With the new school year well under way, and the colors brightening our landscape, I am once again reminded of the importance to stop, slow down and breathe in the beauty of our world.  Recently I was given a copy of Rachel Carson’s “The Sense of Wonder” (Thanks to Avery’s family).  It is one of her final reflections on nature – based on the time she spent with her young nephew during his visits to her home in Maine.  The essay is accompanied by beautiful photographic images.  Coincidentally, soon after reading and reflecting on this book, I was sent Alice Hoffman’s “How to Find Happiness” list that includes such wisdom as “Walk a Dog” and “Look at the Stars”.

As the days pass in my life, I regularly realize how fortunate I am to be surrounded by young children, who don’t need to be reminded of these life lessons.  They don’t need to read a book or someone’s post cancer reflections.  They are living it.  They stop on the sidewalk to see the wiggling worm; they pick up the red leaf and hold it proudly in their hand as they walk into their classroom;  they notice the acorn and the bird and the new weed flower.

The patience and awareness that children have with their environment is a constant reminder and lesson for all of us here at CNS. We adults need to continually slow down our walk, stop with all the hurrying, and realize that at the end of the day, the difference of five minutes extra in the morning to be present with one’s child while they save the worm or pick up the leaf is precious.  Time that must be appreciated – and not hurried.

My children are growing up too fast.  As a mother to four children, who now are almost all taller than I am – ranging in ages from 11 to 16, childhood has a fleeting sense of the temporary.  What was once looking like a marathon, now more closely resembles a 5K.  I have to seek out and create those moments now with my children.  Remind them to slow down, to look up at the sky and to remember.

I have been swimming in Walden Pond a couple times a week since June.  This morning was my last swim of the season.  Sunrise is too late and I can no longer see my partner while we swim with the dark of morning like a blanket over the pond.  But was so striking throughout the summer and early fall, was despite our swimming at the same time, same place, same direction, same distance, each swim was characteristically different:  the plane of the water, the sky, the wildlife, the clouds, the moon, sun, stars, air.  It was “wonder-full”.

This morning as we stopped midway before heading back to shore, the stars were so bright; constellations beckoning and that same airplane I’ve seen every swim heading for Logan. My kids think I’m crazy to get up so early to swim.  Maybe I am a little crazy.  But I hope that my example now to them that sometimes getting up early to experience wonder is something they remember when age and the hectic pace of their life tries to rob them of it.  And so I say this to you reader – seek wonder.  Take your time.  Hold your young child’s hand and see the world through their eyes.  They still have it.  And we all need it.  Wonder is a gift you give to yourself – by opening your eyes and heart to the beauty that surrounds you.  In the words of Rachel Carson:

“Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts.”

Even though I have been lucky enough to be part of this community for thirteen years now, I am still always surprised and awed by the power of collaboration and hard work.  It is amazing to me how much can done and how efficiently when we bond together with common purpose and plan. This morning a group of us met at CNS in the drizzle and moved 30 yards of playground mulch around the swings, the jiggly bus, the gnome house, and the back climber.  Check out the before, during, and after pictures.  Great day. Grateful.

The crew:  Karen’s dad, Lucy’s dad, Avery’s dad, Allie’s dad, Cal’s dad, Elliot’s dad, Ginger’s mom, Sophie’s mom, Nina’s mom, Lydia’s mom, Zack’s mom, me, Vicente’s parents, and Sriya’s mom.  Thank you to all!

Most often, I use this space for my own writing and reflection.  Every once in awhile, I find something to share that I feel is important and relevant and worth putting in this space.  I hope you enjoy this as much as I did –  read and reflect.  As a parent of older children now, it is so very very true.

Written by a Pre-School Teacher – It says it all!

I was on a parenting bulletin board recently and read a post by a mother who was worried that her 4 1/2 year old did not know enough. “What should a 4 year old know?” she asked.

Most of the answers left me not only saddened but pretty soundly annoyed. One mom posted a laundry list of all of the things her son knew. Counting to 100, planets, how to write his first and last name, and on and on. Others chimed in with how much more their children already knew, some who were only three. A few posted URL’s to lists of what each age should know. The fewest yet said that each child develops at his own pace and not to worry.

