oh, paper. I'm so sorry.

My inlaws recently gave us a gift.  One that I, admittedly, was uncomfortable with.  They gave us a brand new iPad…and even though I fought it, I do love it.  I’m still trying to figure it all out, but I have a confession to make: I downloaded some books. To read.  On iBooks.  There. I said it.  I am reading a book right now on a digital device.  Just typing that makes me feel dirty and scandalous.

I couldn’t help but to see what it was all about.  Really, can you blame me?!  I will say that I feel like I’m having a bit of a tryst.  Maybe more of a ménage trois?  I’m torn.  I love books: the smell of books, the feel of a good heavy book in my hands – the excitement of buying a new book and cracking the spine.  I know. I’m a complete dork, but whatever.  Reading a book on an iPad is just weird.  There is really no other way to describe it – using the touch screen to turn the page seems wrong, but it’s also so easy.  And, I can hardly wait to get to the beach and have not just the three heavy books I will STILL tote with me, but also the 15 others that I’ve downloaded onto the iPad.  You know, just in case I can’t pick the right one to pack.

I know I wrote this about digital readers, but I guess I’m growing and changing with time.  Or else, I’ve just lost my mind.  Either is possible…I’ll keep you posted.

36

This week I had a birthday.  Normally, birthdays sort of bother me.  I spend a lot of time thinking about particular birthdays of the past: the one, at 16, where I hung out in a car until midnight with my sweet friend Amy so we could celebrate our birthdays together (hers is June 12).  The birthday I spent crying about the boy who had broken up with me earlier that day…and that was the one where I was skinny and hot, but also? Who does that? Shame on him. My 21^st, where I wore a shiny gold dress to a club called The Edge and danced in a cage and then fell down half a flight of stairs – drunk on Midori sours…seriously.  The thought makes me simultaneously laugh and throw up in my mouth a little bit.  The one right after I had Lucy where I drank half a beer and thought I would die – I was 30 and remember thinking about how people did BIG things for 30^th birthdays.  That day I mostly felt like a giant boob. My point is that, at 36, I’ve decided to not ever be bothered with that trivial stuff anymore.  I’ve decided this is the year I will take back June 11^th. 

This year has been one of the best years of my life.  Honestly.  I’m not sure if it’s because I’m really happy with my work – I’ve found a happy place in teaching – or if it’s because my children are old enough now that I can stand back a bit and relax and enjoy them more?  I’m not sure.  I don’t know if it’s because I’ve finally decided that this extra 20 pounds is really not that big of a deal.  I just feel like each year gets a little bit better for me, and that all the stuff I worried about when I could fit into that shiny gold dress doesn’t matter at all anymore.  Sure, I’m not that skinny and cute, but I’m also not that skanky and stupid.

I’m hoping that my 36^th year will include more traveling and less whining.  More eating delicious food and drinking really good wine, and less worrying about where those calories are heading.  More time spent with family living far away and less time crying about that family not living in Kansas City anymore.  My 36^th year will be about FINALLY getting started on my masters and not letting the excuse of kids, money or time get in my way.  It’s not a new epiphany…it’s just about finally getting off my own back.  Women are way too hard on themselves and I’m finally seeing some of that.  This year will be about loving myself more and criticizing myself less.  I hope that some of you will hold me to it.

the power of play

I’m writing this while sitting on a flight from Minneapolis to Kansas City.  Earlier tonight, my mother-in-law asked me if I enjoy traveling alone. I do.  A lot. Part of it is the tiny break from the day-to-day madness of having two kids under six. Part of it is exploring somewhere new. And part of it is simply remembering what it was like before I had people who depended on me for everything.  I’m not writing about some wonderful self-discovery here, I just think traveling alone is a rare treat for me, and this weekend I got to do just that when I flew to Rochester, NY, for a quick weekend with my Aunt Karen and her family.

During the weekend, Karen and I drove to New Paltz, NY, which lies on the Hudson River about an hour and a half outside of New York City.  It’s a beautiful area, truly, with mountains and the Hudson River and the Erie Canal, and all of these tiny towns tucked into the scenery.  I attended a workshop put on by the Hudson Valley Writing Project in New Paltz.  Yep, this could totally be yet another love letter to the National Writing Project and all of its local sites, but I will spare you that. Again.  You’re welcome.  This weekend I got to spend time with early childhood educators and it was fantastic. The best part? Meeting 80-year-old Deborah Meier and getting to listen to her talk about her experiences and stories. 

Deborah is many things: first and foremost a teacher, she has opened schools, she is a public advocate for education and education reform. A mutual friend called her, “...a piston. One of our true legends in the field.”   She truly should be an inspiration to educators everywhere.  She spent a lot of time this weekend talking about how schools in the United States spend an inordinate amount of time teaching kids the right answers.  I wanted to jump up and clap when I heard this, because I’ve been thinking a lot recently about the current state of our education system and particularly about how schools are no longer teaching or empowering students to think critically…about much of anything. 

We talked about the power of play in early childhood classrooms and about how when children learn to play, they in turn learn to think.  Ok, really, I could write a book about that last sentence – I’m REALLY dumbing that down for the sake of time and space and not boring you.  We talked about how many kindergarten teachers these days are encountering children in their classrooms who have no idea how to play.  Teachers are having to model play in classrooms because these children aren’t playing at home, and the early childhood programs they may have attended are doing away with play in favor of more "concrete" learning.  Can you believe that?  It’s terribly sad to me.

