Storytelling; Jennie Stories

Posted on July 7, 2014 by Jennie

Storytelling is important to young children because oral language is the key to reading readiness.  It’s also a key to academic success.  Think about it; in early elementary school the primary source of instruction is oral.  At school, I tell stories every day at lunchtime.  They are true stories from my childhood and adulthood.  Everyone knows “Jennie stories”.  Decades after children leave my class, they still remember those stories.  Over the summer, I thought I would share some of those with you, and perhaps encourage you to tell your own stories.  Yes, it matters.  This is the first story I told to children:

The Peanut Man Story

“It happened like this.  When I was in first and second and third grade, there was a man who lived in my town, Dr. Tyler.  He was really old.  He was short, heavy, and he had white hair and a white beard.  Who do you think he looked like?  Yes, Santa Claus.  I thought he was the real Santa Claus.  Dr. Tyler had a peanut farm, and over the summer her grew peanuts.  I’ve never seen peanuts growing.  Have you?  In the fall, he picked them all.  He had hundreds and thousands of peanuts, all in shells.  Then one day he would come to school.  No one knew when he was coming.  The principal didn’t know.  The teacher didn’t know.  He would just show up.  We could hear footsteps in the hallway and the classroom door would burst open.  There he stood, saying nothing, carrying a big sack of peanuts over his back.  Now he really looked like Santa Claus!  He dropped the heavy sack onto the floor and the teacher yelled, “It’s the Peanut Man.  Duck”.  Everybody dove under their desks.  Then he took his big hand, scooped a huge handful of peanuts, and threw them across the classroom, hard.  We covered our ears and closed our eyes.  He did this again and again, throwing peanuts everywhere.  It sounded like pelting rain.  The peanuts were hitting the desks, the chalkboard, the lights…everything in the classroom.  Suddenly the sound stopped.  Everything was empty.  We heard footsteps, and the door slamming shut.  The teacher said, “Boys and girls, the Peanut Man is gone.  You can come out now”.  Wow!  The whole room was covered with peanuts everywhere.  The floor was so full that you stepped on peanuts wherever you walked.  They were in the lights on the ceiling, too.  We spent the rest of the afternoon picking up all the peanuts, putting them on our desks in a big mound, cracking the shells, and eating them.”

Storytelling bonds teachers, parents and grandparents to their children, passes down interesting and funny stories, and creates memories.  It’s important!  My next few posts will be the favorites of children in my classroom, such as “The Bat Story” and “The Raccoon Story”.  Summertime fun for me to tell you my stories, and for you to read them.

Jennie

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How Art Shapes Our World

Posted on June 29, 2014 by Jennie

Growing up, I spent every Sunday afternoon with my grandmother, Nan.  She was the fun one, the grandparent who let us dress up in her clothes, always read to us, told us stories of her childhood, and drove us to the ‘five and dime’ to spend a nickle on anything we wanted.  She made real taffy, and we had taffy pulls until the taffy was glistening.  One of Nan’s favorite books was a picture book of Norman Rockwell illustrations.  I loved that book, and we often looked through it together, talking about the pictures.  Walking into Nan’s apartment hung a picture of ‘Girl Before a Mirror’ by Picasso.  As a child I thought this was strange.  Little did that I know how it would shape my thinking and teaching.  Nan had all sorts of pictures hanging in her apartment.  The one that struck me the most was ‘Leaving Home’ by Gilbert Gaul.  I don’t know why, but I found myself staring at that picture every Sunday.  It seemed to tell a story on many different levels.

The point is, Nan never talked about art.  She was the fun grandmother who did things with us.  Art was just there, hanging on the walls in her apartment.  In those days, that’s all it was.  And that was probably a good thing.  I now understand that children simply need to see art.  It really is that simple.  Exposure doesn’t have to be a big event.  The rest, the understanding, will come.  It did with me.  Thank goodness I became a teacher and passed it on to my students.