It bothered me greatly to see these mothers responding to a worried mom by adding to her concern, with lists of all the things their children could do that hers couldn’t. We are such a competitive culture that even our pre-schoolers have become trophies and bragging rights. Childhood shouldn’t be a race.

So here, I offer my list of what a 4 year old should know.
She should know that she is loved wholly and unconditionally, all of the time.
He should know that he is safe and he should know how to keep himself safe in public, with others, and in varied situations. He should know that he can trust his instincts about people and that he never has to do something that doesn’t feel right, no matter who is asking. He should know his personal rights and that his family will back them up.
She should know how to laugh, act silly, be goofy and use her imagination. She should know that it is always okay to paint the sky orange and give cats 6 legs.
He should know his own interests and be encouraged to follow them. If he could care less about learning his numbers, his parents should realize he’ll learn them accidentally soon enough and let him immerse himself instead in rocket ships, drawing, dinosaurs or playing in the mud.
She should know that the world is magical and that so is she. She should know that she’s wonderful, brilliant, creative, compassionate and marvellous. She should know that it’s just as worthy to spend the day outside making daisy chains, mud pies and fairy houses as it is to practice phonics. Scratch that– way more worthy.
But more important, here’s what parents need to know.
That every child learns to walk, talk, read and do algebra at his own pace and that it will have no bearing on how well he walks, talks, reads or does algebra.
That the single biggest predictor of high academic achievement and high ACT scores is reading to children. Not flash cards, not workbooks, not fancy preschools, not blinking toys or computers, but mom or dad taking the time every day or night (or both!) to sit and read them wonderful books.
That being the smartest or most accomplished kid in class has never had any bearing on being the happiest. We are so caught up in trying to give our children “advantages” that we’re giving them lives as multi-tasked and stressful as ours. One of the biggest advantages we can give our children is a simple, carefree childhood.
That our children deserve to be surrounded by books, nature, art supplies and the freedom to explore them. Most of us could get rid of 90% of our children’s toys and they wouldn’t be missed, but some things are important– building toys like lego and blocks, creative toys like all types of art materials (good stuff), musical instruments (real ones and multicultural ones), dress up clothes and books, books, books. (Incidentally, much of this can be picked up quite cheaply at thrift shops.) They need to have the freedom to explore with these things too– to play with scoops of dried beans in the high chair (supervised, of course), to knead bread and make messes, to use paint and play dough and glitter at the kitchen table while we make supper even though it gets everywhere, to have a spot in the yard where it’s absolutely fine to dig up all the grass and make a mud pit.

That our children need more of us. We have become so good at saying that we need to take care of ourselves that some of us have used it as an excuse to have the rest of the world take care of our kids. Yes, we all need undisturbed baths, time with friends, sanity breaks and an occasional life outside of parenthood. But we live in a time when parenting magazines recommend trying to commit to 10 minutes a day with each child and scheduling one Saturday a month as family day. That’s not okay! Our children don’t need Nintendos, computers, after school activities, ballet lessons, play groups and soccer practice nearly as much as they need US. They need fathers who sit and listen to their days, mothers who join in and make crafts with them, parents who take the time to read them stories and act like idiots with them. They need us to take walks with them and not mind the .1 MPH pace of a toddler on a spring night. They deserve to help us make supper even though it takes twice as long and makes it twice as much work. They deserve to know that they’re a priority for us and that we truly love to be with them.

To begin again every September is an opportunity.  New energy infusing the space.  New ideas born of reflection and time away.  New faces to learn.  New families to welcome. New voices to hear. New friendships to find.  New challenges to overcome.

Last Sunday, a group of parents joined on the first work day of the year to spruce up the gardens, clean up the sand and mulch;  to paint and patch, and drill holes for new coat hangers.  It always humbles me to see the great love and commitment that parents bring to CNS.  For some of them, this was their first touch with our community.  And just like their children that will meet together this week on the playground or in a classroom, here they were, meeting new faces, introducing themselves and making connection. It is a vital part of our community with each other as caretakers of our school.  And also very rewarding for anyone who was able to see the transformation of the garden beds and yard (and they were so quick at weeding the beds, that I didn’t even get a good picture!).

