January « 2013 « Miss Night's Marbles

A little beyond anything I’m used to*

by Miss Night

So here’s the thing:

You all know how I feel about #kinderchat. I LOVE #kinderchat. I co-created #kinderchat. Its very existence is one of my proudest accomplishments. I look forward to Monday evenings, 7pm MST, like no other weeknight. An hour every week with My People, talking about What We Do and How We Do It. We laugh and compare weather and make borderline inappropriate jokes about pants. Sometimes, we watch The Bachelor during the chat and trade snarky comments about crazy girls in wedding dresses. We talk, HARD about our lives as professionals. We share our heartaches. We are one another’s cheerleaders. We help each other grow. (And if, right about now, you have no clue what I am talking about, you can check out the Newbie’s Guide, here.)

#Kinderchat is the best.

And yet, here I am, to tell you: I am afraid of tomorrow’s chat.

My very brave and wonderful friends, @mauimickey, @jasongraham, and @Fr_Immersion98 are moderating tomorrow.

The topic: Should Teachers Be Armed?

I’m not sure I can talk about this.

As you know, Sandy Hook hit me very very hard. It made me very angry, and then very sad.

I believe that this ABSOLUTELY is about gun control.

I believe guns have NO PLACE in a school.

I believe this so passionately that if I thought one of my colleagues was carrying, I would probably start looking for other employment.

I believe that teachers who have taken handgun courses since Sandy Hook are putting their students at risk just to placate their own fears.

And I can say these things, here, on my blog, because I don’t know FOR SURE who will read, and I don’t know FOR SURE what they believe, and if I offend someone, it’s not like we are sitting across a table from one another, making eye contact over a pot of tea and some cookies. There is a delay, a distance, that comes with blogging. And over here, it’s my world. You coming to read my blog is sort of like coming into my living room. My house, my rules, my beliefs. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to read.

But #kinderchat? #Kinderchat is exactly like sitting around a table with a pot of tea. Or a bottle of wine. But not in a house. In a restaurant, or a pub or a coffee shop. Somewhere neutral (pleasant, fun, cozy, but still: neutral). We all gather at a big round table to swap stories and thoughts. No one is IN CHARGE. We don’t always agree, but we usually respect one another. There is definitely eye contact.

And the fact is: I’m not sure I’m ready to sit at a table (virtual or otherwise) with someone who thinks that arming teachers is a good idea, who believes that a school could ever be safer with MORE guns in it. I’m not sure I can find a way to understand someone who thinks that way. I’m not sure I WANT to try. This is not like the worksheet debate or the homework debate, or crayons vs markers. I believe that a gun in a classroom is criminal negligence. There. I said it.

But… it’s #kinderchat. So I will go sit at that table, without knowing who might be sitting there with me. I might be quieter than usual (I’m usually pretty vocal. You’re shocked, I know.) . I will do my very very best to listen with an open heart, and to try to want to try to understand.

Because it’s #kinderchat, and this is what we do.

And if you’re coming to #kinderchat tomorrow, and maybe you disagree with me, and maybe you plan to start carrying a gun into your classroom…

Maybe you are scared, too.

I’m going to try really really hard to remember that.

And maybe you can do the same for me.

*Scared, by my old friends The Tragically Hip

kinderchat philosophy reflection

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Only love can do that: MLK Day in Kindergarten, in Canada.

by Miss Night

It’s all #kinderchat‘s fault.

I didn’t teach about Dr. King until the first year of #kinderchat, which was also the first year I started tweeting with my class. I don’t know why, exactly. I knew who Dr. King was. The text of “I have a dream” gave me tears and goosebumps, and had since the first time I read it. When Obama was elected, I blogged (on my now-defunct personal blog) about the road that led from one African-American little girl braving death threats to go to kindergarten at a “white” school, to 2 African American little girls getting to know their new home – the White House. (A house built on the backs of slaves. Let’s talk about goosebumps for a minute, right?)

And then #kinderchat happened. And my class started tweeting with kids all over the world. And a #kinderchat friend (probably @mattbgomez, but maybe @havalah) shared the link to Martin’s Big Words…. And I thought: “Huh. If they’re teaching five-year-olds this stuff, I can, too.” Martin’s Big Words helped give me THE WORDS I needed to teach them. And so, I taught my class of highly privileged, relatively sheltered, largely caucasian, Canadian kindergarten students about Dr. King. They talked about their learning with twitter friends all over the world. They were so PROUD to know about something so important, it brought tears to my eyes.

