A Thank You Note to My EA Before the Year Has Even Started

 Dear Educational Assistant,

You might think it's strange, me writing you a thank you note even before I know who you are, even before our year has begun. I know, normally we say thank you for a wonderful year, we say thank you for being there for each other. But I want to say thank you, now. Thank you for coming into this school year ready to help me help these students have the best year. In case you don't know me (you must be new to this school in that case), I absolutely, 100% love kindergarten. It has my heart and my soul. I hope, by the end of this year, it will have captured yours as well. In order to start you off on this year of wonder, I wanted to share this gift with you!

First off is a box of KD-Kraft Dinner as they call it in Canada. Welcome to KD! I got you a box of Sharp Cheddar KD because we are going to have to stay sharp this year. These students may be new to school, but they are going to keep us on our toes. I also got you a box of Spiral KD- because sometimes things are going to get all topsy turvy and we're going to need to be flexible.

I got you some Lime Bubly- lime to match the room, and Bubly because some days we're going to have to depend on someones bubbles to keep us going!

Some rose coloured glasses, because we are going to need to see the bright side of so much this year.

There are some glow sticks, because even if we can't always shine, we can at least glow! 

And chocolate. We all need chocolate at one time or another.

And then there are a few other things: a shiny silver necklace, a microphone, some play dough, a magical kaleidoscope, and bubbles. Why these things? Because the best part of kindergarten is Play. 

We are going to play this year. Play is not a way to teach, nor is it a way to learn. Play is life, and in kindergarten it is what we do. The other day I was at the beach and listening to a group of children as they dug moats in order to protect the sandbar they were on from the encroaching tide. What they were doing was as real as anyone in New Orleans as they struggled to keep Hurricane Ida at bay. They weren't pretending to be civil engineers, they were civil engineers.

In my class we will play. We will all play. Some teachers in some schools may ask you to take the child with "special needs" out of the room to learn. In my class, as far as can be, we stay. We learn together. That child doesn't have special needs, but special rights in KD. And we will defend those rights this year.

And, finally, there is a journal, and some fancy markers and a really super fancy pencil case. When we aren't playing (and when we are) we are going to be telling stories. While they are telling their stories, we will be their scribes. We will be the keepers of their words until they get to the point where they can be the keepers of their own words. 

So, my EA, thank you. Thank you for buying into this crazy experiment called Kindergarten. We may not know what the future holds, but we know what we can do. We can do our part to create the classroom community these young learners need in order to grow and develop.

Thank you for being here on this crazy ride. Now, let's make that box of spiral KD! 

Carrie

The Rhythm of Nature

 "In the darkness something was happening at last. A voice had begun to sing. It was very far away and Digory found it hard to decide from what direction it was coming. Sometimes it seemed to come from all directions at once. Sometimes he almost thought it was coming out of the earth beneath them. Its lower notes were deep enough to be the voice of the earth herself. There were no words. There was hardly even a tune. But it was, beyond comparison, the most beautiful noise he had ever heard. It was so beautiful he could hardly bear it..."

The Magicians Nephew by C.S. Lewis, 1955

Walking on the beach the other day, I couldn't help but notice the patterns in the sand, the way the rocks seemed to fit perfectly, the layers of rock and sand. I couldn't help but hear and feel the rhythm of the ocean as the waves receded from the shore. As the tide rolled out, it left its pattern in its place. It was a rhythm, not a song, but something more. 

The whole earth vibrates with this rhythm, this pattern.

I've been thinking about math lately, about patterns and rhythm and how it's all connected, how we're all connected by this. And I've been thinking about the sterile worlds in which we teach and instruct. Maybe the problem with math education as we know it, whether it be the old or the new math, isn't really the math, but the way we deliver it. We have divorced it from its natural element. We've made it sterile when it should be organic. 

I've been wondering about teaching patterns with a long term understanding. Beyond red blue red blue, and more about ebbs and flows, the changing of seasons, the feathers on a bird, the stripes on a caterpillar. I've thought about patterns in a wide sense for some time now- taking long amounts of time to delve into the idea of patterns and finding patterns in places outside of "math". I've always wanted my students to have a deeper understanding, which is why I've always taken so long with patterns. But I'm realizing that I have been missing a piece to actually get them deeper. 