When my two children became adults, each one had a strong memory about art.  Actually, this surprised me.  My son remembered the Norman Rockwell pictures.  My daughter went to art school in Baltimore, and one summer back home she told me that she had always loved a painting of a bare tree that hung in our living room.  It had inspired her.  I had no idea!  Obviously I was like Nan, where art was just there.

When I started teaching, art was certainly part of my curriculum, and still is.  Every day children have a different medium for them to be creative and make their own art.  Over the years it has developed and evolved, including introducing real art.  When I first did a unit on France in my classroom, I showed pictures of art from the old masters.  That inspired the children, so we painted and displayed our own ‘masterpieces’ for the community to see.  It was a huge success, and every spring my class has an ‘Art Show’.  We have talked about light, and how ‘The Milkmaid’ by Vermeer and Edward Hopper’s paintings show light.  How did he do that?  We have talked about impressionism and used real artist paints to make our own style.  We have looked for the geometric shapes in Picasso’s ‘The Three Musicians’.

The difference is, I am giving children real tools, a visual of all art, and encouragement to ‘go for it’.  As such, they see something interesting in real works of art, and create their own beauty.  Then, the children name their piece of art, just like real artists do.  That final touch is most important.  Like Nan, I am showing children pictures of all types of art; except now, I am talking about it with children.  I am inspiring them.  I believe I am shaping their world, since art naturally encourages so much dialogue with young children.  Recently, a child in my class saw a picture of the ‘Mona Lisa’ and exclaimed, “I know her!”

Jennie

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The Essay That Didn’t Win…It Should Have.

Posted on June 20, 2014 by Jennie

The essay contest was titled, “When did you first know the meaning of love?”.  I knew the answer in a heartbeat; I had to enter and tell the world, because it was important.  It was the ‘light bulb’ moment in teaching, and how that became the groundwork for the many years that followed.

The Hundred Little Things

As a teacher, I have a way with children; sometimes I feel like the Pied Piper, young children seem to naturally gravitate to me. I can ‘read’ a young child; watching their eyes, listening to their words; the subtleties that children project are very honest. When I tell a story or read a book at school, children are often captivated, although spellbound is probably more accurate. “Jennie, tell the bat story!” You can see the anticipation in eager little eyes and transfixed bodies. Preschoolers move and wiggle, but not when I tell or read a story. Lunchtime at school is full of fifteen excited children, and that is when the stories flow. Children know that if a story starts with, “Once Upon a Time”, it is pretend. The Little Red Hen and Goldilocks and the Three Bears are ever popular. On the other hand, if a story starts with, “It Happened Like This”, they know the story is real, and something that happened with Jennie, their teacher. Oh boy! Those stories are beloved. Children beg to hear them, because they portray their teacher when she was a child, in the same situations that they can understand; being scared over a bat in her room, hating vegetables, going Trick-or-Treating at the scary next door neighbor’s house, and a birthday cake with the wrong frosting.

Believe me, it wasn’t always this way. Early on in my preschool teaching, I interacted with children with the best of intentions, yet often struggled to feel that I had made a connection, much less a difference. Even though I was always a caring and kind teacher, there was a self imposed ‘you and me wall’. I was the teacher, and you were the student. Teaching meant teaching information, in a caring environment. Yes, I was a good teacher, but I didn’t fully understand how important love was until that day, twenty years ago. It was naptime at school, late in the fall, the time of year when children and teachers were comfortable with each other. There I was, lying on my back, looking across the classroom. All the children were asleep, except Andrew, a child who was often distant and sometimes challenging. He was the boy I had not really connected with. He saw me, and I saw him. We both smiled, simultaneously, knowing everybody else was asleep. At that moment, there was nobody else on the whole earth. It was just Andrew and me. He knew it and I knew it. This was deep, and forgiving, and enlightening. I understood; love has no preconceived agenda. It is ‘there’, regardless of circumstances. Most importantly, love usually isn’t met with a lot of fanfare. In fact, it is the little things that often express love. The intensity of that moment is still with me. It changed me, and I understood that love, on the purest and simplest level, is most important.