This year, I look forward to a few new programs and new ideas that we are planning for this “just about to start” year.

–Book group.   I would like us to choose a book to read together and with those interested, meet throughout the year to think a little more deeply about children and their development.  I will share more about this during Parent Orientation on Tuesday night.

– Childrens Rights Project. I am also going to suggest a community project that asks us to define the rights of children.  When I was in Italy last March, I saw that at a few schools they had articulated and then posted a list of “Childrens’ Rights”.  Reading through them (and posted months ago here), I was struck by this idea and have often thought that we as a community should articulate our own set of “Childrens’ Rights”.  What do we believe in as the adults (parents, teachers) in their lives?  What do we want to protect?

— CNS monarch will provide new classes and opportunities for children to expand in many different ways. (www.cnslex.org/monarch).

— Hawkins Center for Learning.  Starting this fall, on some Saturdays throughout the year, our Studio will be a gathering place for local teachers, directors, and parents to have a chance to interact “hands-on” with materials. Check out: http://hawkinscenters.org for more information on the Hawkins and why this is a special new part of what happens at CNS.

On this day, final touches are being made in the classrooms. Orientation materials for teachers and parents are being assembled.  Name tags are being created and paint cups filled. Tomorrow morning, the teachers and I will meet and spend the day in meetings and prep for the start of the school year.

I look forward to this new beginning with butterflies in my stomach, warmth in my heart and a gentle knowing of all the adventure that awaits us.  I look forward to connecting with your children and supporting you throughout our time together in the coming months and year.  I continue to be humbled by your trust and will work tirelessly toward creating and sharing a space at CNS that nurtures all of us as we walk this path together.

I had thought tonight about sitting down and writing about Common Core Curriculum Standards and the conference I attended on Thursday.  I have been thinking about it a lot since – and its implications for your children and mine.  I will write that blog entry soon – but right now is not the time for that.  Right now I am emotionally full with the sense of impending endings and summer’s beginning.  All of a sudden, here we are, with two weeks left of school before we hug our goodbyes and wish each other well.

It is time and the children are ready.  They burst in and out and fill our walls with their energy and friendship and exuberance. There are parts to this time of year that I love – and yet, there never seems to be enough time and now when I look at your children who are leaving, I am filled with love for them as they take off for their next journey.

The monarch butterfly project that we do every fall with the children is now metaphorical for their time with us at CNS.  Here we are taking care, making sure they get the nutrients that they need; making sure that their environment is safe and free from harm; allowing them to grow and change and emerge. They have been in chrysalis now for awhile…and they are about to emerge, dry their wings and fly off.  It is beautiful and right – but those of us here who have been this part of their journey – their milkweed; their stem; their shelter – we will miss them.

There is something so very precious about your children.  I truly feel unbelievably humbled and grateful for their friendship.  I know them all.  And I have the best job in the world to know them.  On Friday I was at a Bridge school event and a couple of Bridge students – CNS alum – came to me to say hello; and some current CNS children were there – and it was so fun to see them, too.

The bonds we create are lasting and special and real.  The children feel them and so do we.  And now we must prepare for their emergence – their wings are drying off and they are ready to fly.  And so we watch with our hearts and our eyes getting misty – and filled with pride and love for them.  And just like when we watch that baby monarch reach up to the sky and begin her journey to Mexico – we are awed by how your beautiful children are ready to spread their wings and fly on to their next most special destination.

We will also miss all of you – your dedication and support for our school is an incredibly special part of what we do at CNS.  We would not be able to do what we do without you – the parents. Thank you for sharing your journey with us – many of us did the same and our lives have been forever changed.  Stay in touch.  Drop by.  We will be missing you.  But until then – let’s make the most of these two weeks…despite what ‘needs’ to be done – let’s enjoy every conversation and take time with each other before life and, you, too fly away.

Reposting this — as I do every Mothers’ Day…with sincere appreciation and love in my heart for all that you do for your children.  I am extremely grateful that we get to share this precious time together.  Enjoy:

“We’re taking a survey,” she says, half jokingly. “Do you think I should have a baby?”