Going outside, bringing the outdoors in, that's a big part of my classroom. I am a huge believer in learning through nature, but I don't think I've been as intentional as I thought I was. I think it's this intentionality of noticing patterns that I've been missing. It's learning to ask the right questions to get my students to discover their answers that I needed.

The way the waves hit the shore, they way they create patterns in the sand. The rhythm of the seasons and the predictability of nature. Maybe we wouldn't even have a debate on whether climate change is real or not, if we were taught these things as they should be: organically.

Sitting on the shore as the tide comes in, there is a pattern in the waves. They aren't all uniform and perfect, but when you take the time to sit and observe, when you allow your senses to take over and discover, you'll find you know when the big waves will come, it's in a series, a pattern. Over and over it repeats itself. Pull back, crash down. Pull back crash down. Big wave, smaller wave, big wave, smaller wave. Over and over it goes.

Pretty soon, though, you discover that all big waves are not created equal. They build up in a series, then calm down in a series. You'll figure out when it happens, if you allow yourself the space and time.

Maybe that what's missing. Space and time. We have forced our children's learning (which has evolved through nature over millennia) into a box with four walls and a ceiling, meant to divorce us from the natural world. We've told them they must master certain concepts within a certain amount of time, not taking into account that development doesn't always go on schedule. Michael Gurian, in Richard Louvs book "Last Child In The Woods" (and if you've never read this book, it is a must read) says, "Our brains are set up for an agrarian, nature-oriented existence that came into focus five thousand years ago... " (chapter 8, page 9- ebook version).

I know men who never finished the 8th grade but could look at a stack of lumber and tell you how many cords of wood that would make. They received their education in the woods, cutting down trees and planting more. They grew up understanding the cycle of nature. Farmers who care about the balance of the land, because they know it's only as good as the soil. Being a part of nature, they understand patterns. They can tell when it will snow or rain, they know when the sap is ready to start flowing to make syrup. Time after time, in and out, ebb and flow. Patterns and rhythm.

So what does this mean for me? Well, it means outdoor time with my students. It means moving math "instruction" into nature. It means "math" isn't just what we know, but what we feel, smell, touch, taste, hear. It's about our senses, and bringing them back into focus for learning. It means that math will look a bit different in my classroom than the one next door. And I'm OK with that. I'm more than OK with that, actually.

Books that might be of interest:

Balanced and Barefoot, Angela J. Hanscom

A Walking Curriculum by Gillian Judson

Last Child in the Woods by Richard Louv

City of Girls: A Novel

Normally, when I read a book, I post a picture and a review on my Instagram account. But sometimes, sometimes, I read a book that is so good, I need to make a longer post. This is one of those times.

The book- City of Girls: A Novel by Elizabeth Gilbert. It is the third book of hers I've read, and the first novel of hers. The other two books Eat, Pray, Love and Big Magic were more personal memoirs.

I am just going to say it out right now- I loved this book. I love the main character, Vivian Morris. She is brash and loud, and in your face in such a way that you can't ignore. She enters the room with her arms spread wide, and says, "Hello world! I know you've been waiting for me! Here I am!" 

The story starts off bright and bold, just like the our heroine. She is young and she is on her way to New York City. The world is her oyster. 

Now, a bit about me. My favourite Jane Austen novel is Emma. Of all of her heroines, Emma Woodhouse is probably the least likeable. At least at first. But I loved Emma, and I love Vivian. The fact that Ms. Austen herself said she was writing a novel with a main character most won't like should tell you something about my love for City of Girls. It may sound like a back handed compliment, but I assure you it is anything but. It is a compliment of the highest regard from me. The characters in this book aren't always very likeable. But there is just something else about them that pulls me in. As I read this book, I kept thinking, "Who would I recommend this to?"  I'm afraid anyone I told would not love Vivian like I do, would not understand what I love about her, and about her story. You know that fear- when you talk up a book so much that you're afraid others won't understand and won't love the book as much as you do?

On the surface, it's a story of a young woman who moves to New York City in the 1940s, and how she grows and matures as a seamstress/costume designer and a person. It's about her life from being teenaged to her elderly years. But, underneath it is so much more. Gilbert drops small hints here an there, reminding us what life was like for women in this "Golden Age". How we had no rights beyond what our father's, brothers, and husbands offered us. And if we had no man to protect us? Gilbert reminds us about what happened to women then, too. We know it wasn't pretty.