In education, I learned that if love comes first, then teaching becomes deeper, better, more focused, and more energized. The children learn because I have put them first. I had it backwards, carefully planning a curriculum and activities, and then fitting the children into those plans. Not that it was bad or didn’t work; it just was…well, lacking the passion that comes with love. Oh, children know how a teacher really feels. So, thanks to Andrew, I started to change. First, lunchtime became a forum to learn about the children and really listen to them. I learned so many little things, like the names of pets and grandparents, what a big brother does, the color of a bike. These were little things, yet they became the building blocks. We often debated deep subjects, such as if a girl can marry a girl, or if people go to heaven when they die. Everyone’s opinion was valued. The day that Kelly told us her dog, Bruno, had died; the class did not know what to say. I told her that my dog had died years ago, and I was very sad. Then, a child asked Kelly if she was sad. The following thirty minutes was spent with heartfelt children telling each other about grandparents and pets who had died, and all the feelings and questions that naturally follow. At that moment, lunch was far less important than what was happening, and could wait. The building blocks were working.

I started to use a tape recorder to “interview” children, as this not only helped me to get to know them, but also was a good tool for language development (and it was fun). Our curriculum at that time was France and learning about the old masters in art. Young children love to paint, and they were practicing being artists with real palettes. I was learning so much about them, why not have the children do an autobiography to accompany their work of art? And, why not have the children name their work of art, and call it a masterpiece? The result was so profound that we had an art show at school, and then moved the art show to our local post office for the community to enjoy. What a success, and what a wonderful experience for the children. Our art show has since become a yearly event in the community. Again, the building blocks were growing, but now I began to realize that each block in itself was little. Did using a palette or holding a microphone make a difference? No. So, where did the passion and love (and there was passion and love!) come from? It was each block, over and over again, often hundreds of them, which made the difference. I started to call this phenomenon “The Hundred Little Things”. Now, my teaching and curriculum had become child centered. From this point forward, I put the cart before the horse. Smart thing! That same year my husband asked me, out of the blue, why our children wanted to hear ‘I love you’ all the time. “It’s the hundred little things”, I told him. “It takes at least a hundred times for each little ‘I love you’ to really become meaningful”.

The next year my class went to the circus. Of course we decided to have our own circus performance at school for our families, and I let the children decide what they wanted to do. Again, a child-centered event eclipsed anything I could have planned. Over the next few years, music, math games, and science exploration exploded. Every child’s interest was a spark, and became a tool for learning. I had learned so much and transferred the children’s love into a great preschool experience. Little did I know that the best was yet to come.

I love museums. In Philadelphia I visited the National Liberty Museum and was thunderstruck by their Peace Portal. Instantly I knew this magnificent structure was something my classroom could recreate. My years of following the love of the children had allowed me to embrace my own love, and give it back to the children. Now the tables were turned, yet again. I brought the idea back to school, and the children loved it! They spent a large part of the school year designing a Peace Portal. Then, they wrote a Peace Poetry Book, and designed a Peace Quilt, which is in the Museum. Suddenly, the power of love had gone beyond the classroom. The depth of this project was not only children’s building blocks, but my building blocks as well. Yes, I could give the same passion and love as well. Wow! A combination of the two means a deep understanding and enthusiasm on all parts. As such, the process and the product were wonderful. The following year, the children really wanted to sing “God Bless America”. Watching them sing amongst themselves, over and over, was a true ‘hundred little things’. Again, we worked together, under the umbrella of love, to bring the song to soldiers, to making a book, and to designing a quilt that hangs at the Fisher House in Boston.

Being a preschool teacher for many years has been a wonderful roller coaster of every emotion and of learning. When I first became a preschool teacher, teaching happened first. Thanks to Andrew, I know that love happens first, and then becomes the catalyst to develop deep relationships with children, and therefore a rich curriculum. The ‘hundred little things’ proves that to be true.

Pay attention, as love is there. You just need to see it. It can change your life. It changed mine.