I have taught about him ever since.

This year, a parent asked me (kindly, respectfully, appropriately) about my reasons for teaching such a clearly American topic to my Canadian kids. I stumbled at first… “It’s not really a HISTORY lesson… It’s more about the underlying themes…”

And then, I got my footing: “It’s powerful for kids to learn about a hero who didn’t fight with fists or guns. Whose “power” was words.”

The parent got it: “A superhero with WORD power!” (My class this year is ALL ABOUT superheroes.)

Exactly.

When you think about it, everything a kindergarten student is learning is about WORDS: reading, writing, getting along with other people. All require WORDS. I’m not sure they always believe us when we talk about how IMPORTANT words are: to read them, write them, sound them out, USE them when they are angry. When you’re five, fists seem a whole lot easier than all these mysterious WORDS. But… Dr. King’s story is about how WORDS can change the world.

The year that Billy was in my class, a phrase emerged from our class discussion about Dr. King: “The strongest part of Martin’s body was his words.” (I love that the kids are on a first-name basis with Dr. King. This charms me every year.) Billy was the kind of child who rarely used words. He used his fists, his feet, his fingers, knees, elbows, shoulders, for everything from expressing emotions to (sadly ineffective) attempts at connecting with others. Billy had the kind of mind that seems bottomless, where, once you slipped an idea past the still surface of his face, you never knew where, or when, or whether, that idea would make contact with anything solid.

The strongest part of Martin’s body was his words.

Somehow, Billy grabbed on to that phrase. He chewed on it like bubblegum, all day. When the kids wrote in their journals about Dr. King, that was the caption he chose for his picture. He initiated conversation about it at lunch with his friends. He muttered it to himself while he played with cars. Later, while I sat with him on a time-out (likely for a situation in which he had FAILED to use words), he repeated it. The strongest part of Martin’s body was his words.

The next day, Billy’s mom reported that he had insisted on watching the Martin’s Big Words video with her that evening. He had made the whole family talk about Civil Rights at dinner. He wanted to go to the library and get more books about Martin. Remember, this is a five year old. A five year old with a face that usually barely registered a flicker of interest or emotion.

I wish I could say that Billy stopped hitting after that, that Dr. King cured him. That would make a great story, wouldn’t it? But that is not the truth of things. There were many more rough patches that year. Hitting. Pushing. Rock-throwing. Pinches so sharp and sneaky that other children cried without any clue what had just happened to them.

But the phrase remained.

Months later, walking with Billy to get the milk for lunchtime. “Mme? The strongest part of Martin’s body was his words.” No greater context. This was the way with Billy.

“Yes, Billy. That is what made Martin a hero. He helped make things better without fists or guns. He used words – words of love – to change things he thought were wrong.”

“Yep. And the strongest part of his body was his words.”

And then, yesterday morning, in my classroom doorway: Billy’s mom.

“I know what day it is, and what you’ll be teaching. These are for you.”

In her hands, 2 heart-breakingly beautiful, brand-new picture books, about Dr. King and the Civil Rights movement.

“Billy still talks about this lesson. Thank you.”

And so, yes, I teach Canadian kindergartners about Dr. King. Because we never know which words will be the ones that break the surface, that reach the bottom, that make contact with something buried so deep you weren’t even sure it was actually there.

Because the strongest part of my body is my words.

classroom reflection

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New Year’s Resolution #1: Be Gentle. Mostly with myself.

by Miss Night

I should write a blog post every day.

I should make and follow a housekeeping schedule.

I should meal plan every Sunday.

I could watch a movie a week for the whole year.

I could stop watching TV during the week.

It’s so easy to go down the road of self-recrimination, especially when you are active online. You read blog posts and browse pinterest, and see all the awesome things other people do in their classrooms, their homes, their lives, and think “I should do that! I could do that! Why don’t I do that? I don’t do enough! I need to do more! Do better! Do faster! Do fancier! Good enough is not good enough! I need to Get More Things Done!”

We all have this voice, right? It’s not just me?

