing This Right??!

Am I doing this right? It used to be a question I asked myself every so often both as a parent and as a teacher. And now that we are all in this dual role together and alone, it is a question I ask with significantly more frequency...

How much time should my kids be spending in front of screens? How hard should I push them to do "school" work and sit in front of Zoom classes if they don't want to? How should I be scheduling the days or should I not be scheduling at all? How many "easy to do at home creative family fun activities" should I be incorporating into the day? How much time should I be spending on my own work and creative endeavors? How often should I be cleaning my house and tidying clutter? How much of a threshold do I need to give for behavior issues right now? How many snacks does my toddler really need in an hour? Are my children going to fall behind their peers if we don't do Khan Kids Academy/Virtual Museum Tours/Lunchtime Drawing Sessions With Their Favorite Author and Illustrator/YouTube PE and Yoga every day?

I cannot speak for what every parent, family and teacher is thinking and feeling right now, but I can imagine that if I am asking myself some of these questions on a daily hourly basis (sometimes even more frequently than that), so are many others. I have been a teacher in a classroom. I have been a stay at home parent. I have never before done both at the same time while also trying to prevent my family and others from getting sick, running a household, office, school and entertainment industry, preparing for Pesach and never leaving or seeing people beyond a walking distance away. Uncharted territory is the understatement of the century. And I can't speak for what other schools may require of students in this time or what works for each household within that framework, but I can give my unsolicited opinion:

First off, if you're healthy and your basic needs are met by the end of the day right now, you're doing great. We need to reset the bar. We need to decide how much exposure to social media is helpful and when it is not helpful. We need to trust that the beautifully filtered photos of happy children and creative family activities that we see (including my own) are literally a snapshot of one moment in one day that was full of plenty less photogenic ones. I didn't get a picture of me ugly crying in my kitchen last Friday. I didn't get a shot of us losing our patience with the kids last night while we tried to fold laundry right before their bedtime and they were literally jumping off the walls. I didn't capture the moment one or two or all three completely melted down because their banana broke, because they were put on the rug to play for five minutes and I left the room, because the toy vacuum he was trying to carry up the stairs was "not listening!" Survival mode is a real thing. Those pictures we see are there because they are imperative to our survival right now. We need to see the one thing in a day we know we did right because there are too many others we are unsure of.

But what should we be doing for our early learners right now as parent-teachers who never expected or planned to be thrust into this role overnight? (I should note here I am not touching on the topic of older children and learning because it is above my pay-grade.) Let me give you a tiny glimpse into the secret world of early childhood...

You Do Not Need New Activities Every Single Day: This may be shocking to you, but teachers repeat activities. Often. Sure, there are billions of ideas on Pinterest and Instagram. But we don't have a new craft, sensory table, writing activity, dramatic play scene, science experiment, storytime, game, fill-in-the-blank every day or even every week. And repetition is good for children. An activity that may require a lot of assistance at first can be done more autonomously with repetition. Feelings of confidence arise from opportunities to develop competence and mastery over a task. Deeper understanding and engagement happen when something is familiar. And familiarity is comforting--especially in times of crisis.

You Do Not Need to Fill Every Moment of Every Hour of Every Day: Even in classrooms, there are open spaces of time. Time when children have "free play" and not structured activities. Recess. Have recess! Call it that or whatever you want and "schedule" it into your day. And, if possible, schedule your own "recess" as well. This is time to play for everyone. If you can, get outside. If you can, find enjoyable ways of moving your body. And if you can, let this be a time for your own enjoyment and not a time to clean, tidy toys, prep food or other activities...

You Don't Need to Spend Every Waking Moment with Your Children: In fact, I would even argue that you shouldn't. It's OK (albeit challenging and even right now I am challenged by this) to say that you are taking some time for yourself and you need some space. It's a great way to model this to your children as well--and helpful for siblings who are spending every waking hour together as well in close quarters. And I would also argue that spending a chunk (in fact, several chunks) of time for yourself where you are not also engaged with tending to the many desires of everyone else and the many household tasks will help you to be more engaged in times that you do need to tend to the many desires and tasks at hand. Of course, this doesn't mean ignoring an urgent need. It also doesn't take into consideration that in many households, one or more parents/caregivers are working. There are times that working adults will need to be working and are not available.

They Can Be Bored and they will and it's OK.  Good even. This is the space where creative thinking, planning, discovery and deep play begins.

You Don't Have to Fix It All: There are going to be fights. Meltdowns. Disappointments. Temper tantrums. Frustrations. And also fears, worries, anxieties, grief... You can't and you don't have to fix it all. Be there. Be patient (with yourself as well). Know that this just will have to be enough. You don't have to intervene at every sibling squabble. You don't have to fill the minutes of boredom. You don't have to direct every activity or please every person at every time. It's OK to say "I can't" or "No" or "I don't know right now." And it's also OK to ask "What do you think we should do about this?" or "How can we solve this?" or "What would help you in this moment?"

About Activities... You don't need novel activities and projects every hour or every day. It's great if you have an interest in planning one or two. It's also OK if you don't or you can't. It's fabulous if an activity spans over the course of several days or weeks. Consider some longer term projects (like learning a new craft or hobby, planting a garden, or, as shown in the photo at the top, a child-led project like digging the deepest hole possible and finding out what is underground). And also note that teachers do not always prep every single step of every single activity. It's OK to just set out some paper and rolls of tape. It's OK for your kids to cut and glue and find their own materials and clean them up afterward... And you don't have to have every single item on that extensive blog supply list complete with Amazon affiliate links. We are all having to get creative with using what we have on hand and this is also a reality for many classrooms and teachers on a regular basis. What can you use instead? And this is a great question to pose to your children--you may be impressed with what they come up with. Activities can also be participation in natural routines of your day--cooking together, cleaning together, folding laundry together, reading together...

Time... Do you need a color coded schedule? Do you need to have timers set and follow a strict routine? No. And truthfully, many of the best classrooms don't follow a strictly timed schedule either aside from out of necessity (like pick up times or scheduled extracurricular activities). Having some semblance of a repeated flow of activities can be helpful. Even having a visual representation of this can be helpful for young children (and this can be as simple as stick figures drawn onto paper) so they are able to see that after breakfast they will get to play and after that there will be a Zoom class and after that there will be a time to go outside and then Mommy will be "at work" and at this time Daddy will be able to play with you... And it's OK to go off schedule. If your kids are content playing outside and really engaged in a game together, you don't need to rush inside for a craft project or science experiment.

Emergent "Curriculum" in the Home: Theme based learning is something that does happen in many classrooms, but it's not the only way and it's not the way that you must run things in your home (unless you happen to like that). One thing I have really enjoyed gaining out of this is an opportunity for emergent "curriculum" to happen in my home. Y wanted to have a pillow for the Seders next week, so we all sewed pillows. S wondered if we could grow an apple tree from the seeds of his apple, so the boys collected their seeds and we planted them and they sprouted and then S wanted to plant it outside, so they dug a hole and we put in the plant and we are making a label to stick beside it with a wooden paint stick we have at home. C was very interested in how the doors on the dollhouse open and close, so we got out some other toys that open and close and showed her to the toy kitchen cabinets that open and close and observed how things "appear" and "disappear" when doors open and close.

The If You Can/When You Can Category: If you can/when you can, have a list (either physical or in your head) of things to do when you need to fill a space of time or change a mood or moment. You can even engage the whole family in coming up with that list. Take a walk. Blow bubbles. Dance party. Read together. Read aloud. Family Movie Night. Board games. If you can/when you can set a chunk of time (does not need to be a long time or even only one, you can do "snacks" instead of a "meal" here), and have that be time with your family and kids. Where you can put the phone aside and turn the computers off. Be silly together. Share hopes and plans for the future together. Just be.

When to Zoom In and When to Zoom Out: No one versed in even the most basic components of early childhood development will tell you that screen learning is developmentally appropriate for this age group. In fact, I don't think it's really developmentally appropriate for any age group. But this is what we have now. There are many benefits to this technology and it allows us to be together while we are alone. But it is also very hard on children and their adults! If your kid is done with it for the day, my *opinion* is that you can shut it down. I know some schools and teachers have certain requirements now, but my two cents is that if it's not working for your child on one day or on many or on any at all, shut it down. If it's not working for you on one day, on many or on any at all, shut it down. Math can happen by counting grapes, splitting the last cookie in half, measuring how deep the hole is in the backyard... This is not a normal school scenario. This is not even a normal home school scenario. We are all in this together and alone. The bigger picture is not clear right now, but it's also not what we need to worry about/focus on at the moment. Getting through this with health, safety and some semblance of sanity is. I feel that the benefits that do potentially come from Zoom classes or similar setups right now are the opportunity for "socialization" and for familiarity/routine. There may be some learning happening as well, but right now that is not the most urgent need we have. So if virtual schooling is giving your child a way to connect that works for him/her and works for you--that is a great tool. If it is not, you can make use of other tools here. As a teacher, I would want to have feedback from my parents and families right now to know what is working and what is not and to brainstorm together--I do think it's OK and encouraged to reach out to your teachers and discuss this with kindness and empathy on both sides. We all need a lot of that right now.