Jennie

 

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Singing Poetry, Books, and Anything in Print

Posted on June 16, 2014 by Jennie

At our monthly staff meeting last week a teacher shared a wonderful frog poem written on chart paper.  The rhyming words were highlighted in a different color.  She showed us how to use the poem with props; a stick to point out the words, puppets for children to act out the frog and the owl, a blue cloth for the lake, and a bench for the frog.  It was more than a very good poem for young children, it was interactive and fun.

I kept thinking, “I would sing this”.  A rhyme, like poetry, has a natural flow.  So does singing.  I have found that connecting the two is powerful.  It cements language.  With singing, words and language become crystallized.

Before children learn to read, first they must hear the words.  It’s developmental, like learning to crawl before learning to walk.  The auditory piece, including singing, hits both the brain and the soul in learning.  In my preschool class, reading aloud is a top priority, so I constantly read picture books and also chapter books.  I use a ‘voice’, stop all the time to ask questions, and often the story takes a very different turn.  We have pretty deep and serious discussions as a class, because we love reading.  Every day before chapter reading I recite Goodnight Moon.  The children love it for two reasons; they know that chapter reading is next, and they feel connected to the words in the story.  I recite the story, so they have no pictures to see (just like chapter reading).  Over the course of the year, I have changed the words to incorporate the names of the children.  “And Tommy’s red balloon, and a picture of Sarah jumping over the moon…”.  This has been hugely successful.  The children think it is so much fun, but I realize that there is a bigger connection with the language they are hearing.  I have taken a story they love, recited with no pictures, and changed the text.  That means changing your brain, and children do that so well.

It gets more complicated, or perhaps I should say more simple.  Reciting Goodnight Moon then naturally flowed into singing.  It was already a story with a rhyme, and it already had children’s names as part of the rhyme.  So, I sang Goodnight Moon.  It didn’t matter what the tune was.  The important part was singing, as that brought ‘life’ into the words.  I occasionally changed the ‘beat’ as well, clapping or tapping my foot.

Teachers naturally address visual learners.  Whether it is a classroom chart or writing on the board, the majority of information for children is often visual.  If we address the auditory learners through singing, we are crystallizing language.  And, it is fun!  So, I now sing poetry, stories and rhymes whenever I can.  The children love it, and it works.

Jennie

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“It Happened Like This…”

Posted on June 8, 2014 by Jennie

This is the classic line to begin a great story, and a true story.  I say this often in the classroom, as language and stories are strong building blocks.  The children are very familiar with this phrase, as I tell stories at lunchtime.  Most of my stories are true, things that happened to me as a child and an adult.  The first story I ever told to children was about Dr. Tyler, ‘the peanut man’, who grew peanuts and suddenly appeared in my classroom, to the astonishment of everyone, including the teacher.  He looked exactly like Santa Claus, and when he barged into the classroom with a big burlap bag of peanuts, he really looked like Santa Claus.  Our teacher told us to duck, and he proceeded to pelt the classroom with peanuts.  It was scary, exciting, and wonderful.  This happened when I was in 1st, 2nd, and 3rd grade.

When I first told that story to children many years ago, I realized that the power of language and literacy goes far beyond reading a book.  The children begged for more stories, and I told stories!  From a bat in my bedroom, to a raccoon in my kitchen, every lunchtime is filled with “It happened like this” stories.

Stories are more than language; they are pathways to learning.  When a teacher tells a story, especially a true story, children soak it up.  They can never get enough and always ask for more.  So, how do I address that?  My stories become riddled with questions, asked by me.  Once a story has become popular, I can stop and ask questions.  I do this all the time, and I know it works.  I ask, “How do peanuts grow?”, and “How did the bat get into my bedroom?”  Those questions promote long conversations.  That’s wonderful!

“It Happened Like This“… It started at 10:00 AM.  A child was fascinated with our red and sparkly dress-up shoes, prompting dialogue about “The Wizard of Oz” with classmates and teachers.  Clearly, some children wanted to do a play or performance about “The Wizard of Oz”.  Since we were close to clean up and lunchtime, we decided to revisit the idea after rest time.