“It will change your life,” I say carefully.

“I know,” she says. “No more sleeping in on Saturdays, no more spontaneous vacations…”

But that is not what I mean at all.

I look at my friend, trying to decide what to tell her.  I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes.  I want to tell her that the physical wounds of childbirth heal, but that becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will be forever vulnerable.

I consider warning her that she will never read a newspaper again without asking “What if that had been my child?”  That every plane crash, every fire will haunt her.  That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will look at the mothers and wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die.

I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think she should know that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will immediately reduce her to the primitive level.  That a slightly urgent call of “Mom!” will cause her to drop her best crystal without a moment’s hesitation.

I feel I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood. She might successfully arrange for child care, but one day she will be waiting to go into an important business meeting, and she will think about her baby’s sweet smell.  She will have to use every ounce of discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure he is all right.

I want my friend to know that everyday routine decisions will no longer be routine.  That a visit to Mc Donald’s and a five year old boy’s desire to go to the men’s room rather than the women’s room will become a major dilemma.  That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that danger may be lurking in the rest room.

I want her to know that however decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother.  Looking at my attractive friend, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but will never feel the same about herself.  That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child.  That she would give it up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years, not so much to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish his.

I want her to know that a cesarean scar or stretch marks will become badges of honor.

My friend’s relationship with her husband will change, but not in the ways she thinks.  I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is always careful to powder the baby or who never hesitates to play with his son.  I think she should know that she will fall in love with her husband again for reasons she would never have imagined.

I wish my friend could sense the bond she will feel with other women throughout history who have tried desperately to stop war and prejudice and drunk driving.

I want to describe to my friend the exhilaration of seeing your son learn to hit a baseball.  I want to capture for her the laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog for the first time.  I want her to taste the joy that is so real that it hurts.

My friend’s quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes.

“You’ll never regret it,” I say finally.

Spring is renewal and daffodils and tulips.  Spring is soccer and preball and kindergarten orientation.  Spring is endings and beginnings.  Spring comes too late and is over too fast.  But spring also has tradition.  For 41 years now, parents have gathered on this day – the Friday before the Saturday before Mothers’ Day to prepare for the Yellow Balloon Fair.  Spring after spring, fair after fair…always slightly changing, always staying the same.  Always a time for children.  And for our community to find its breath together and to create some magic for the all.

Today, like the many other Fridays before, parents took off from their normal routines.  Deliveries were received; furniture moved; tables set.

Raffles and auctions finalized.  Tents and games and organization.  Friendships were found today.  Connections were made.  And right now, on the eve of the Fair, lists are being checked and crossed off;  alarms are being set.

For all of this, for all of you – on behalf of the children, I am so ever grateful.  For those who were there today – and for all the parents who will work tomorrow; thank you.  Because this Fair has become more than itself – it has become a time when we find cadence and team and celebrate our community.  A time when families return to their memories and take a cupcake walk and find their wishes in the well.  A time when alumni return to volunteer or remember again what it is like to be filled with wonder.

See you all tomorrow at the Fair.  I can’t wait…

I attended the Reenactment of Patriots Day with Maggie on Monday, April 15th – and although I have lived here for twelve years; this was my first time to wake much before dawn and head downtown with my ladder; a cup of coffee and one of my children.  Till now, Gary had always taken the children; the boys when they were much younger.  With the promise of extra credit; Maggie was not to be deterred…and frankly I was quite happy to go;  living in Lexington all this time, it felt like the thing to do.

And so we did.  Waking early – heading to the center;  early dark black cold morning.  I was struck by our mode of transport;  trying hard to imagine what it was like hundreds of years ago – and eerily realizing that despite the very early hour; I was not alone on the roads; contrary – many like us were heading into town;  rows of headlights making their way at 4:30AM on Patriots Day.

I had woken this early two times before on a Patriots Day – readying myself for the Boston Marathon.  I ran it first in 1992 – a young grad student wanting to share this so sacred Boston tradition in my newly adopted city.  And then fifteen years later, four babies later, a lifetime later – I ran with my newest best friend – a renaissance of my life as I had discovered running and new friendship and needed to remind myself of challenge and goal and strength despite all that had changed for me in fifteen years.