Going into Christmas break, I was so burnt, so broken, so tired, the pain of Newtown still so fresh, that I knew in advance: this break is not for Getting Things Done. I am a great one for having great plans to get great things done on my time off. Sometimes I am successful. Often I am not. And when I am not successful in Getting Things Done, I mourn. I pine. I beat myself up for not waking up earlier, not staying focused, not MAKING THE BEST OF MY PRECIOUS TIME. But: going into this recent break, I know: the best possible use of THIS PRECIOUS TIME was to heal, to rest, to fill up my empty heart. I did exactly what I WANTED to do. Nothing more. I was extraordinarily gentle with myself. When thoughts of “Oh, I wanted to clean out the linen closet” intruded, I gently acknowledged the thought, and then put it away. “Yes, I wanted to. But I didn’t. And that’s ok. I did other important things. The linen closet is not going anywhere.” I did the same thing if an obligation-laced intention crossed my mind: “Tomorrow, I should wash the floors” “Yes, I can wash the floors if I want to. But if I don’t, that’s okay, too.” The habit has continued this week in my classroom. Instead of beating myself up for the things that didn’t get done, or a detail I forgot, or a too-late epiphany about something that would have brought a lesson to a whole new level, I just… acknowledge the thought, file away the idea, and move on. “Yes, I could have. But I didn’t. And that’s okay. Maybe I will remember that bit next time.” End of recrimination. It feels… amazing.

Interestingly, this has had a curious effect: often, the very act of giving myself permission to NOT do something helps give me the motivation, the energy, to DO it. “I should get milk on the way home.” “Yes, you could get milk. But there’s still enough for a latte, so if you don’t, tomorrow will still be okay.” “I don’t HAVE to get milk, but it will only take a minute, so I may as well. Then I won’t have to worry about it tomorrow.” Crazy, right? (Huh. Let’s not get into whether this amount of dialogue WITH MYSELF may qualify as “crazy,” okay?) But it’s working. And I feel good. And more at peace. And more productive.

I should sign up for a ballet class.

I could try one new Pinterest recipe every week.

I should join a book club.

Or maybe even START a book club.

I should turn off all my screens at least an hour before bed.

I could. I can. I might.

But if I don’t, that’s okay, too.

I made a total of 3 resolutions this year. The other 2 will get blog posts of their own, soon. Maybe.

reflection resolutions

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Why I am not interested in “Tech in ECE.”

by Miss Night

This post has been brewing for a long time, bubbling and simmering in my head and heart. Thanks to friends @learningmurd and @hechternacht, who read it in advance, and encouraged me to publish, even if it does ruffle a few feathers…

It has diminished somewhat, now, but for a while, on the Twitterz, I had something of a reputation as “She-Who-Tweets-With-Kindergarten” Thanks to some very positive media exposure, it was widely known that I tweet with my class. Then, my blog post about using Evernote for student portfolios got a fair amount of attention. In addition to that, I myself am very active on Twitter. I co-moderate the #kinderchat community. I run Kindergarten Around the World. I blog right here. Altogether, I manage 4 twitter accounts, 3 blogs, 2 facebook pages, a pinterest account, and a partridge in a pear tree. I love my iPad and my shiny new iPhone 5 like nobody’s business. I lust after a new MacBook. I own (and proudly wear) an Evernote t-shirt.

OBVIOUSLY, then, I MUST be passionately interested in The Use of Technology In Early Childhood Classrooms, right?

Ehrm, actually, no.

I am very very ambivalent about being perceived as a “techie teacher.” To be utterly completely honest with you, the “tech in ECE” (and, by “ECE” I mean infants thru 3rd grade) conversation is BORING to me. It is tiring. It often feels faintly dirty, as, far too often, the people advocating FOR screen-based technology in ECE/primary classrooms, turn out to have some personal or financial interest in putting tech into those classrooms, while on the other end of the spectrum, the anti-tech people tend to deliberately misrepresent and misunderstand how tech is being used, and construct elaborate criticisms of tools that they themselves do not use and therefore do not understand. I have often felt like I was being recruited by both sides of this conversation. I have deliberately been non-committal, even downright slippery and evasive, while secretly squirming in discomfort. So here, I’m throwing it all out there — all the random reasons why the “tech in ECE” conversation is not my thing. Maybe sharing them here will help me make sense of them. Maybe this will help move the conversation in a more compelling direction. Or maybe this will just help me feel a little lighter by getting things off my chest.

I guess the very word “technology” is a good place to start. The word “technology,” in this conversation, is really just a cover for “screen-based technology.” The conversations and debates are never about whether we should use CD players or listening centres or digital cameras or tape recorders or or even electric pencil sharpeners (all of which are “technology”). The discussion is ALWAYS about: iPads, iPods, computers, smartboards. Let’s make no mistake: this is about screens.