After rest and snack, we talked about what we wanted to do.  We chose parts, and gathered costumes from our dress-ups.  The children then decided what we should do, and wrote their own play.  They performed it for the the Big Room children.  This is what they wrote:

  The Aqua Room Wizard of Oz

“Once upon a time there was a girl named Dorothy and a dog named Toto who lived in a house in Kansas.  Two mean witches played together.  They had magic wands and turned people into things.  There was a good witch, too.  She could turn the bad witches into magic.  There was a tin man.  He had to save Dorothy.  He had to get on a horse and get to the house to save her.  Dorothy had to get on the back of the horse and giddy-up home.  Dorothy married the tin man.  She had a baby.  They will name the baby when she turns one year old.  The tin man said, “Dorothy, stay there.  I will take care of the witches.”.  And he said to the witches, “Bibbity bobbity boo!”

When children have been exposed to stories and storytelling, and have been allowed the opportunity to take an idea and run with it, to express themselves without constraints, and to have the support of of a teacher, parent or adult, critical thinking occurs and self esteem develops.  Wow!

This is a great example of my philosophy.  Our best plans can often be overturned by eager, questioning children.  I seize those moments!

Jennie

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Roots and Wings…and Thunderstorms

Posted on June 1, 2014 by Jennie

Some years ago I was on my porch with my adult daughter watching the big thunderstorm rumble into our yard. We were both enjoying the anticipation as well as the storm itself. I asked my daughter what memories popped into her head whenever she heard a big storm. She replied, “Camp, of course! We had nothing else; no TV, no computer, just the outdoors. Thunderstorms were great!” Funny thing. This was the same experience with me as a child at camp.

We talked about exciting and adventurous experiences in our childhood, and about childhood itself. We analyzed why children feel the way they do, and what is it that ‘makes a difference’ when they grow up. One thing kept ringing loud and clear. Children who are given experiences that challenge them, who are encouraged to take a chance and ‘do it’, and who have the firm love and support of their family, seem to grow up with a good, strong sense of self. Roots and wings.

I think of the swings on the playground and ‘yelling’ commands with excitement when a child first learns to pump a swing.  “Kick them out.  Tuck them in.  Pull.  Yes, you can do it!”  As children grow older, I think of opening the front door and letting my child ride his bike, alone, to the playground.  Then, going to sleepover camp for a month, at age eight.  My children begged to go, loved every minute of it, and I am convinced it was part of their foundation.  Roots and wings.

I was the opposite of a helicopter parent.  Friends were a little shocked to see my child roller-blading to school.  He couldn’t quite tie the laces tight enough, so his first grade teacher helped him.  They wondered if there was a ‘problem’ when my children went off to camp, and to prep school.  My daughter went to Italy, alone, after college graduation.  We’re talking speaking no Italian, as well.

After all of these different experiences, friends would then say, “Your children are so lucky to have these opportunities”.  That was quite a change.  I would smile and just say, “Roots and wings”.  They had the roots, with plenty of love and support.  Sometimes I felt brave and alone giving them the wings.  That was the hard part.  I’m so glad I did.

In my classroom, I approach each learning experience and activity, planned or unplanned, as an exciting opportunity. We are a family. We help each other, support each other, and encourage each other. We provide roots for each other with daily routine, tenderness, and a positive, fun attitude. We give each other wings when we learn how to write our name, pump a swing, stand in front of a group to talk, or try something new. Roots and wings.

Remember, it’s all the little experiences, over and over again, that we build upon. It’s not the big things that make a difference. Dancing with painted feet, coming to school at night and singing in the dark, shopping in a real Indian market, painting to classical music, setting up nap mats for other children, finding a new place on our big map with the magnifying glass, reading all the name cards without help….it is the culmination of all these activities, and many others, that make the difference.

I hope that in years to come, you and your child sit through a thunderstorm together, walk through the woods together, or sing in the dark together, and find it is an experience that is exciting. We hope that the Aqua Room has helped to give your child the experiences to feel a happy and confident sense of self. Roots and wings.