The Boston Marathon is special.  I know many cities would say the same – and it is all true.  But Boston is special.  Very hard – physically crazy challenging.  But the fans, the people, the traditions – Hopkinton; Wellesley; Heartbreak Hill; Boston College.  Coolidge Corner; Fenway Park;  Comm Ave.  Hereford Street; Bolyston.  Finish.  I have such vivid memories of my my time running Boston.  Mostly positive.  A father and daughter handing out orange slices.  The women of Wellesley.  You can hear them for almost a mile.  Heartbreak Hill.  Seeing Tommy first, falling into his arms for a hug.  He had no idea how much I was hurting and didn’t understand why I was crying.  Walking with Gary up the next half mile. Telling him how much I hurt and not knowing if I could finish.  Banana.  Stomach cramps. Chafing so bad that I was bleeding.

And so on Monday afternoon – after an early morning with the true Patriots – I couldn’t understand a text from a friend alerting me to the explosions.  It was such a beautiful day.  Picture perfect day for a marathon. Hard to believe my eyes.  I knew that finish – that exact spot.  Families wait there.  Wait for their mom or their dad;  their girlfriend or boyfriend;  just wait there and take all that humanity in…

And then I was struck by the timing of it all.  Why wait until almost 3P? — the champions have been awarded;  the major media presence has subsided.  It really is only people like me still running.  Those running for charity.  Those who didn’t qualify.  These are the people who decided to run for another purpose.  Maybe like me to prove to themselves that they still could;  maybe because a child they know is dying from cancer;  maybe because they have a parent with Alzheimers.  They train and they run and they aren’t fast or pretty – and they all finish around 3 and 4PM.  So why target that time?  Not that there is ever a good time – but for some reason, this seems especially cruel.  For whatever reason, they waited.  They waited for Martin Richard’s dad.

Again – there would never have been a good time.  It would have always been tragic.

And then, like you, I have been inspired and reminded of good by reflecting and hearing all the stories of those who stepped in to help;  on-duty; off duty; visitors; runners; doctors; nurses;  first responders.  Only three people died that day because of them.  Make no mistake.  Lives were saved.  Lives that should have been lost.  Stories now still to be told by many who should have died on Monday. Babies to be born.  Weddings to attend.  Lives to live.  Hard lives now.  Lives forever changed.  Some without feet or legs.

And so I say this.  Let us run together next April.  However many of you that will join me.  We will run together and raise money for those who were hurt.  We will run for prosthetics…and chairs…and maybe lost income for those who can no longer work the way they could before.  And in this way – in this way – we will remember Marathon Monday.  Our Patriots Day.

I often reflect on what it must have taken in one’s heart to be a Minuteman.  To leave your house in the pitch black morning – to leave your farm with your family inside; knowing that without you, their survival was in doubt. But believing beyond one’s own self, that the greater purpose was more important.  Sort of like running toward a bomb instead of running away.  Sort of like ripping down a barrier to get to a victim.  Sort of like holding someone’s femoral artery in your hand.

Sort of like that kind of bravery.

1. Question:  If we are Reggio-inspired school, why did Liz and Noni go to Pistoia? Aren’t there study trips to Reggio? What is the difference between these two regions?

 This is a great question and one that I truly didn’t know the answer to either before I left.  We chose Pistoia on the strong recommendation of Joanne Pressman who has been to both regions and thought that Pistoia would be more meaningful for a couple of reasons.  First, the tours to Pistoia are smaller and more intimate.  The Reggio tours tends to be inclusive of 100 participants if not more at a time.  Our group in Pistoia numbered 11 participants with two facilitators.  Next, in Pistoia, we were allowed to take pictures of the schools and environments.  We were asked to be respectful of the children and to refrain from taking full pictures of their faces – but we were trusted to use our discretion.  Having the pictures now is incredibly helpful.  These study tours can feel overwhelming as you pass from one school in the morning and one in the afternoon.  The images and ideas could blend to together and lose some context without have the photo to remind us where we were and when.  Study group participants in Reggio are not allowed to take photos.