And with that said, be well, be patient, be kind to yourself, and when you can, be playful.

Meeting Our Children's Needs In Uncertain Times

Perhaps the blessing in disguise of being home all day every day with my kids right now is that I am too busy to worry. But then once they go to bed, the worries resume, running like a laundry list (with unwashed laundry piling up at the bottom) for the hours between dusk and dawn. And since I can't really tackle some of the deeper and darker items on that list or the feeling of eminent, pending doom, or the looming questions of WHAT IF, WHEN, HOW LONG, SHOULD I, WILL I, HOW and WHY, I instead turn my focus to questions I can tackle or at least tolerate right now.

And really what I have is just a list of questions. Maybe some ideas. Not a lot of answers. But here's a little of what's been on my mind in thinking about how we can meet our children's developmental needs during these uncertain times.

Schools from nursery on up have gone online and are rapidly developing distance learning programs. What does this mean for our children? What about parents? What I can say is that the outpouring of ingenuity, creativity and support in the form of educators and individuals offering whatever they can in new and novel ways is astounding. I, for one, am going to be adding the following items to my resume: basket weaving, balloon animal sculpting, home IT support for distance learning, assistant architect behind one dining room Eiffel Tower made from straws, tape and Q-tips... I used the internet in some way to support all of my newfound roles and accomplishments from YouTube videos to show me how to make a balloon sword to Amazon for adding a basket-weaving kit to my birthday wish list (thank you, Mom!), to Pinterest for the ideas on building with straws and tape to Scholastic's website for providing my eldest with reading activities... But how did we go from a family who used screen time somewhat sparingly to being a family who relies on it for socialization, communication, education, and more?

I've gotta hand it to you parents out there with your color coded schedules and slots for attending this Zoom dance party and that Live Story time--I'm flying by the seat of my skirt here. It's going alright so far and I spend much of the day focused on getting from A to B rather than A to Z. A to B is manageable. And while I am worried about aspects of skill loss (similar to what happens during summer breaks), I am less concerned about the "academic" end of that with my younger children. What most concerns me as a parent of children ages 5 and under is meeting their needs for movement, social development and emotional wellness in an environment that is less conducive to any and all of these.

So as I usually do when I have a suitcase full of stuff, I'll unpack one thing at time...

Meeting Our Children's Need for Movement in Restricted Spaces: I've worked in small spaces as a teacher and lived in small spaces as a parent. This end of it is nothing new. What is novel is the fact that we can't move beyond these smaller spaces. How can my children meet their developmental needs for physical movement in the same, small environment for the foreseeable future? Yes we are so incredibly fortunate to have space outdoors to use and some tools and tricks indoors. But add to this as well that all three of my children have hypotonia and were gross-motor delayed. And that C just started physical therapy but will likely not have support or at least support in the same way right now. We can do a lot from home, but I can't recreate the experience of a playground or the woods or a game of tag played with lots of peers or a gymnastics studio...
What I can do is mix it up and get creative. We change spaces often. We build forts and use furniture to encourage heavy lifting. We get outside and run in the grass, play "keep it in the air" with a giant beach ball, ride bikes around a parking lot that is so desolate now that it's finally safe to ride. We let them jump on their mattresses. We do a bit of rough and tumble play with Tatty. We turn play, science and art activities into movement ones as well. Building a tall tower of straws and tape encourages bending and reaching, climbing and balancing, walking around and between people and materials so as not to knock it over... Art activities are done at the table but also on the floor and vertically on the wall. Smaller muscle groups are challenged and used with sensory play and cooking and gluing, cutting, beading, building... And encouraging and supporting independence in tasks that may have been more challenging is something we have plenty of time for now.

Meeting Our Children's Social Development Needs During Social Distancing: This, among all of my educational concerns, is perhaps my greatest one right now. In these earlier years, socialization is my primary focus when it comes to school. Reading will happen, writing comes along, math skills develop all at their own rate and quite naturally when children are given access to play and conversation and life experience. But how can we support pro-social behaviors in this population, not to mention children older than mine, from a stance of isolation? I cannot recreate the social environment of a schoolyard or a classroom from behind the screen of my laptop. A video playdate just isn't the same as the interaction that occurs on a school playground. Sibling rivalry offers plenty of opportunities for problem solving and conflict resolution, but it does not equal the experience of problem solving and resolving conflicts between friends and peers or even children and other adults. The experience and challenges of relationships between siblings and between children and their parents is inherently different from their relationships outside of the home. I have a son who greatly needs the experience of more playdates and opportunities to work on social skills and now he has no opportunities for this.
In getting creative and entering my problem solving mode, I've come up with some ideas. Games--especially board games, are a great tool for promoting social skills in young children and also encourage other skill development (plus, they are fun!). Through age appropriate card games, board games and even backyard games, children experience the challenges of taking turns, waiting, problem solving, abstract thinking, sharing, regulating emotions around "losing" or "winning," developing empathy toward others in these emotions, honesty (not cheating!)... Executive functioning tasks like following rules/directions, organizing multiple steps and tasks in space and time, focus and attention are also addressed. In addition to this, I am finding playful ways to "mix it up" here and expand beyond rigidity. I never like to push beyond a safe range of comfort zones and particularly in a time when all routines and the comforts of predictability are totally out the window, I am mindful not to be too aggressive with this one. But little things like having breakfast for dinner or eating lunch outside and even adjusting to all being home together every single day are opportunities for children who thrive on routine to the detriment of being able to cope with something different to really work on this skill set.

Meeting Our Children's Emotional Needs While Our Own Emotions Are On High Alert: I am a firm believer in being honest with our children and giving them adequate information for their age and level of understanding. I am a firm believer in telling our children that we are here to help them and to protect them. I am usually able to tell my children and my students not to worry because the adults in their life will keep them safe and if we're not worried, they don't need to be either. The problem here is that the adults are worried. And I think we need to be reasonably honest about that, too. "Grownups are worried right now because this is something new for us, too. When something is new, it can feel scary. But we are learning what we can and we will use everything we know to help." But there is a lot we don't know. And as much as we can, we need to shield our children from adult sized worry and panic. We also need to shield ourselves as much as we can from over-sized worry and panic. Easier said than done. Self care is vital for everyone, whether you are still out and working or at home alone or at home with kids...we don't need to "one up" each other on who has it worse right now. Isolation and fear are taking their toll on everyone in every way. We need to recognize that good enough right now is good enough. That if you have a pretty color coded schedule and it's working for you, you rock! If you're winging it, you rock! If you're posting pictures of activities you do with your kids, you rock! If you're not posting pictures of the dirty dishes, laundry pile and your arms flailing in exasperation for the umpteenth time today because your phone died after uploading the 21st photo of the only two minutes where everyone was happy and not crying, you rock!

Our emotions are on high and our energy is on low. Try as we might, we can't hide it from our kids. We can't completely protect them from our experience of this pandemic because it is new to us as well. What we can do is start over. As often and as many times as necessary. I've said it today already and I'll probably say it again--"let's start over." "Let's try that again." And let's also get creative with those resources. Self care looks very different right now when we can't go to the coffee shop or the bar or the nail salon or the movies. For those of us in the workforce, there are financial concerns and worries about career stability. For those of us on the home front, isolation is hard. With kids at home all day, there's no "but he'll be in school soon" light at the end of the tunnel. There's no end to the presence of our little mini-mes all day long and the light at the end of the tunnel is there, but it has to look different right now. It might be just getting to the next part of the day when one will be asleep and I can get outside with the other two who will be occupied enough that I can sit with a travel cup of coffee. And after hours upon hours of kid conversation, I just want to use words like "toilet" instead of "potty" and for goodness' sake, can't I just say "a$$" instead of "tushy?!" Thank G-d for social networking in periods of social isolation. I am introverted and like my time and space, but this is a lot of time and space. I miss the cashier at Walmart. I miss the receptionist at the gym. I miss the maintenance guy in my bathroom for the 892nd time fixing the same damn problem with my potty, I mean, toilet. But thank G-d I do have my kids and my husband. I can't imagine how hard this is for those who live alone with their thoughts and their worries and their inner monologue all day and night. I already want to divorce myself after 8 hours of being mostly awake in my bed at night! Or at least have a little time apart...perhaps see other people...