When I was reading this book, I was in the process of helping my own mother move into her own, smaller, place after my father's passing, the Tokyo Olympics were in full swing. As I write this review, Afghanistan has fallen and the Taliban are back in control. I am surrounded by the calls and the cries of women; from my own ancestors, to the young women who have benefited from Title IX in the US (giving them equal access to sport), the young women who bravely spoke out about sexual abuse, to the women half the world away who are losing what newfound rights they had. City of Girls is a novel, yes, but it's a feminist cry that says, "We are here an we are tired of being shunted aside." Men are fine, but we can do just as well without them, thank you very much. And Vivian does.

Vivian learns a lot of tough life lessons through this book. She is a self proclaimed Libertine. She takes all of the experiences that life gives her, and embraces them all. She makes some big mistakes, but in the end, she uses the lessons to change her life. Are all of her relationships healed in the end? No. Sometimes that isn't possible. But she is healed in the end, and that makes all the difference.

Reading through the reviews, it seems people either loved or hated this book, and I can see why. These aren't the most likeable characters, but oh! They have something about them that I can't describe. And I love them for that. I love the boldness that describes them, the willingness to take chances, even when you know it will not end up for the best, because at least they tried! There is character growth, as well as reader growth through this book. What seems so obvious to the read in the beginning of the book is a bit less cut and dry towards the end. 

Wonderful is the author that can make you fall in love with a sometimes unlikeable character, and then, as you read through the book, you see not only the evolution of the character, but your own as a reader. Elizabeth Gilbert, in this book, has hit on the Magic she speaks about in her writing memoir Big Magic (see my previous blog post about that!). She has allowed the idea to not only sit with her, but grow and develop into this fine book, this book I tell anyone I know that I love.

When I finish a book, sometimes I am able to leave that character where they are, and move on. It doesn't mean I didn't like the book or that character, it's just that they live in that time and space. Rare is the book where the character jumps out and lives with me. Katniss Everdeen (The Hunger Games) has a special place in my life, Lucy and Josh do as well (The Hating Game). I often wonder how Count Alexander Rostov from A Gentleman in Moscow is doing. And now, I wonder about Vivian. I hope they are well and living their best lives.

If you feel inclined, go find City of Girls: A Novel (Gilbert, 2019), find a cozy corner, and get lost in New York City in the 1940s.

Passing on the Story

The beautiful thing about riding in a car over many miles is the ability to read, re-read, and catch up on reading all of the books you have on your e-reader. I have read so many great fiction, non-fiction, and educational books that my mind is bursting.

One of the books I recently finished, Elizabeth Gilbert's, "Big Magic". A great book about creativity and living a creative life. In it she talks (at least I think it's in this book... maybe it isn't but here's a free advertisement for Elizabeth Gilbert anyway!) about our stories, the magic of creating that story, and telling that story. Everyone has a story, and everyone wants to tell you about it! Spoiler alert! I'm no different!

I have a brother, but no sister. I come from a long line of women with brothers but no sisters. I gave birth to two boys and one girl, so I have passed that tradition down to the next generation (willingly or not, lol).  The thing about family history- we all have one, we all have an interesting one, and most of us never listen closely enough to hear it. 

I have been thinking about stories a lot lately, particularly in relation to teaching, but also in relation to life. A story is a living entity. We tell it, and each time we do, we grow that story. And if we're lucky, someone else will take that story and add on to it with their own flare, and that story grows even more, maybe someday becoming a "traditional folktale" as we talk about in kindergarten. However, sometimes we tell that story, and it never goes any further, and that story dies. If I think too much, I tend to overwhelm myself with the thoughts of stories that are floating around with no where to land anymore, the stories that no one ever told again. 

Being back home, I've been trying to soak in some of the stories my Mom is telling me about my family history. I admit to not listening as closely to my Dad when he would tell his stories, and though I can't go back and change that, I can listen as my Mom shares. And as it turns out, I've got a pretty interesting family history!

Here are some fun things I've learned since I got to town:

My hometown, Rockford, Illinois, was always known for being a big Swedish city. One look through a phonebook (back when those were a thing) would yield you pages upon pages of Johnson's, Nelson's, and Peterson's, among other names. But it wasn't as if the Swedes were welcomed with open arms by the original settlers. As a matter of fact, there is a Scandinavian Cemetery not a mile from an "English" cemetery because back 100 years ago, Swedes weren't allowed to be buried in the other cemetery, so they started their own. In the true spirit of Scandinavia, anyone can be buried in their cemetery.