And THEN, because the “tech” conversation is really the “screen-based tech” conversation, the “anti-tech” people get to start talking about the evils of “screen time” as if there is no difference between a 2 year old parked in front of ScoobyDoo for 8 hours a day while the babysitter does her nails, and a 5 year old dictating a tweet that will be sent to (and replied to by) another 5 year old on the other side of the world. And any conversation that requires that many sets of quotation marks to describe is ALREADY exhausting. And boring. And probably futile. I have experienced first-hand how the anti-screentime people don’t want to hear about how an inner city classroom uses a smartboard to go on virtual fieldtrips to the rainforest, or how tweeting with friends in Indonesia brought empathy to a whole new level in my classroom. If it happened using a screen, it apparently… doesn’t count? Really?

All of that being said, if pushed on it, I have to say: I’m just not sure that handheld screen-based tech has a place in classrooms for children under 5. There. I said it. I said “no, thanks” to iPads in the Preschool and Junior Kindergarten classes at my school. Those kiddos have too many things to do with their brains and their bodies and each other to be spending time on a screen while they are at school. I’m also really not sure that putting a device worth several hundred dollars in the hands of 3 year olds is the world’s soundest decision. There, I said it.

I think that screen-based versions of real-life things are rarely the better option. The people who sing the praises of these sorts of apps seem to be inordinately focused on the “easy and convenient” factor: No cleanup! Less noise! Easy and convenient is for 7-11, not kindergarten teachers. Maybe I will someday encounter a situation where virtual pattern blocks provide more learning opportunities than the real thing, but until then I prefer real, three-dimensional blocks that kids can touch and move and feel and manipulate.

As it says in my bio, I believe tech is a tool. Nothing less and nothing more. What’s more, “tech” is a category of tools. Asking “what do you think of technology in ECE?” is like asking “What do you think about writing utensils in ECE?” Well, um… they are definitely good to have. I like some better than others. Different utensils are better suited to some tasks/age groups/goals than others. Some require adult supervision. Some require specific instruction to use them properly and safely. Some are really not my favourite in kindergarten, but may be great for other age groups. I think there are teachers who are not very thoughtful about which writing utensils are most appropriate/provide the most learning opportunities for their students. Even the ones I don’t LOVE may have their place for a specific child trying to master a specific skill or complete a specific task… You see? All of these things are true about technology, too. And yet, we do not devote hours of debate to the question of writing utensils. (Sidebar: I can actually get quite worked up about writing utensils in kindergarten, and WHY CRAYONS ARE BETTER THAN MARKERS, but that is another post…) We don’t have conferences about writing utensils. We don’t get pressure from admin to better integrate writing utensils. We don’t have to apply for grants to GET writing utensils. We don’t have to prove why we need them or how they will benefit our students. Writing utensils are not that interesting. To me, tech isn’t, either.

Also in my bio “if you don’t have a sandbox, you don’t need an iPad.” We have so many bigger fish to fry in this field right now. There are teachers who have had their dolls, blocks, sandboxes, sensory tubs, housekeeping centres, ripped out of their classrooms and replaced by desks and worksheets. There are schools without recess, without daily PE, without any fine arts programs. When and if you are confident that your students are getting adequate play time, exercise, fresh air, interaction, exploration, creative expression, time in nature, sensory stimulation, and rest time, THEN let’s talk about careful, thoughtful, use of screen-based tech. What would happen if, when an administrator offered an iPad to a kindergarten teacher, that teacher asked for $500 worth of toys and books and puppets and puzzles? Or even… a sandbox? $500 will buy A LOT of paint and playdough and dolls and blocks. It will even buy a sandbox.

And, on the other hand, to borrow from a comment I made earlier today on my friend Matt Gomez’s blog: in a program where “play” has been systematically eliminated (and those programs and settings DO exist, let’s make no mistake here), an app or software package that feels like a game to a child might help create some positive associations about school. Even if that app is “worksheety.” (That is SO my new favourite adjective.) Even if it is dressed up drill & kill. A child who looks forward to SOMETHING about school is always going to be a better learner…. right?

A lot of the praise-singing for tech in the classroom talks about “sharing with an authentic audience.” I’m really not sure about this one. I’m not sure that this sharing is truly motivating for kindergarten students. Often, they are far more interested in the process of creating something than they are in the finished product, and I WANT IT THIS WAY. The learning is in THE PROCESS, right? Once the goal becomes the sharing of the product, what happens to the process? When my students DO take an interest in the product, their first question is “Can I take it home?” They want to show Mom and Dad, Sister and Brother, MAYBE Grandma and Grandpa. Sharing students’ work with a global audience is undeniably exciting for teachers, but is it interesting to 5, 6, 7 year olds? Do they even care? Are they more excited by seeing it posted in the classroom or the hallway? By inviting the principal or librarian to come see it? By taking it home and put it on the fridge? Who is the sharing really for? When we ask for #comments4kids, how authentic IS it?