What Am I Not Worried About: Finally a list I can sink my teeth into! I'm not worried [too much] about my kids being "ready for" first grade/pre-K/____. We are all in this same boat just trying to stay above water. Our education system has been in crisis long before this crisis. I have talked about here at length--the over "academification" of early childhood education. We move our children too fast, beyond what is developmentally appropriate, reasonable and sustainable. And instead of producing a generation of children who love to learn and who will carry us to the peaks of innovation and education, we are producing a generation of children who lack the skills to play, who hate school by the time they are in first grade, who have all the skills in place to build a rocket but none of the skills in place to troubleshoot when systems fail. Education in our country has been forced to slow down. This is going to take time and right now, time is, G-d willing, one thing we have in abundance. If there is a silver lining to any of this, perhaps this is one. We are here at home reading to our kids, playing with our kids, problem solving with our kids, resolving conflicts with our kids, cooking with them, cleaning with them, learning with them, growing with them. We have absolutely nothing else we can do. And it's novel right now, so it's kind of fun. S even said "Mommy school is more fun than regular school because you get to play more." But I also know that novelty will wear off. We will get frustrated. We will get cabin fever. We will get bored. And from boredom comes amazing things...I can't wait to see what they will be!

So I still have way more questions than I have answers. It's easier to wonder if my kids will go back to school this year at all than it is to address many of the other questions I have on that list. I am the pendulum swinging between feeling so sure I've got this and so afraid that I don't. And when I swing to the latter side, my concerns on the former feel trivial and silly. Worrying about my kids' development and education while there are far greater concerns to worry about. But that worrying isn't helpful and what is helpful at this time is getting outside of myself and finding ways to offer what I can to others. I hope that this "space" is one where you can access ideas for play and fun and connection with your family right now. I hope that if there is anything related to play, early learning and family support that I can offer to you or anyone you know, you'll feel comfortable to reach out and ask. Please remember that play is not a privilege, it is a right. It is the right of every child and every adult! And if nothing else gets done today, play will--and when it does, know that it is enough. And in these uncertain times when we need it more than ever, I wish us safety, health, healing and, as always...

Happy Playing

Bullying, Racism, Death, Germs, and Other Uplifting Topics That Are Hard to Talk About With Children

Is this a space suit or a hazmat suit?

We are in the midst of the coronavirus epidemic and schools here have officially closed down. My husband did not read his emails this morning, but he did misread the clock and got everyone up an hour early! But, thank G-d, he's also home and has all 3 kids outside for some fresh air and play. Adults right now are all very worried and in some ways this worry is helpful when it comes to taking preventative measures and precautions. In other ways, the mass hysteria and misleading information out there can be hindering. And as much as we are aiming to protect our families and communities right now, our children are aware of our heightened concern--whether overtly so or not. And this makes me reflect on talking to young children about tough topics like this. We waver between wanting to protect and wanting to inform. S has already come home from school talking about washing his hands extra carefully every time before he eats to "protect from the Virus." What does he know about Covid19? What does he wonder? Is he worried or afraid? When it comes to talking about tough topics like illness, death, race/racism, bullying, sex, etc., where do we start? And where should we stop?

There is not, unfortunately, a simple and foolproof answer here. There is a delicate balance between giving too much information and not enough and that is different from time to time and from child to child. In addition, when our children bring up topics that are tough to talk about, we can easily be caught off guard and begin to make assumptions. When this happens, we may handle the discussion in a less helpful way. I often advise others (and myself) to begin with what they know. And the easiest way to do this is to ask! Let me give you a really unique example from last night:

My husband was giving S a bath and we have a couple of baby dolls in the tub right now for washing and playing. S asked for a doll to play with and my husband handed him one. It happened to be a doll with dark skin. We have a set of 4 of these dolls in varying skin tones. S said "I don't want the one with the dark skin, I want the one with the light skin." My husband was caught off guard and even later when he began to relay the story to me, I, too, jumped to a conclusion right here. Was my 5 year old son discriminating against skin color? Surely we are raising him better than this. I was mortified and then my husband said, "wait, listen to what happened next. I remembered you told me to find out what he knows and I asked him if there was a reason he wanted the doll with the lighter skin." And sure enough there was:
"Tatty, the doll with the light skin has an open mouth and the one with the dark skin's mouth is closed. I want the one with the open mouth so I can pretend to feed him."

Amazing. If we would have started the conversation here with what we know, it would have been completely different than the one that actually took place. It probably would have also felt out of context for S, who just wanted to feed a baby doll. He once asked for a doll in a toy store that was made to resemble a baby from Asia because the doll had "real hair." The other ones had no hair. And surely, we do have conversations in context about treating differences of all kinds with kindness and sometimes those conversations will cross the barriers of race or religion or disAbility, etc.

Even in talking to our children about weapon play and games we find alarming as adults, it has been helpful to find out what they know. Sometimes this can start a conversation. Other times, the conversation may end right there, perhaps to be continued at a later date as more information is required or acquired. It is so hard for us to remember the innocence and inherent ignorance of early childhood. We want our children to be kind. We want them to feel secure. We want others to be kind to them and be safe with them.

We also need to be honest. One of the times that this can feel incredibly challenging is when the topic of death comes up, particularly if it involves a loss within the family. Whereas it was previously thought that very young children are not able to process grief at an early age, research now shows that they do in fact process grief, albeit in their own way. Many adults will gear toward the answer of "so and so went to sleep for a long time" and this can be incredibly confusing and unsettling for children. Will So-and-so wake up? Will they die if they go to sleep? Children may ask questions about death and dying. What does it feel like to die? What happens when someone dies? When will Mommy and Daddy die? When will I die? These are hard for us as adults to process and that paired with our concern about how our children will process the answers can leave us feeling overwhelmed and ill equipped. I think it is OK to say "I don't know" when you don't know. I also think it is OK to keep answers very simplistic and wait for a response to determine what (if any) information is still needed. When I was little and wondered about this, my parents explained death as when the body stops working. In all honesty, this felt like a good answer and still, to this day, does.

What about when children say things that are alarming or upsetting? Once when I was quite little, I walked up to my mother and said "shoot yourself!" She responded in a normal adult way in telling me that this wasn't a nice thing to say and then asked me what I meant. "It's what the goose said in 'Charlotte's Web!'" Ok, so the goose said "suit yourself," which I also had no understanding of but it sounded pretty cool and a little funny so I tried it. And missed a little...

But what about when tough topics involve conflict? Conflict is ever so uncomfortable for us. We may not like it ourselves as adults and we certainly don't want it for our children. And nowadays there is a strong movement toward handling bullying more strongly. In many ways, this is helpful, but I think in some ways it has gone overboard and to the other end of the spectrum where we perceive any and all conflict as bullying when, in fact, not all of it is. Particularly in regard to the preschool and below population, it is not particularly common for very young children to be "bullies." Note that I am using the word bully here to describe actions that are targeted at a particular individual or population and done with the intent to be hurtful/harmful. Most young children do not display this type of behavior, barring extreme exceptions or incidents where trauma is involved.

Most young children do display behaviors we would classify as aggressive, impulsive, hurtful/harmful. The intent may be specifically targeted at an individual, but the purpose is not to bully. Alternatively, the purpose may stem from anger and a desire to gain control or meet a need, but the target may not be specific. And conflict at this age is typical. Verbal arguments, unkind statements, even hitting/kicking/biting and other forms of physical "aggression." We understandably have a low threshold for violent acts. We can't allow children to hurt each other or be hurt. It is painful if our child is the target. Sometimes even harder when our child is the one targeting others. But we need to stop calling preschool aged children bullies. Not only is this unhelpful for children to identify what bullying really is and how to handle it, it is damaging for the child being labeled. Giving support and language and helpful tools to all parties is necessary. Understanding typical child development and recognizing if and when more support is needed is also important.