To make this a little more personal though, my maternal grandfather (William Howard King) wanted to name my mother Donna. He changed it at the last minute to Sharon because, "the Swedes were naming their daughters Donna." When going through all of the papers at the old house, we found this proof:

And when my mother married my father? Her father was none too happy she was marrying a Swede *and* a cop! Two strikes against my dad! Not sure if there was ever a third strike or not as Howard passed away 2 or 3 years before I was born.

We found more interesting things going through all of the papers. This was another favorite:

This is a picture of my great-great(?) "Aunt Rosella and her husband who tried to kill her". Apparently, he was having an affair and wanted to "take care" of the situation. Also, apparently, he used insufficient poison, because she lived. She ending up living with my great-grandmother and her family until the day she died. She would never look at magazines because they might advertise alcohol, and Rosella was an ardent member of the Salvation Army Church.

(This isn't new information to me, but it goes along with some of the other fun family information I know) Meredith Wilson, the man who wrote the musical Music Man was married to a cousin of my great grandmother. Apparently, though, she was the second wife and the "other woman" in an earlier affair with Mr. Wilson.

My maternal grandmother, Helen, has her own story that is as interesting and as heartbreaking as they come. Her father died when she was 10, leaving her mother to raise a young girl alone as a single mother back when there was no social safety net. As a result, Helen spent more time with her own grandmother (Grandma Fitz) than her mother, Clara. Clara was busy trying to make money at a time when wages were low, and even lower for women. Clara was a "Rosie the Riveter" during WW 2, working on shipbuilding in Oregon during the war. My great-great grandmother, Grandma Fitz, who took care of Helen, lived to be over 100 years old (there is a picture somewhere with her holding me, her namesake). I think Grandma Fitz spent the last 25 years of her life knitting and tatting day and night, because I have now inherited hundreds of doilies, afghans, and quilts.

Helen eventually grew up and, according to my Mom, was one of the smartest, most talented women she knew. She married Howard and had Mom (see above), and my Uncle Terry. But she was not a stay at home mom in the spirit of June Cleaver. She could have done many things, Mom said. She should have been a fashion designer, but when you were born poor and had no access to education, and a woman, careers like that weren't for you (I still have, and wear, a coat Helen made for my mom in the early 60's. A black and white houndstooth walking jacket. I absolutely love it). She did what she could, wherever she could find work. Mom remembers her doing hair in her basement when Mom was little, though that was the only time she did that. She went on to many other jobs as the years went on.

Eventually Helen and Howard divorced (something unheard of at that time), and she re-married a man in the Coast Guard (mom wasn't too fond of her step-father), and had my Uncle George. They lived in many coastal towns, including Honolulu, Hawaii, where mom eventually graduated from high school.

They moved back to the main 48 states, dropped my mom off at nursing school in Rockford (where mom remained) and moved to Florida.

While in Florida in the late 50s, Helen worked on the assembly line for the Vanguard Project (57-59), though she wasn't supposed to know that. According to Mom, she figured it out, though. The story goes that Howard Hughes was touring the plant, but didn't have the proper credentials. Helen, being the astute employee, but also not knowing who it was, reported him and told him he had to leave the floor. The plant manager was quite upset with her, but Howard Hughes himself said, "Don't worry! With that ethic, you can work in one of my plants anytime!" So, yes, my grandmother once kicked out Howard Hughes!

After living in Florida, they moved to Delaware, where she separated from her second husband (again, unheard of in the 60s), and raised her youngest son as a single mother. Here is where her story goes from an interesting life to a sad ending. On July 26, 1967, Helen Hall, in Detroit on business, became the oldest victim of the Detroit Riots. She was in her hotel room when a stray bullet went through the window, and struck her in the chest. 

Listening to these stories, and knowing my own mother's story- a working woman in a time when women were expected to stay home, mom was a nurse. In the early 70s she asked for a raise and was told, "You have a husband at home to take care of you, you don't need a raise." Mom got a raise. She worked until a few month shy of her 80th birthday. She, herself, has had quite the life.

Maybe someday, when I am older, I will have the chance to sit and tell her story to my own daughter, who can pass it on to hers. And my daughter? Her birthday- July 26, 1995. Exactly 28 years after her great grandmother was killed.