A global audience is not the same as building global relationships, and we need to be careful not to confuse the two, or to treat them interchangeably. If screen-based technology is helping kids build relationships with others (especially other CHILDREN), and those relationships motivate our students to share their work and learning, I am all on board. Heck, I am more than On Board. I will captain the ship and take Kindergarten all the way Around the World.

There. It’s out there. Part of me is worried that I may have offended some of you with this post. Another part of me says that at least I was pretty even-handed in distributing potentially offensive comments; people on BOTH sides of this conversation could (and likely will) take issue with some of my points. But that’s exactly the thing, isn’t it? There shouldn’t be a question of “sides.” Somehow, on this issue, we hear every question as a criticism. Every mention of a useful app becomes an Endorsement for iPads in All Kindergartens. Jebus Crisco. Just because I like a new kind of Sharpie doesn’t mean I think all teachers everywhere should scrap the crayons.

So, let’s stop. Let’s stop talking about “tech.” Let’s talk about the children we love and ALL the tools we use to reach and teach them.

Because that conversation? Now THAT is interesting.

K Around World reflection tech

19 Comments »

The world made new

by Miss Night

Oh, my friends. I have just been reading my last several posts, and… what a weepy place this has been for the last… forever.

The months of November and December were rough ones for me. For reasons that were no one’s fault, we were miserably understaffed at school, and on any given day I was doing at least 3 people’s jobs. Our kindergarten team went more than a month without a single day where all the teachers and all the aides were present on the same day. Illness and family crisis plagued… everyone but me, it seemed. And, while I am VERY clear that good health for me and my loved ones is nothing but a blessing, there is also a particularly grim, gruelling, grinding, sort of challenge in being THE ONLY ONE who shows up every day and DEALS.

I was really barely limping along. Holding my breath. Stretched as thin as I could get, fingertips outstretched waiting for December 21st at 11:30am, when the barefoot marathon sprint would END.

And that was before Newtown happened.

Newtown hit me hard, in a way that maybe no other traumatic news event has. My emotional response crippled me, and I can still fall apart if I think about it for too long. It created a dark space inside of me, and while that space is far, far, more healed than it was even a week ago, I’m not sure it will ever fill itself in. It might be there forever, like a bruise that hurts when you press on it, or accidentally bump against it. I feel like Newtown is going to change our profession in ways we can’t yet understand. I know it has changed me.

So, that was how I started this Christmas break. Limping. Broken. Tearful and angry and tired and sore. Craving silence and warmth and rest. Scraped bare and empty. Empty. So, so empty.

And now? Now, my friends, with 5 days still left in this blessed vacation, my heart is full again. Full to overflowing. Full to the point of tears (this time, the happy kind). Last night (well, technically, early this morning), I lay in bed after the most lovely and fun New Year’s celebration I have had in years, and realized: I am happy. I am, almost, too happy to sleep. How did I get HERE, from… there?

I have been, deliberately, extremely gentle with myself. I have allowed myself days on end of pyjamas and books and tea and couch, without guilt or judgment.

And yet, I have not allowed myself to get completely sucked into inertia. I seen people, talked to them, smiled and laughed and enjoyed them. I have put my loved ones first: lunch at the nursing home with Grandma and my cousins, errands and banter with my brother and his best friend, 2 days in a row of long lazy morning coffee with my dad. Movies with my mom.

I have not worked. Not for a second. I do not plan to. Not for a second.

I have looked at beautiful things and savoured them.

I have gratefully accepted the love that has been extended to me by friends and acquaintances far and near. Even when it was hard and humbling to accept it. Even when accepting that love has meant admitting weakness, fear, brokenness.

There are lessons, here. Reflections and thoughts and ideas that may lead to… resolutions? mantras? wishes? for this new year that arrived this morning looking like this:

(From my bedroom window, this morning at my Dad’s beautiful home.)

Those things will come, probably soon. There is endless time, there are countless words, for reflection, resolution, hope.

But right here, right now, there is this: the good kind of tired that comes from a long celebration with people you love; and gratitude that this new year, less than 24 hours old, is already so full of beauty.

Happy, happy 2013, my friends. I hope your hearts are as full as mine.

reflection

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