Nobody likes to hear someone tell our child "I'm not your friend anymore" or "I don't like you." But we also have an adult experience of rejection. And when we think about our own "childhood" experiences of rejection, our memories are more likely from our grade or middle school years than from our preschool years! Nonetheless, these types of statements fly across the playground on a daily basis. We jump in to "coach" with statements of "that's not nice!" or "we don't say 'you can't play,'" or "we're all friends here." But let's unpack this a bit. First of all, this business of "we're all friends here" is potentially a little unfair. Are you friends with everyone in your workplace or neighborhood? I'm not. We can all be kind and respectful, we don't all need to be friends. And even when we are friends, we don't need to always be together or be completely in sync and agreement with one another. And the statements of "that's not nice," may also be less helpful. It may not have been meant to be nice, so you may be preaching to the choir. Alternatively it may not have been the intent of the child saying something to be unkind. Take the following vignette:

A child in my class sat down at the lunch table and opened his lunchbox. The next child joined the table and one by one the spots filled up until the last of the children to wash his hands arrived with his lunchbox and one empty seat remained. "I don't want to sit next to ____" he said. I was about to go into Conflict Resolution Mode when I decided instead to ask if there was a reason. And sure enough, there was: the child sitting there had a tuna fish sandwich and the child waiting to sit down did not like the smell of tuna. I like tuna but honestly, it does smell! Another little girl said she did like the smell and offered to switch seats; problem solved.

I do not want to insinuate that in coaching and teaching our children about bullying, conflict resolution and other tough topics that we are creating the problems that do emerge as they get older. Most children at some point in their lives will experience these things in one way or another and we want them to be prepared, informed and know how to seek support. I am not the type of person that feels it is helpful or realistic to make our children blind to these ills of the world; I am the type of person that feels it is helpful to make them adequately and appropriately aware and sensitive. We've all reached that point of adulthood where we look at our kids today and ask (sometimes even out loud) "What are you thinking?!" and you know what? Tone aside, that's a good question.

Asking our children--even our very young ones--what they are thinking can be the very best place to begin a conversation that needs to follow. What do you know about ___?  What do you wonder? What questions do you have? Is there anything about ____ that worries you or that you want to know more about? Sometimes the answers won't come right away and that's OK. It's not a race, it's a marathon. But leave the door open or at least unlocked so they can return if and when need be.  And don't forget the power of play here. Some conversations are better had through play and some topics of curiosity are better noticed through play. Once in a while when S has done something he is not so proud of, he finds in helpful for Mistakey the Snakey to come out and tell me about it as opposed to him. And sometimes in those conversations, Mistakey can get quite silly. But Mommy always reminds him that even when he is a silly Snakey and makes a mistake, he can always come and talk about it and I will help him.

In fact, most of my conversations like this end with talking about help. What can help you solve this problem? Who can help you? What would be helpful now? What do you need from me right now? And the very last thing I want to remind myself and all of you: it is OK not to know. We don't like not knowing. It's uncomfortable. But not knowing can be just the right amount of fire under our feet to learn more. And if we want to raise a generation of children who desire to learn more, we need to raise a generation of children who are not uncomfortable not knowing. Model it. Embrace it. Use it for the good. And as always...

Happy Playing!

What My Ridiculous Nightmare Taught Me About Children & Weapon Play

I had a ridiculous nightmare last night. The kind of ridiculous nightmare I wake up from and can't go back to sleep because I'm afraid of having another ridiculous nightmare. Maybe it was that one extra hamentasch I'd had after the Shabbos meal, right before bed. Maybe it was the game I was playing with S right before dinner. Maybe it was the topic of children and weapon-play that has been on my mind lately in general. So I woke up my husband to tell him I'd had a bad dream. And he knows the deal: no one's going back to sleep until I tell him about it. Even as I'm telling him, I know it sounds absolutely ridiculous and even I can't figure out why it was so scary to me.

I had been locked inside of a big, dark room. I managed to get out and walk through an equally dark hallway to the top of a stairwell where across the room was a light, curly-haired woman holding a gun. I held up my arm, extended my forefinger forward, thumb up in the air and three fingers pointing back at me. I proceeded to make all of the right noises "chew chew chew." but even Ridiculous Dream Me knew that my 5 year old style hand gun with "chew chew chew" noises was no match for a real weapon. And then I woke up.

And as I lay there, still shaken even half an hour later, I realized that this is the epitome of adult worry: holding up a pretend gun made out of your hand when everyone else has real weapons. Powerlessness because in spite of seeing what's coming at you, you have all the wrong tools for the job. And my adult worries, similarly to my childhood fears, still feel a size too big. Especially in the middle of the night after one too many hamentaschen.

The topic of weapon play has been at the forefront of my mind as S and several of his classmates explore it on the playground. It's an area that has peaked my curiosity long before S first came home from school in the fall with all new vocabulary and dramatization around it. I've read research, engaged in conversations with other educators and early childhood specialists, listened to podcasts and lectures and even reflected on it myself. What is it that draws in the level of curiosity and exploration our young children have with weapon play? So many are quick to say it's the internet or television or video games. And yet, long before there were PJ Masks and Ninja Turtles on the playground, there were Cowboys and Indians, Cops and Robbers. Weapon play is nothing new.

Our adult ears are so sensitive to those "chew chew chew" sounds. We cringe at hearing a five year old child use words like "kill" and "shoot" and "smash their head in." We either redirect, disallow, ignore or a combination of all three. And our children intuit one way or the other that, for some reason, this is something we do not play... We would not "play-shame" a child for pretending to be a teacher or a wizard or a turtle...but for pretending to be a soldier or a ninja or, heaven forbid, a "bad guy?" We are justified in this because bad guys are, well, bad. And when we say "we don't play..." it becomes essentially that red button on the playground that says "Don't Push Me." Or, they get more creative than that and begin to play in private. Either way, that play happens. It has to. It's almost compulsive. They may mask that gun as a fire hose or a squirt toy, but it's still shooting.

"Ask a child what they are shooting and they will almost never say a bullet." said one educator in a group discussion on this topic. So I tried it. I asked S on numerous different occasions in the Fall when he came home with an interest in weapon play what he was shooting. Sure enough, every time it was something different. Fire. Poison. Ice cream. Bubbles. Never bullets. I fought the urge in those months to redirect, sometimes less successfully than others, but most of the time I realized this play had to run its course. And it did, at home, at least. More recently it's crept its way into his classroom and school playground with many peers. And the issue has been of concern to many parents. I feel slightly less concerned having the "evidence based knowledge" that this is normal and developmentally typical. I do, however, still have a discomfort with it.

S and I were playing together on Friday night after the Shabbos meal. The game morphed into S using a toy bottle as a "poison shooter." I grabbed the closest thing to me, a Mitzvah Machine (which looks curiously like a toy Keurig coffee maker). Every time his poison shooter shot poison at one thing or another, the Mitzvah Machine shot bubbles of good deeds or slime of kind acts or even glitter powder of helpfulness. Eventually, the Poison Shooter relented and decided to enter the Mitzvah Machine and repent for his unkind acts with plenty of more altruistic ones. But this didn't happen until Saturday afternoon! So maybe that ridiculous nightmare was also triggered (pun intended) by the game being yet unresolved when we went to bed...

And here I was, in that dark balcony of a place I've never been staring at this woman I've never seen, holding up my pretend gun shouting "chew, chew, chew," but I can't remember how to play. And that's when it hits me:

We can't remember how to play. For our youngest children, much of their lives are beyond their grasp--whether literally or cognitively. So much is out of their control, but when they play, they can control everything. They can be anything, become anything, overcome anything. And we can't remember. We can't remember what it's like to have all of the power to change in your hands and none of the hopelessness of defeat. And we've forgotten how to change; we've met defeat so many times it's often easier just to stay the same. To still be holding up that pretend gun made out of your hand even though The Enemy has real weapons. But what is this elusive enemy? With her slight figure and light curly hair? Across a balcony in a dark room in a place we've never been? It's worry.

Worry that our children will become what they play. But let me tell you something about children and play. Children embody their play. Completely. Get a group of five year olds with cats on their mind and you're going to have meowing, purring, licking, clawing--the full feline experience. There's no just talking about a cat--they must be the cat and completely commit to the cat until that cat is done. And let me tell you something else. I have known children who have pretended to be cats since I was a child pretending to be a cat and not one of them, not one has become a cat. Some still talk about cats. Some even have cats. One actually had a separate Facebook profile for her cat, but I digress...

Play is the experience of a child. It is the ability to hold the whole world in your hands when 85% of it still requires a step stool to reach. Play is for fun. It is for learning. It is for release. It is for control. It is for power. It is for conflict and resolution. It is for experimenting and trying on for size. Play is for wonder and for curiosity and for questions and for answers. Play is a lot of things and I firmly believe it has to happen. It has to run its course. It has a purpose and when the purpose is fulfilled, the play changes. The cat gives way to a dog that gives way to a dragon that gives way to a wizard that gives way to a Bad Guy that gives way to Batman...