Jennie

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A Memorial Day in My Classroom

Posted on May 26, 2014 by Jennie

Our school wide Memorial Day remembrance some years ago with General Zukauskas and Cadet Crampton was stirring and moving, to say the least.  I think holding the American flag and singing patriotic songs, particularly “The Star Spangled Banner”, were quite meaningful to us.  We worked hard to learn the words to the song and to understand our flag.  Since the rain kept us indoors for the ceremony, we were unable to plant two small American flags for Greg and Travis in our school Memory Garden that day.  Greg and Travis were part of General Zukauskas’ troops, and died in the line of duty.  We planted the flags earlier in the week, on a sunny day, in a very low-key and age appropriate fashion.  Many of my Aqua Room children watched.

While we were outside on the playground, a child asked if we could look at Greg and Travis’ flags.  “Of course”, I said, as we strolled over together.  After standing in silence for a few moments I asked, “Do you want to say anything?”  “Can we sing the star banner song?”, the child asked.  “You mean “The Star Spangled Banner?”, I asked.  As we both sang together, we were joined by two other children, wanting to sing, too.  After we finished the song another child said, “Old Mr. Wyatt was in the Army.  He died a long time ago.  Can we sing for him?”  Again we sang the National Anthem and the song drew more children to participate.  Then another child said, “My Uncle Jack was in a war.  He died.  Can we sing for him?”  Yes, we sang again, and drew even more children into this tender moment.  We sang again for for all the soldiers in heaven, and yet again for our troops overseas.

Five times we sang “The Star Spangled Banner”, and each time it was a child who wanted and needed  to sing for someone they knew.  Everyone stood proud and placed their hand over their heart while looking at those two small American flags.  Children understand.

Music is both powerful and intimate.  It can make you rise up with passion, testing and confirming your values.  It can also ground you so that you see, feel and understand the simplest and most important things in life.  Both seem to happen with patriotic songs.  It certainly happened singing “The Star Spangled Banner” in the Memory Garden.

Many years ago I discovered Peter Spier’s book, The Star Spangled Banner.  He illustrates each line in the song.  This book is enormous in teaching children our National Anthem, because it puts a picture to all the words.  Understanding ‘rampart’ and ‘towering steep’ becomes clear.  And, the book covers all the verses of the song.  This is the visual to understand our National Anthem and appreciate all it represents.  It takes me thirty minutes to read the book to my class, because every page has so many things to talk about.

Teaching young children about Memorial Day isn’t easy.  Music is a gift, as it resonates all that teachers want to say, in a way that children can understand.  Sing all those patriotic songs, not just on Memorial Day.  And, read books that can illustrate those songs.

Jennie

 

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Music and Singing; The Little Things Become the Big Things, Especially With Patriotic Songs.

Posted on May 17, 2014 by Jennie

It all started with Jackson.  He’s a music lover in the classroom, and remembers what he hears.  Songs that are meaningful to him are not forgotten and often requested for us to sing.  Yesterday was the culmination of a slow build-up, with hints and requests for certain songs.  But, let me start at the beginning.  Jackson loves it when I pull out the autoharp and sing.  Typically he is all about our movement songs, like “Jump Down, Kick Around”, or “Five Little Monkeys”.  Every once in a while he asks for “God Bless America”.  We love that song in our classroom, but it has been a few years since the song was a favorite with the children.  I introduce so many songs, and always support what the children like.  That’s emergent curriculum.

As the year has progressed, we have sung “God Bless America” more often.  What a simple, yet powerful song.  I watch children sing this song, and time and time again it has the same effect.  Children stand proud, but also appear humbled, as if they somehow know there is something bigger or more important to be singing about; a meaning or purpose behind the words.  Thank you, Irving Berlin.  In past years this song has manifested itself to the point of doing much more with the children than just singing the song; for example, the magnificent quilt that hangs at the Fisher House in Boston.  Yes, the children in my classroom designed the quilt.

Although we have been singing “God Bless America”, last week we sang “This Land is Your Land”, and this is where things really changed.  Children were humming and singing to themselves in the bathroom, at the writing table, and while doing puzzles.  It was becoming infectious in a wonderful way.  When the children started to sing, I chimed right in, and so did others.  Now, the lead had shifted.  I was no longer initiating the song, I was following along.