Reggio is a very special place.  But it has become known as a destination and with that comes more structure and commercialism.  In their effort to include more and more visitors – which is a good thing because their goal is to share and educate as many others as possible – it has been suggested that the level of interaction and intimacy has changed as a result.  I still would like to go to Reggio one day – but I feel as if the greater priority would be to send as many teachers over to Pistoia as possible over these next five years.  Pistoia offers the same kind of Tuscan, Italian philosophy – without perhaps the big machine feeling of Reggio.

But there is even a little more to this story.  On our first day of the tour, during our orientation with Donnatella Giovanni (Director of Education for children 0-3); she was asked to characterize the differences between what happens in Pistoia with her sense of Reggio.

She noted that there are lots in common between the regions:  image of the child; the ways in which they work in collaboration with families; the ways in which they encourage teachers to share ideas and to create classroom and school environments that are aesthically beautiful and rich in materials.  Where they slightly differ has to do with their areas of focus around the child (and this resonated for me and Noni based on our previous study of Reggio practice and documentation) – teachers in Reggio are guided to be somewhat research oriented.  They focus on children’s cognitive thinking – rather a primary focus on the daily living experience of being together.

In Pistoia, there are support centers and services to support parents and even older children (ages up to 10 years).  And because they are a smaller system of schools, they are able to be focused on shared objectives.  Reggio is twice as big and has a larger coordinated structure that includes research and documentation.  Due to its size and simplicity, Pistoia’s system, Donnatella suggested that it can be interpreted in a more facile way – what can be taken and adopted is easier because there is less organizational structure.

I will give you what I consider to be the best example I have of this.  In Reggio, many schools (if not all) have a designated studio teacher or an “atelierista”.  In Pistoia, there is no such position.  All teachers rotate with their smaller groups into art studio spaces at different times.  In addition, there is no extra teacher focused just on documenting process.  Teachers pay close attention during their work – and create the documentation to help share with others about the people that live there at the school.  With their documentation, their goal is to show the intelligence and curiosity of the children and teachers – so that the walls are like a book waiting to be read.

For the teachers in Pistoia, relationships are primary – the activity is secondary.  I felt this observation resonated with me and how I work with our teachers at CNS.  I have always tried to counsel them to pay closest attention to the authentic relationships that they have with the children and to worry everything else secondarily.    And lastly for this reflection – when asked about the art studio teacher model and whether or not there are teachers in Pistoia who might be less comfortable than others working in their art studio spaces – and would they ever consider moving the children through the spaces and having designated teachers in each – their response what that the focus is always on the children – not on themselves.  That adult preferences are always secondary.  Sometimes here in the United States – and more closely at CNS – we have stumbled thinking about fully implementing the “Reggio model” because we lack the financial ability to hire that extra studio teacher.  Now, having returned and seen how Pistoia has created a model that incorporates meaningful studio and creative art time without having that extra teacher, I am encouraged for how we might adjust our thinking here to broaden and increase the use of our beautiful studio space.  It was as if a limit had been lifted and light came rushing in.

  So now for me, I am left with an interesting question.  Are we Reggio-inspired?  Or have we adopted that name because Reggio was the first region we learned about?  There is absolutely nothing wrong with considering that affliation – but now I feel that our inspiration truly comes from so many different sources that I begin to question how the walls of our school should represent our vision.  We truly draw from the models in Reggio, Pistoia,  but also from the work of Voices from the Land; from the Hawkins; from the great theorists Bruner, Vygotsky, and on;  we also borrow from the traditions and learning of  Montessori and Waldorf.  So it is now for me a very interesting question for how we describe and then label our inspiration.  Seems now limiting to just say that we are “Reggio-inspired”.  Over the coming weeks and months I will be deeply considering this question and asking for input and advice from all as we begin to sharpen our identity and our sense of how we define ourselves and our philosophy.

Today was our last day on the study tour.  There is so much to share – to write – to reflect.  But it is very late here and we have an early plane to catch, with a very long journey home.  Much more to come in this blogspace to share some of that.  For now, enjoy these photos and please know how much your support and interest in our journey has sustained us throughout the week. It was felt and appreciated. See you soon.  Time to come home (read that Maggie?).