When the hand is a magic wand, we don't worry. Even if that magic wand can obliterate the world in one fell swoop, it's whimsical, mystical and pretend. But when the same is a gun, it hits too close to home. It epitomizes to us that world that for adults is 85% still out of our reach and there is no step stool. The difference between the child and the adult, however, is that their hand being a gun is not equivalent to the loss of innocence. That we can't remember this--that is the loss of innocence. The fact that at one point we learned the difference between a magic wand and a gun--that's when innocence was lost. And likely, it was a realization that came from an adult. And it's important in life to know the difference between a magic wand and a gun, but does it have to be on the playground when you're five years old shouting "chew chew chew" and an adult comes to tell you "we don't play..."

We don't play. We don't remember how and even when we try, it's tailored by an adult mind that can't recall the playground anymore. I have to have this Mitzvah Machine because what else do I do when someone is shooting poison at me? The only thing I know how. I toss out the only tools I have, good deeds, kindness and helpfulness. And maybe that's exactly what I need. Maybe those are the right tools. Maybe Ridiculous Dream Me had nothing but a pretend gun made out of my own hand because play is enough.

Happy Playing!

Talking About Tough Topics with Kids

The conversation about conversation continues today as I reflect on the powerful and important role this plays not only in early childhood, but down the line as well. Yesterday, I took you into a space in my former classroom known as The Conversation Corner. While most frequently this space was occupied by two children at a time, once in a while I would notice just one child sitting. It became an unspoken signal to everyone else that a conversation needed to take place. Sometimes it was a child looking for a friend to play with. Sometimes, it was a child needing to talk with me. In the photo on the left, I have just finished a conversation with a little girl who visited her pediatrician for a check up and vaccines. When I saw her seated there, she was giving a stuffed animal from our classroom a check up. He was about to get a shot and was feeling scared. I didn't immediately sit down, but when I was invited into the conversation, I joined the scene.
"Morah Michal, do you get scared of shots?"
"Not so much anymore because I've had a lot of practice with them. I had a lot of allergies when I was growing up and when I was a teenager, I had to get six shots every week. After a while, I figured out some tricks that helped me feel less scared, like looking the other way and blowing out really hard when a shot was coming, like this [blow]. But when I was a little girl, I did feel afraid of shots and still, even now, there are things at the doctor that I feel afraid of--like throat cultures!"
"Did you used to cry?"
"Yes, I did. My mommy or my daddy would hold my hand or let me sit on their lap. That helped me a lot."
"I sat on my Mommy's lap. Then I got a sticker and a prize."
And the conversation turned to talking about her new stick-on tattoo.

This conversation was a common one I had in classrooms, an experience most all of my students would share in at some point during the school year. Other conversations in my classrooms over the years were quite a bit more unique and involved some tougher topics to talk about. Like a father who was deployed. A parent in jail. Gun violence and domestic violence. Sexual abuse. A pet or a loved one passing away. A parent losing their job. A sibling in the hospital. Divorce. Moving. A new baby and where babies come from. A new "uncle" coming over the night before and staying in Mommy's room. The same new "uncle" leaving and another new "uncle" coming. Alcoholism, meth addiction, homelessness, loss of utility service due to unpaid bills, car accidents, cancer, disabilities, a house fire. And there are probably many other topics I can't remember off the top of my head.

The truth about conversation in early childhood is that you don't actually need a special corner for it to happen. It happens regardless. A child needing to talk about something will do so in one way or another. It may be through speaking, but it may also come up in play. Or behavior. Or emotions (some that "match" the topic and others that seemingly do not). We want our children to grow into teens and young adults who will open up and talk to us about "tough topics." We are, however, quite uncomfortable with these topics emerging in early childhood. This is a stage of "innocence" in which we don't want our children exposed to certain things. And yet, a child's experience is a direct reflection of their environment--an aspect we cannot always control. We tend to offer "fixes" in the form of what I would call conversation end-ers. Whether through stifling a topic, redirecting, projecting/reflecting our own adult understandings and experiences of a topic onto the child or even through directly trying to force conversation when it is not authentic, we give a very clear message without saying a word at all: there are some things in life you just don't talk about.

This does not necessarily even change as we get older. An acquaintance of mine recently posted something on Facebook about how unhelpful it is when someone is drowning to offer a list of things they should be grateful for. I remembered immediately one of the very best bits of advice I ever received from my father. Most of the time when I was growing up, like any other father (even one who is a psychologist), he wanted to fix things when I showed up broken in one way or another. But one time when I was in college, I called him on a weekend totally overwhelmed and hysterical. And that day he offered me exactly the lifeline I needed. "Let yourself be miserable. Let it be enough to just get through the day today and try again tomorrow." If I was drowning in that moment, I didn't want to swim. I was tired, I was sinking; it needed to be enough to just tread water for a bit and try again tomorrow. Someone drowning in a pond doesn't need to hear "well, at least it's not an ocean!" So why is it that our gut reaction to conversations about big feelings is to minimize them? Maybe it's an attempt to shrink the monster in the closet. Or maybe seeing someone in a vulnerable state reminds us that we, too, can be vulnerable.

And I wonder if some of that same feeling is what forces our guards up when children bring up tough topics. First off, there's no filter for when and where it happens. To the young child, it's all equal playing field. Votes for who has Veggie Straws at the lunch table can quickly give way to who threw up last Thursday to grandpa who went to the hospital and never came home. We [the adults] hold Veggie Straws on a very different level than Grandpa who passed away; not necessarily is that so for the children. But what is the teacher/adult's role in this? Do we intervene? When? Do we steer the conversation or just come along for the ride? Are we going to be a conversation end-er or a conversation starter?

When I was a little girl, I was terrified of thunder storms. No cute explanation of God bowling in Heaven was helpful, neither were offers of ice cream or even Benadryl. Nothing at all was helpful until Mr. Rogers explained through conversation what actually happens during a thunder storm. Fred Rogers is one of my greatest heroes. He is what I would call a conversation starter. He took all topics--tough topics, natural topics, fun topics, curious topics--and started conversations. That's all. Nothing fancy. Nothing particularly unique or obscure. He simply started the conversation and kept it going. He talked to children like he'd talk to anyone else. He held their thoughts and curiosities about the world on the same level as his own. It did not matter at all whether he happened to be taller and several decades older. To this very day, if you asked me who I would choose to sit on a bench with for an hour if I could do so with anyone in the world, past, present or future, I'd choose Fred Rogers.

I think that our desire to protect and to comfort and even to control all comes from a place of good intention. It is both selfless and also selfish. We just as much desire to protect, to comfort and to control ourselves. We also feel that as "the adult" we need to keep our own emotions in check (re: hidden) so we can't therefore talk about x, y or z... There's not an easy answer or a best practice here. It's touch and go. But my biggest rules of thumb are as follows:

Let it be authentic: Sometimes we think we need to "set up" these discussions in the same way we set up a craft project. Let it be authentic. Let it come up if it needs to when it needs to where it needs to. It may not be in our "adult" time frame. Children process and experience things at their own rate and in their own way.

Let the child be the pilot of their own plot: We want to control, to navigate, to avoid detours or potential hazards, but we need to let the child be the pilot. You don't need to "grown up"-splain things unless a child specifically asks a question. Give adequate answers, wait and see if further questions arise. Over-explaining and under-explaining are equally challenging ends of the spectrum to avoid. Let it be OK if the conversation needs to go further than planned or predicted; also let it be OK if the conversation seems to stop sooner than planned or predicted. It's alright to return to it later if it comes up, it's also OK if it doesn't come up again at all. Sometimes naming something is enough. Sometimes it just needs to be said. Other times, it needs to be revisited and explored again and again. Either way, leave that door unlocked--but let the child choose when to open it and when to close it.

Let yourself be genuine: We think, as the adults, that we need to put on a certain face for the children and let me tell you something--they are more perceptive than they seem. We certainly do need to maintain healthy and appropriate boundaries and handle our own adult feelings with other adult support systems. However, I do think it is OK--and even helpful--for children to see adults name and work through big feelings, talk about tough topics that come up in a way that is truthful and real and not to feel responsible at the same time for eliminating these woes of the world. You and the child as well have only one responsibility: to experience and get through the moment. You don't need to fix it, you don't need to erase it or negate it or deny it. Keep it on scale. Your experience of a topic is a different stature than a child's experience of it--but nonetheless, you can have a conversation on the same plane (even if you are taller and a few decades older). Children can know that adults also feel sad or worried or scared or mad or excited or nervous or embarrassed; they can even find comfort in this. And if something doesn't go quite as you'd hoped or you happen to think of something later you want to add--that's the beauty of conversation. It can continue...