Jackson kept asking to sing the song.  I promised we would sing it together after rest, and sure enough, the first words out of his mouth when he woke up were, “Jennie, remember what we’re going to do?”  This time I used the book This Land is Your Land so that we could see the illustrations as we sang along.  We sat together in the rocking chair and started to sing.  Children doing other activities sang, too.  Then, children started to come over and join us.  By the third verse, the entire class was scrunched around the rocking chair.  Boy, did we sing!  We belted out every chorus, with rising volume and passion.  It felt like we were singing to a sold-out crowd at Fenway Park.

Next, everyone wanted to go through the book, discovering so many different landmarks in America.  We talked about Mount Rushmore, the Wanona tunnel tree in Yosemite, the Chicago water tower, Grand Coulee dam, an oil well, the Seattle Space needle, and the Washington Monument.  It was a mini geography lesson.

Did you know that “The Star Spangled Banner” did not become our National Anthem until 1931?  In the late 1930’s, Irving Berlin wrote “God Bless America”.  He thought our National Anthem was too difficult to sing (I think he really didn’t care for the song), and he wanted to write a patriotic song about America.  After “God Bless America” became popular, Woody Guthrie did not care for it at all, and decided to write “This Land is Your Land”.  I find it fascinating that both writers had a similar motivation, and both songs are successful (and wonderful).  Certainly in my classroom, the children love singing these songs.

Singing a patriotic song with young children is far different than singing any other song.  How is it that children seem to understand?  They instinctively know that a patriotic song is something special, much like how they understand the difference between a toy and something real.  I introduce children to all types of music, and in my thirty years of teaching, the children ‘take over’ the patriotic songs.  They become the leaders and somehow navigate or inspire the other children to join in and sing.  I sit back and watch this evolution, time and time again.  It’s like ‘Old Faithful’ in Yosemite; it happens all the time, I can’t explain it, and it is simply wonderful.

Jennie

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Lunch Time Conversation in the Classroom; It’s Important!

Posted on May 13, 2014 by Jennie

I thought you might enjoy a a little verbal window into my classroom at 12:00 PM.  Is it chaos or is it beneficial?  Yes, there is chaos.  The logistics of of getting fifteen children set up for lunch is no small feat.  On the other side, lunch time is almost like a casual circle time; a time that we often engage in in-depth discussions, sometimes light and fun, sometimes deep and serious!  We have debated if girls can marry girls and boys can marry boys; we have nominated our favorite cereals and our hated vegetables.  We talk about nutrition, manners, health, nightmares, and monsters.  The questions are endless.  Everyone’s opinion is valued.  Isn’t that wonderful?  A favorite is, “Tell me when you were a little girl”.  Children derive such comfort and support when they know that their teacher had all the same fears and troubles when they were young.  “It happened like this…” has become the opening sentence for the ‘Jennie stories’ that have children captivated.  They know it is a true story as soon as they hear the words, “It happened like this”, and they are on the edge of their seats.  And now, that phrase also signifies something important as well as true to children.

Lunch time is much more than learning about nutrition, practicing with utensils, or remembering ‘please’ and ‘thank you’.  It is a time of coming together, where we truly bond as a family, and often engage in rich conversation.  Much like our Morning Meeting, each child’s thoughts and questions are welcomed and valued.   We had quite a deep discussion which I would like to share with you.  Many children were contributors to this conversation.  It happened like this:

Child:  “Is die a bad word?”

Jennie:  “No, die is not a bad word.  Everything that is alive dies.  Flowers die.  People die after they are very, very old.”

Child:  “What does alive mean?”

Jennie:  “It means something that is living, like plants, or animals, and even people.  Let’s see; ‘What is alive and what is dead’?”

Child:  “My lunch is not alive.”

Child:  “Or a table.”

Jennie:  “Is the lettuce on my sandwich alive or dead?  This is tricky.”

