freedom and limits

some art materials sit out on the table,
attractively displayed.
glue, brushes, various objects for collage, some round fabric samples donated by a neighbor.
the table is inviting, asking children to come and do, come and make, come and explore.
the teacher has an idea of what the children might do,
what the materials are for.

what is freedom, at this art table?
the children are free to select their materials, glue them together as they see fit.
are they free to dump out the beads, dump out the feathers, take them away to another table,
pour the jewels into a purse and carry them away as treasure?
should the teacher dictate that "these are only for this project" and "they stay at this table?"
should everyone at the table be involved in a dialogue about the limits?
what will happen if someone takes all the jewels away?
what will happen if someone dumps out all the beads?

are they free to glue all the fabric samples together in a tall stack, leaving none for anyone else?
are they free to use as much glue as they like, even if a teacher thinks they are using too much?
a teacher can give information, or wonder:
"if you stack them all up, there won't be any for other children to use."
"i wonder if your piece will dry with all that glue on it."

here are paper, crayons, scissors, a 3-year-old.
what is freedom here?
is he free to cut his paper any way he chooses?
is he free to experiment with how to hold the scissors
even though it's clear to a teacher that he doesn't know how yet?
should a teacher take his hands and show him how, or let him struggle to find his own way?
perhaps a 4-year-old will come along, if not today, then another day.
he will see how the 4-year-old holds the scissors, and he will try it too.

is he free to cut his hair? his clothes? another child's picture?
is he free to color on the table? on the floor?
who makes these decisions, and why?

 

here are some paints, out in the backyard.

there's an easel next to the paints, but somehow the paint can't seem to stay there.

are the children free to paint the fence? the wall? the tree?

what about the places where other children step to climb up?

does freedom end where safety is concerned, and who gets to decide?

does a teacher say, "you can't paint there?"

or, "people step there when they're climbing. 

if you paint there, it could be slippery and people could fall."

what if children still want to paint there?

what if children want to paint on their own bodies?
"i'm making wonder woman bracelets, so i can be wonder woman," she said.
who's the boss of a child's own skin?
the teacher? the evening bath-giver? the skin-wearer herself?
what if she wants to paint her face, legs, and tummy too?
what if other children see her and also want to paint themselves?
is there any harm in it?

we ask ourselves these questions:
out loud in staff meetings,
and subconsciously as we make split-second decisions about how to respond in the moment.
teachers have wisdom, from their years of experience.
children need to live the experience, in order to gain the wisdom.
somewhere in the grey area between freedom and limits
lies the substance of the work we are doing:
empowering children to make educated choices,
treat others with respect and empathy,
speak up for themselves and others if they see an injustice,
and to question the authorities who sometimes say,
"no dumping out all the feathers,"
"this is the right way to hold the scissors,"
and "paint stays at the easel."

gradual departure

Over the years I've seen a lot of kids dropped off at preschool, and a lot of kids picked up from preschool.  These may seem like basic everyday events, but they are huge. 

Most parents quickly get drop-off nailed.  At our school we have a built-in part of the day we call "Gradual Arrival."  It's the first hour of the day and we invite parents to come in with children, read a book, play a game, hang out a little bit while kids get settled in, have a quick check-in with a teacher about any information relevant to the day, etc.  It's gentle, it's relaxed, it's cozy.  Many children are ready to separate with a quick hug and sometimes forget to say goodbye.  Others need a specific routine before they can say goodbye: one book, five hugs and kisses at the door, and Mommy does a silly dance outside the window.  The routine varies for each child, of course, and the silly dance is not always required!

More difficult to navigate sometimes is pick-up time.  Your child had a hard time saying goodbye in the morning, so you think they'll be glad to go home at the end of the day, but they have just as hard a time leaving school as they had leaving you.  Or, you had a long day at work and you still have to pick up baby brother and get some groceries before you can go home to make dinner.  It's time to go and you're ready now.  Why is your child not ready to leave?

At our school, kids go home at all different times from 1:00 to 6:00, so there's no way to put "Gradual Departure" into the schedule, but I've come to the realization that it's just as important, and something that parents should consider putting into their daily routine.

Imagine that your spouse is going to pick you up from work.  You don't know exactly when, you just have a general idea that it will be late afternoon.  Just as you get on a roll in a project you've been struggling with, your spouse arrives and wants to leave immediately.  It would be a little unsettling.  Wouldn't you want to share the breakthrough in your work and let them know that you need a few minutes to wrap up what you're doing?

Alternatively, what if your spouse came to pick you up in the middle of a recreational activity with your friends, and demanded to leave right away?  Since play is children's work, both of these scenarios are true for them.  Just as they need time to adjust into school, they need time to adjust out.

Some parents come and hang out, chatting with each other or the teachers, while the kids finish playing and then get ready to go.  This is good community building time, but it could be even better.

The idea of "Gradual Departure" came to me from a parent whose child told her he didn't like it when she came to pick him up and didn't play with him.  He was up in the clubhouse (kind of a treeless treehouse in the backyard, which is too small for adults to stand upright in), and she went right up there and got into his game.  This child, who often resists every step of the way toward going home, packed up and left without any fuss after his mom played with him for a little while.

Another time I was involved in a dramatic play game of "The Three Bears" with two other children in the backyard.  We were just discussing how we needed someone to come out and be Goldilocks when one of their moms arrived to pick up, and without even thinking I said, "Oh good, you're just in time to be Goldilocks." She graciously took it in stride!

Kids love it when adults pretend play with them.  They delight in it.  So jumping into their game is a great way to respect the work they've been doing all day, to show them that you see them, appreciate their process, and value their ideas. 

Then, when it's time to go, just as you reassure them in the morning that you'll be back to pick them up later, you can reassure them that the school and the teachers and the friends and the materials they're using will still be here tomorrow, or next week, and they can play this game again next time.  Some kids even like to save a favorite school material in a special place where they can find it again tomorrow. 

Change is hard, and going home at the end of the day is change.  It takes time to think about it, time to reconnect with parents, and transition out of a hardworking day at school.  Giving your child time and attention at pick-up can set you up for a whole evening of positive interactions. 

back to yesterday

'I could tell you my adventures - beginning from this morning,' said Alice a little timidly: 'but it's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.'

-Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

yesterday
i was a dancer
i was an artist
i was a farmer
i was a scientist
i was a baker
i was an acrobat
i was a homemaker
i was a horseback rider
i was a hula girl
i was an explorer 
i was an architect

yesterday
i was a whale
i was a jack-in-the-box
i was an engineer
i was a baby swan
i was a passenger
i was a carpenter
i was a witch
i was a reader
i was a plumber
i was a storyteller
i was a paper airplane pilot

yesterday
i was a magician king
i was a jedi padawan
i was a firefighter
i was a tree spirit
i was a princess
i was a pirate
i was a train conductor
i was a blue crayon
i was a potion maker
i was a photographer

yesterday
i was a builder
i was a painter
i was a clown
i was a ladybug
i was a florist
i was a cartographer
i was a pianist
i was a ballerina
i was a judge
i was a model
i was a traveler






then my parents ask me, "what did you do at school today?"
it is hard work to remember.
i shrug my shoulders and say,

"i played."