Pass the Baton: This is such an important but oft forgotten bit of advice. If something feels out of your league, pass the baton. It's OK to say "I don't know" or "I'm happy to talk about this but I want to talk with someone who knows even more." If you're not sure--pass the baton. If you are sure and still you wonder if it's enough--pass the baton. And for yourself--pass the baton. Have your own continuing conversations about those conversations. It's important for you. And for your fellow conversationalists. And for the children. Pass the baton.

There will come a time when children learn that some topics are taboo in some environments. They will eventually reach a point where they don't ask "When is Tatty going to die?" in the middle of the bread aisle at Walmart on a Sunday afternoon. But I'd still rather be asked that question on the bread aisle at Walmart on a Sunday afternoon than not at all. It's OK that the question makes me uncomfortable. It's OK that the question didn't make the one who asked it uncomfortable. It's OK that my answer was "I don't know." And it's OK that less than 30 seconds later we talked about corn tortillas. And that 3 weeks later the topic came up again at the Shabbos table. Conversation is an art. It's not something to be perfected; it's something to be practiced. So keep conversing, and, as always...

Happy Playing!

The Power of Conversation in Classrooms: A Lost and Dying Art

Language is power. We know from the moment a child is born and even before then, while still in the womb, that spoken language is immensely important for physical, cognitive and emotional development. Very few milestones are as exciting for parents of infants as those very first words. And language is a tool we value throughout life--as children grow from communicating through representative sounds and then words eventually toward reading and writing. We care so deeply about language that we devote entire areas of education toward teaching what words mean, how to spell them, how to say them, to perform them, to collect them in prose and poetry and even in arithmetic and science. But if we value language so very much for even our youngest of children, why is there very little room--if any at all--for the lost and dying art of conversation in our classrooms?

I have a friend who is currently studying language development, a topic I love to learn about and discuss. As we were talking yesterday, we were discussing language nuances that children pick up and repeat. Some of these are cute and some are quirky and sometimes, you hear yourself in a whole new light--a light that is not always flattering. I recalled a time in my earlier teaching days when a mother relayed a story she found cute about how her 4 year old son was playing with his blueberries at the breakfast table. There were several student blueberries and one teacher blueberry (that would be me in a bluish shade) and as they ran through the songs and rhymes of the morning routine, Teacher Blueberry stopped to say "and we don't interrupt!" Color me a little more red at this point.

One of the most frequent questions I am asked by fellow educators in regard to classroom management is how to handle "interruptions." It's several versions of the same story. "I'm reading a book to the children and I'll stop to ask a question about it but then the conversation goes on and on and on and no one is listening to the story." "I'm running my circle time and little Johnny raises his hand to tell me about a boo boo he got playing basketball last night after dinner and I lose the whole group. Now they're all talking about getting boo boos and going to the doctor and I still have to finish Calendar Time." "Little Mindy and Rochelle love to sit together at Morning Meeting but they talk nonstop! I end up having to move their seats away." And then, Teacher Blueberry who Used to Instruct that We Don't Interrupt asks the tough question: who's interrupting whom?

We value language. We value literacy. We value learning. But only when it comes from us (the adults). We want the children to listen to the story without interrupting, but every other page, we're interrupting the story to ask "what do you think will happen next?" or "did you notice what Hedgie is doing over in the corner of this page?" We have to sing about the days of the week so the children will learn about the concept of time and the difference between yesterday, today and tomorrow but we have no time to discuss something that happened yesterday. And does Tuesday mean anything to a 4 year old? Not necessarily and it may be totally out of their frame of reference. But playing basketball after dinner and getting a boo boo is totally within their frame of reference and experience. It may have even happened on a Tuesday. We want the children to "use their words" and share with each other so they develop pro-social behaviors, but just not at Morning Meeting.

And even after Teacher Blueberry here stopped interrupting the children to tell them to not interrupt, I still thought I was being incredibly benevolent when I would "honor" the child interrupting a gathering time to share a personal anecdote by saying "I want to hear what you have to say. Hold it in your head and tell me about it at lunch/snack/outside on the playground." Yes, I made the time and stuck to my word to share in that conversation later, but it had no place and no value at my Morning Meeting or Circle Time. After all, I had scoured Pinterest boards for this activity and by golly, we were going to do it!

But once in a while, in fact, quite by accident usually, I'd get it right. Like the one time in my days of teaching in an inclusive preschool program when the special education program was off for a day and the general education students were still in school. I had my teacher crate of Calendar Time activities and a Pinterest Plan for afterward. We had a small group, so I felt I could move at a slower pace. My Attendance Helper was up and we were sorting name tags into piles of Here and Not Here. When we got to one name, he said "Not here. And I'm glad he's not here because he hits me!" Another student chimed in, "and he stepped on my foot!" And another, "yesterday So and So pushed me and I was so mad!" And I stopped the rote monotony of Calendar Time that day because our time was better spent talking about keeping our bodies safe and how to ask for help. It was a tough lesson to swallow for me as a teacher knowing full well that this classroom was a place where some of the children (and even some of the teachers) often felt unsafe. But it was a lesson I swallowed along with my pride, nonetheless. And I will tell you with full confidence that my classroom completely changed that day. Not just because the number 17 never got put on the calendar...

Conversation, many say, is a lost and dying art. We live in an era where I can talk to someone I've never met in a country halfway around the world in real time, but do I know how to carry on a meaningful discussion with my neighbor? Actually, I've never even made eye contact with one of my neighbors... I tell my children how important it is that they use their words with me so I can help them but then I'm busy responding to a message on my phone, they need to wait...

I am an educator like many others who valued the theory of child-led emergent curriculum so long as I dictated how and when and where it emerged. And as I began to reach the early stages of understanding my own hypocrisy, I realized I needed to make a place and a space in my classroom for conversations to happen if this art were to be learned at all. It just so happened that when we would teach letters in my previous place of employment, per their curriculum, the hard pronunciation of the letter C came first in the school year. I decided I would introduce the word "conversation" and I also decided that in order to make a place and space for this in my room, we needed a physical place and space. And thus, the Conversation Corner was born. Two rocking chairs and a table. It began with an object set in the middle that I would choose, a conversation starter, so to speak. I introduced it to each student individually, with me, sharing the new, big word: conversation. I explained as an exchange between two people where one is the talker and one is the listener, but those roles switch again and again and again. You share ideas, you might share objects, you learn and you wonder. You ask questions and give answers. And out of conversation would come another long and beautiful Hard Letter C Word: Connection.
It began as something I "directed" per the curriculum, but it ended being the place where the curriculum emerged. It transitioned and transformed along with the children. The conversation starter in the middle of the table would sometimes be an item brought from home or something carried over from another area. At times, children asked to bring additional chairs. Sometimes the Conversation Corner was a place for practicing a knock knock joke or playing a game. It was a place where children talked about losing a first tooth or going to kindergarten registration or a beloved pet dying. There were giggles and whispers and cackles and fart noises. There were arguments and feelings that were hurt and tears. There were memories shared and memories created. One day, there was a jar of stick puppets and two girls sat down together. They began to use the puppets to act out quarrels between friends--the classic (and then current) playground politics of "you're not my friend anymore!" These puppets stayed at the table for weeks as children took turns sitting in pairs--not always the same pairs--and role playing these scenes again and again and again.
I've seen most of these children continue to grow over the last several years and they are still some of the most close knit and caring friends to one another I've ever known. A great deal of that is the role their parents play and their teachers and the community connection at large. But I like to think a small part of that is due to the power of conversation.

So what if we made a place and a space for that conversation? What if we genuinely honored and respected the children in our classrooms enough to see that conversation happening is not an interruption to the lesson: it is the lesson. From the time it is in the womb, a fetus can begin to recognize familiar voices. Those first words are pivotal and even the first time they say "no" is positively adorable. Until we want them to sit down and shut up. We argued over which they would say first, "Mommy" or "Daddy," and then we wish they'd just for once call the other parent over and over and over again. We love their curiosity until around the age of 4 or 5 when they incessantly ask "but why?" And for all the time we spent waiting and wishing and hoping for them to talk, we begin to "shh" them and finish their sentences for them and eventually restrict them from blog length to Facebook post to 140 characters or less on Twitter to maybe a hashtag if we're not too busy to hear it. Better yet, just pose for a photo and we'll add a caption later...