Child:  “Alive!”

Child:  “Dead!”

Jennie:  “Well, it was alive when it was growing in the ground, and it died after it was picked.  All plants and food are alive when they are growing.  Just like animals and people.”

Child:  “I’m growing.  Will I die when I stop growing?”

Jennie:  “You probably won’t die until you are very old.”

Child:  “My Grampy’s old, and he’s alive.”

Jennie:  “My mother is very old, and she is alive, too.”

Child:  “Do you die if there’s a fire?”

Jennie:  “Firefighters will be there to rescue and help you.  You probably won’t die.”

Child:  “What if you’re hot in a fire?”

Jennie:  “A fire hardly ever happens, and the firefighters are right there.  You don’t need to worry about that at all.  You probably won’t die until you are very old.”

Child:  “Will God die?  He’s very old.”

Jennie:  “God doesn’t die.  For people who believe, He lives in your heart forever.”

Wow!  As you can see, our lunch times are often full of wonder and sharing.   Learning takes place in many ways, and we will always provide an environment and multiple avenues, such as today, where children can learn.  Did you know that the benefits of verbal dialogue among families at dinner is as effective for language development as reading?  A key to language and to reading readiness is in both conversation and listening.  I believe that our lunch time provides all of these opportunities plus socializing, nutrition, education, and reinforcement of table manners, in a fun, sometimes relaxed, sometimes chaotic environment.  It’s wonderful!

Jennie

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The Power of Singing. It’s Far More Than Music.

Posted on May 7, 2014 by Jennie

Yesterday a child in my class had a very difficult drop-off.  All the words in the world from Mom, and all her hugs and reassurances just didn’t make a dent.  I was equally unsuccessful in helping Mom to say goodbye and leave.  Eventually she just had to leave.  And, there was her child, crying and not wanting to be consoled at all.  We headed outside to the playground, and this child simply sat down on the walkway, three steps beyond the door, full of tears.  I sat down right beside her, and then I started to sing.  The first song was, “Oh Mr. Sun”.  I sang that song so many times, yet each time I would change phrases like, “please shine down on me”  to substitute the name of that child.  Then, I changed phrases to name other children, the ones that she could see close by.  At this point she was not crying, but certainly was not ready to play. 

So, I sang again.  Actually, it was non-stop singing, making up words to any tune that came into my head.  I just kept singing about  the children, the playground, the birds; anything that popped into my head.  When I did this, I made sure the words were rhyming words.  If I started a phrase, I often stopped at the rhyming word.  Eventually, she chimed in to fill in that word.  Then we moved to the big swing.  I made the swinging match the beats of  the music.  This is where things changed.  The swing added natural rhythm to the song.  That rhythm is the core of music; it’s what brings all feelings to the surface.  It is soothing, whether it makes you cry or feel good.  It is the heart of passion in music.  We sang, swinging in the swing, over and over again.

I kept on singing, and she sang along.  She laughed when I grasped for rhyming words, or when I made up a tune that was fast or slow, high or low.  Now she was part of this.  Together, we sang our hearts out.  Singing works!  In the simplest of ways, it makes you feel good, and it is pleasurable.  In a deeper way, it is very connective, bonding you to a person, a time or a place.  Music does this too, but singing brings music full circle.  Pretty powerful stuff.

I frequently do my singing in the children’s bathroom at school.  I’ll sit on the bench while they do their business and wash their hands, and just make up something; often about our current chapter reading book, or about a math game.  It’s easy and fun to sing words, any words at all.  We’ll sing adding numbers, sing about the characters in books, sing about each other.  A song seems to ‘cement’ words and concepts, make them more powerful.  It reinforces what we have learned in a fun way.  A song can be a mini lesson, much more than rhyming and syllables.

Most importantly, singing is the heart and soul of connecting with each other.  There were no words to help this child when she came to school.  Even a hug was rebuffed.  Yet, singing brought her comfort, and that comfort allowed her to participate in so many things.  I didn’t need my autoharp; the singing alone did the job.  It was a wonderful morning.

Jennie

 

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