It's an area I would still say I am growing in. I taught my students the art of a conversation, but I still struggle personally with the Listener Role and sometimes--a lot of the time-- I do interrupt. I want to fill my classrooms and my home and my hours with the best most important and valuable things in the world--when I could let go of those Pinterest plans altogether and simply grab two rocking chairs and a table instead. The power of conversation in our classrooms, in our homes, in the car, on the bus, at the table, in the woods, on the subway, in the library, at the park, in the grocery store--is connection. It is the tiniest of exchanges between me and a Walmart cashier that makes me feel human again when I leave the house without kids for the first time after giving birth. It is the simplest offering of "I think you're doing a great job!" that gives that cashier the strength to stand the final hour of her shift after being berated by an irate customer ahead of you. It is the anger still being held from an unfinished argument in the morning with his girlfriend who just wasn't listening that made the customer irate in the first place.

Conversation is connection. We live in a world of technology that strives to keep us connected 24/7 wherever we go. Can you hear me now? But the feeling of disconnect and discontent is wider than ever. With more and more information at our fingertips, we know and feel sure of less and less. Two rocking chairs and a table. Set aside the smart phone and the laptop and the educational apps and the tablets. Two rocking chairs and a table and the art of conversation as something shared by two people who take turns being talkers and listeners again and again and again.

Happy Playing!

Troubleshooting Tuesday: HELP! The kids aren't playing!

I've heard it from teachers. From parents. From my own lips. "Help! The kids aren't playing!" What do we do when we've "set up shop," we have all the "right things," but the children don't seem engaged? Today I'm going to take you through some of my own favorite troubleshooting steps--and you might find some of them a bit surprising...

But before I begin, I want to unpack this term "play." What is play? I like the work of Dr. Peter Gray when it comes to defining and exploring the concept of play both for children and adults. Here is a brief synopsis of 5 points he uses to define play and you can read more on that here:

1. Play is self-chosen and self-directed.
2. Play is activity in which means are more valued than ends.
3. Play has structure, or rules, which are not dictated by physical necessity but emanate from the minds of the players.
4. Play is imaginative, non-literal, mentally removed in some way from “real” or “serious” life.
5. Play involves an active, alert, but non-stressed frame of mind.

So when I get that nagging feeling in my gut that my kids or my students are not playing--I begin with that first point and this first step:

Finish the sentence. "The kids are not playing____" and? When I challenge myself to finish the sentence, it helps me to direct my attention toward a solution (if needed) or toward a better understanding of what is really going on. In particular, sometimes I have found that my perception of the children not playing is tainted by my perception of what their playing should look like. 

More and more, our early childhood venues are recognizing and reclaiming the importance of play in childhood. However, driven both by the external pressures of the "schoolification" of early childhood and the self-imposed pressures of Pinterest perfect play scenes, we sometimes miss the mark when it comes to truly nurturing and fostering an environment for play. 

If play is "self-chosen" and "self-directed," we need to recognize that even "playful activities" inspired for learning through play are still adult-directed. We also need to recognize that in our daycare and classroom settings--and even in our homes--parameters around play such as time limits, space limits, occupancy limits, limits on how materials are used, where they are used, when they are used, etc., are all externally chosen and directed. That said, this is not necessarily a bad thing! There are reasons those limits are set in some instances--safety, necessity of schedule, environmental factors and so on. And other times, perhaps we could increase our own flexibility.

"Wait!" you are saying... "but I do have a classroom/home that is full of play opportunities! Even my learning centers are play based!" So, yes, we do have a lot of play based activities in our homes and classrooms. However, once we begin to filter these experiences by where they should happen (dramatic play area, block area, library, art center, sensory table) or how long children may or must remain at an activity (sometimes even with timers!) and when they must be done or finished ("hey, it's time to go outside now" or even, "you're not done yet, you haven't filled the page!")...yeah, we kind of lost the child-chosen and child-directed aspect of play. 

In finishing that sentence, "the kids are not playing____," here are some of the most frequent versions I or others have experienced:

"The kids are not playing the way I expected them to." I set up a dramatic play scene for a vet shop, but the kids want to give me a check up. I put out paint and brushes, but the children are using their fingers. I envisioned they would use these loose parts to design a tree but they are building a house. The baby dolls are for the home living area but the children are bringing them to the block area. In these instances, it is usually easy for me to recognize in finishing that sentence that I, the adult, had expectations that were different from the children in my care. And then comes the part about choice. If choice is an inherent factor in true play, can I find a way to allow for choice? And the choice is also yours. Remember that it is not the end of the world if you have to set limits and parameters at times either out of necessity or even comfort. I do challenge us all to safely and securely expand our comfort zones, however that does not mean ignoring our own needs in favor of meeting everyone else's.

"The kids are not playing, they are....[being destructive, being loud, being silly, throwing things, being disrespectful to the materials...]" This one is so challenging to me. Whether I've intentionally set up an activity, set out a material or it's just their own toys at home, to see children using things in ways that I perceive as destructive strikes a nerve with me every time. And then I break that sentence down to focus on that last part. What they are doing. I challenge myself to see the action without the judgment of it--so perhaps to see the throwing without the qualifying characteristic of that being destructive or disrespectful. Many times it is helpful to look at the intention behind the action. A child who is not displaying signs of strong emotions in the moment of throwing a toy may not be throwing a toy to be angry, hurtful or destructive. Even if big feelings are a motivator, they may not have the recognition developmentally of that being "disrespectful." The intent is huge here. No, we cannot let children use things in a way that is destructive and harmful to the materials, to themselves, to others or to their space. But can we meet the need in another way? Deconstruction is a common childhood play schema--the interest in and urge to take things apart and discover how they work. So is trajectory (throwing things) and seeing how they move within our space. When we familiarize ourselves with common childhood play schemas it can help filter our perceptions of what is typical, what we can do to meet our children's play needs and to let go of some of that frustration and pressure we impose on ourselves. You can read some more about common play schemas here.

"The kids are not playing long enough." We've all seen it. Kids darting from one activity to another before you can blink an eye. Or kids visiting a new activity for the first time only to flee after a few minutes and move on to something old and familiar. Consider a few things that may be happening here. On the one hand, if you wait and watch, you might notice a child return to an activity for a longer period of time. Sometimes it is not that they didn't spend long enough, it's that we didn't. It takes a decent chunk of time for most children to deeply engage in play. And within this period of time, you will notice shifts in energy, focus and attention, pace and flow. It is similar to how we function in a work task; play truly is the work of our children. And engagement with an activity or experience can look different between an adult and a child and between one child and another. And even with the same child from one time to another. Alternatively, perhaps your expectations of how much time a child should spend on an activity were unrealistic. Again here, the intent plays a role. If a child has met their play intention with something and chooses to move on out of feelings of completion, that is "long enough."

And the tendency for some children to frequently return to familiar play things or scenarios is not necessarily a bad thing either. The children who opt out of a new or exciting activity that is offered in favor of building a tower for Elsa out of Magnetiles for the 973rd time is still needing to build that tower. Perhaps they are working out the engineering and mechanical end of it, navigating structural challenges and magnetism. Perhaps they are working through the story line end of it as they build on the theme both literally and figuratively. But this doesn't mean you need to throw out the baby with the bathwater. Leave the novel activity out, let them return later if they choose and if not, feel free to reintroduce it again at another date. We tend to feel so much pressure as parents and educators to reinvent the wheel every day. To offer something new and different from the day before. And we need to remember for ourselves and for our children--repetition is the essence of learning and development at this point.

"The kids are not playing with _____." I hear this one a LOT. Whether it's related to a specific area, toy/material, or even all encompassing--as in the children are not playing with most or any of the toys offered in a space. Especially when I hear (or say) "the kids are not playing with anything and they have so many toys," I usually find my answer right in the statement itself. Too much of a good thing is possible here. Sometimes having too many things out and available feels like option overload to our little players. Sometimes taking a portion of that away opens up space both physically and mentally to engage more deeply with what is available.  Many people worry that "taking things away" will be hard for the children and it doesn't necessarily have to be. If a child (including my own) asks "where is ___" or "why is ____ not out anymore?" I simply explain I put it away for now and will bring it back another time. Sometimes kids won't even say anything at all about such a change and will rather just begin to engage in play with what is out and available. And while many say it's easier to add than take away and to keep things minimal, especially at first, I don't think it is an all or nothing scenario. It's OK to start off with a minimal approach like this; it's also OK if you didn't and need to backtrack a bit.

"The kids aren't playing all of a sudden and they were just playing so nicely!" OK, how do I say this in a nice way? Um, they stopped playing because I came over. I've done this so many times in my classrooms or my home. The kids are playing, everyone's happy, not a worry in the world. So I waltz on in with my adult two cents. Maybe I decide to suggest we count the blocks in that Duplo tower. Or maybe I comment about what they're drawing. Or maybe I ask which superheroes they're pretending to be. Either way, I was not invited. And does someone always need an invitation to join in? No, but if you are the adult in the room, an unannounced and unplanned "visit" may not feel so welcome to the young players. In fact, it can feel like an interruption or intrusion. Have you ever watched a child approach a group of kids already engaged in play? This is where I take my cues. Some children will just watch for a bit and feel their way into joining the game. Many will say, "can I play?" I learn from their approach that there is great value in watching without labeling or hijacking and asking for an invitation is a beautiful skill! And if, as the adult in the room, your kids or students are playing nicely and all is well, you're not being lazy or unproductive by not saying and doing anything at all. You're not missing an opportunity to teach math if you don't count the Duplos. They already have the idea of one-to-one correspondence when they match one bump to one hole. Not to mention geometry, spacial awareness, "some," "a lot," "more," and so on...

There is a big push today to include open ended materials and loose parts play opportunities in homes and classrooms. Sometimes this push is a wee bit militant. I love loose parts play and open ended materials. I also think "traditional" toys have their place and "single function" playthings are still fun for kids and meaningful in play. In fact, when it comes to what children play with, I don't care as much about that as I do with how they play. Anything can be an "open ended loose part" if a child chooses to use it in such a way. However, in terms of including loose parts play opportunities, I do have a few suggestions here as well.

Many teachers or parents who take the loose parts plunge will note that they put out a whole bunch of stuff but the children don't really play with it. Again, sometimes I revisit those statements to decipher whether they are indeed not playing or if perhaps their play looks differently than I anticipated. Many times, this type of playing is new to children who may be used to playing with more traditional toys. If it is a novel way to play for you as well, they may pick up on some of your energy around it.. We often want to provide a lot of options of materials to use all at once, and many times it can be more effective to offer a large quantity of fewer materials at a time so the children can really explore them more deeply.

So many times I will be asked when I'm setting out a particular collection of objects, "what are you going to do with that?" and my response will be, "put it here and watch." But sometimes I also forget that I said that and then I might suggest things the children could do or demonstrate things they could create and all of a sudden, I have totally hijacked their play experience. Especially in cases where a child might feel particularly sensitive to not being able to replicate an adult design or idea, this can be hindering. I am definitely not saying to never set out a provocation or invitation to play, to never partake in a project based art activity or to never leave a little love note of play by setting up a small world scene or setting out a dramatic play environment. Everything can have its place and merit in a playroom.

It can also be a very enlightening experience to fully step out and back and to watch what the children do given the opportunity of adequate time and space. I often refer to time as my favorite loose part! We tend to want to jump in, to rescue our children from moments of idleness or silence, to protect them against boredom or redundancy. To match the play experience to the Instagram picture that inspired us to provide it. I have talked in the past about seeing a rising theme in my classrooms of children who "don't know how to play," and when I delve a bit deeper into that concept, I feel it needs to be reworded. It is not that children today do not know how to play, it is that many of them have not had many opportunities to engage in deep, self-directed. Play that is completely of their own choosing and not at all adult directed or inspired.

So what is our role as parents, caregivers and educators? I think we also need to look at our own play deficits. How often do we engage in deep, self-directed "play?" Can you think of the last time you played? What did that look like? Certainly our adult expressions of play are different from those of a child, but the need is the same. The need for a space that is entirely of our own creation. A pace that is entirely of our direction. And a purpose that is of our choosing. And when it comes to our children?There is no perfect pedagogy, no perfect toy, no perfect design of a space to play in or perfect agenda with regard to what you do in that space. There are a lot of right ways to play! There are a lot of right ways to facilitate play. There are a lot of right ways to honor, respect and nurture play. And there are a lot of ways that play can manifest. Allow yourself to consider the full sentence the next time you find yourself in that tailspin of worry and until then...

Happy Playing!

Oh My Goodness, These Kids Move Slower Than Molasses!

You guys, I just can't. I can't stand how long it takes my kids to get from A to B--even when they are looking forward to B, forget about when they are not. Even when B is a party. A party with a magician. And a balloon artist. And donuts and chocolate and chips and soda. A party they have been looking forward to and talking about for the last ten days. They still move slower than molasses. I'm pretty sure I've seen paint dry in the time it takes my boys to get from the living room out the front door and down the 4 steps to our minivan. What was that? A snail just made the perimeter of the entire parking lot in the time it took for one toddler to get one shoe on? I was born six weeks early and it is a precedent I have kept up in my life. I love to be early. On the other side of that coin is my severe phobia of being late and a strong level of anxiety related to rushing. So I have had to let go quite a lot. To lower that bar significantly enough that I can still see it on the horizon. And also to look into why these kids, yes all kids, move slower than molasses.

I'd like to interrupt this blog post to state that I have had a jar of molasses sitting in my spice rack for longer than I should publicly admit. The same jar of molasses. It has not once moved and my kids still move slower than that. I should probably go check its expiration date...

So yes, kids move at their own pace. A sometimes painfully slow one at that. And I get it on some level. Little legs take a longer time to get from here to there. Tasks like putting on shoes and coats and grabbing a school bag all take time when you are still quite new to them. But is there more to this picture than meets the eye? More than just dragging feet and dragging a heavy tote bag? You betcha!

I think it often boils down to one (or more than one) of the Four Cs. Control, Connection, Coordination, and Communication. 

Why is the child who loves to play outside taking 20 minutes to put his coat, hat, gloves and boots on? For one of my former students, the issue was coordination. It was too many steps and an attention/focus challenge made it nearly impossible to carry out the task in the same space as his peers. Given a separate space in the room where he was on his own was exactly what he needed to be able to move through the steps of getting himself dressed (which he was physically able to do) without the myriad distractions of watching his friends and hearing them talk that made it impossible to even begin. Game changer.

Why is S moving at a snail's speed to get into his car seat on our way to that party? He's super excited about it, but he wants to control when we leave because transitions are hard even and sometimes especially when you are excited. It's also partly the reason that Y lingers in the car after we get home from his school day. He asks to be unbuckled even before we get to the parking lot, but then when he is, he suddenly becomes stagnant. He is not going to a party; he is going to nap. He knows that and he wants to control the time frame within which that will happen because even though he is totally exhausted, he also wants to stay awake.

And for him, it is also a desire for connection. He loves school so much. He's always enthusiastic to go--even and especially on the two days of the week he does not attend. And yet, his lingering about doesn't just happen on the tail end before his nap. It also happens after an hour of repeatedly asking to go to school before school starts until that moment it is time to actually go. Picking out his choice of gloves and hat and scarf is a 10 minute ordeal at best. And then five more to lure him out the front door and toward the van. And then the battle of coaxing him ever so gently toward the van and up to his seat... Why is he moving so slowly???? And then we get there, he is gleefully shouting "it's my school! Mommy, it's my school!" but once the car is in park, it's like a time warp has occurred and we are again in slow motion. This is more than just control, he's also seeking connection. Y loves school and feels happy and secure there. He also loves home and feels happy and secure there. He is leaving one happy and secure environment to enter another; he is separating from me. He is 2 and navigating the space between two such great feelings of love and security is hard. He needs to know that loving his classroom won't detract from his loving his home. He needs to know that feeling love toward his teachers will not take away from the love he feels toward me. So I breathe quite deeply over and over and over again. Because we will be three minutes late no matter what. And that is OK.

And sometimes, that pace is a means of communication. Sometimes it's in indication that a child is tired or hungry or unwell or worried or confused. We got to the party but now S is seemingly stuck in the mud. Is anyone going to move here?? Yes, but this moment of stagnation is communicating that the environment is new and a little loud and very exciting and before we can go sit down, we need to see and scan the room. Y was really eager to go home and eat lunch but taking forever to get into the car again. Why? Because he was hungry and his belly hurt and he was so tired from playing at the children's museum that he fell asleep on the 10 minute drive home. He was communicating that we had stayed a little too long at our first activity and he needed to eat and rest.

I often say that nothing is more exciting to my kids than our parked minivan. They might be totally enthusiastic to get home for a movie night or to the playground for my outdoor meetup, but once that van is in park, that's where the party is at. And they linger. They lag. They lollygag around. And two things have happened almost simultaneously. I have totally lost my mind (and temper) and also learned to recognize my own need to slow down. I am not quite down to a steady speed of Molasses Miles per Hour like they are, but I can manage to go from a gallop to a canter. To embrace the pace or at least grit my teeth trying...

Happy trails and, as always,

Happy Playing!