One of my favorite quotes from Deborah this weekend was “children know how to play until we teach them not to.”  Like I said, I could go on and on and on about my feelings on this subject, but mostly I wanted whomever might read this to simply think about it.  How did you play as a child?  What did you pretend to be?  Do (or did?) your children play?  How are you embracing and encouraging the play that is happening in your home?  Yes, that’s right, I said encouraging play.  Do it.

Right now I’m reading A Child’s Work, the Importance of Fantasy Play by Vivian Gussin Paley, a book I picked up this weekend.  I’m sure that I will have plenty more to say about this book as well, but I just wanted to present the idea of play to you. In a time where schools, particularly early childhood programs, are doing away with play, and turning preschool curriculum into sit-at-a-desk-and-learn school school, I think it’s super important to look at WHY play is so important for children.  I can’t tell you how nice it was this weekend to sit with a group of smart early childhood educators who agree with this stuff – it’s proof to me that we are going to do something to change the way things are going in early childhood education…one superhero or princess at a time.

stormy weather

Today I’ve been very thoughtful.  Sitting in a makeshift tornado shelter with more than fifteen children under the age of six will do that to you.  I won’t pretend that I have a worse or different story than anyone – Lord knows the weather in the Midwest has done enough without my making light of it.  I was fine.  The children were fine.  But, for a while there, we didn’t really know what was going on today, other than there were tornado sirens and talk of several touch downs in our area.  We do tornado drills several times a year, but nothing quite prepares you for the real deal. 

Aside from having no cell service or internet access, and therefore no way of knowing what was going on outside those walls, I think the most scary thing was that I tell my students daily that it’s my job to keep them safe.  What if, on the second to last day of school, I could not come through on a promise that I’d been making all year long?  I mean, really? I ask my little ones all the time, “what’s Miss Kate’s job?” and inevitably, they will say, “to keep me safe.” Not, “to read to me,” or “to wipe my nose,” or even, “to build giant Lego towers with me.”  All of which I do on a daily basis.  These kids know that above all, it’s my job to keep them safe.

At noon today, I wondered several things.  Fresh off the media frenzy surrounding the Joplin, Missouri tornadoes, I wondered if we’d all be blown away.  I wondered if my husband would actually heed warning and go to the underground parking garage like his employer insisted or keep sitting at his desk avoiding the “Stromboli” that was headed his way (his damn autocorrect made for the funniest part of the day).  I wondered why little Zoe thought what we were doing was hilarious, and I wondered if my Lucy was safe (though, that was a thought I kept pushing back. I honestly couldn’t even bear to think about it while we sat there).  I wondered mostly, though, if I was going to be able to keep my word to eight children who have trusted me all year long. 

I got to Lucy’s school today for her Grand Spectacle (her fabulous kindergarten show!) and when I saw her teacher I thanked her repeatedly.  She gave me a weird look, but after what I’d been through, I just wanted her to know that I appreciated her help in keeping Lucy safe, even if it was just second nature to her.  We place our kids in someone else’s care every single day without ever thinking that something catastrophic could really happen.  I’m so glad it didn’t happen today, and I hope to never have that experience again. I’m way better at keeping snails from crawling out of their jars, or getting playdough out of the couch, or just wiping noses.

for Splitt

Today, Kansas City lost a local baseball legend when left-handed pitcher Paul Splittorff lost his battle to cancer. When I heard this news today, I found myself thinking about the days of my childhood, many of which were spent at the ball yard with my dad.  While I know that in recent years, Splittorff was synonymous with Royals broadcasting, I will always remember watching him on the pitching mound on hot summer afternoons.  When I was about 14, my dad took me to see the Smothers Brothers.  Another great Royals pitcher, Dan Quisenberry, was the opening act.  He recited Casey at the Bat and later, I found out that he, too, was a poet in his own right.  Someone wrote something earlier today about Quiz and Splitt hanging out again, and I thought it was only fitting to pull out Quisenberry's book of poetry, On Days Like This.  I thought this poem of Quiz's was a fitting tribute to Paul Splittorff today. Enjoy.

Old G(love)

mushy leather

burnt brown

light cracks

saddle creaks

your strings held up well

mine have too

we look trim enough

to still play

you protected me

Wilson A2000 XL

only glove I really liked

though I flirted with others

you were the one for me

I love your dark center

your womb

rich as Iowa soil

tight feel to my left hand

a worker’s glove

you brought slap shots

stinging in my palm

but I knew where they were

so I could grab them quick

now you look so small

do you shrink like old men

stiff and less flexible?

me too

we’re both on the shelf

but you still look nice

 and holding you

feels so right

* you can find Quisenberry's book here.

 

reflecting.

Last year during my annual review and conference with my bosses, I walked in and cried.  Literally, I walked in the door, sat down and started bawling.  I was pissed, and hurt, and frankly, done with teaching.  Honestly, I felt like I had sacrificed an entire year of teaching for nothing – and it had sucked.  I didn’t expect to cry.  I really didn’t even know what I was going to say.  Maybe, “I quit”?  I’m so glad I didn’t.

Last summer, as everyone knows, because I talk about it any chance I get, I was a fellow in the Greater Kansas City Writing Project’s summer institute.  It was, quite literally, what saved me as a teacher.  I left the SI and went back to the preschool classroom determined to give early childhood education one more chance.  I was determined to harness all the creativity and the strength and the validation I got from the GKCWP summer institute and put it to good use in my classroom. 

I am telling this story because I just sat down last night to fill out my self-evaluation for this year’s annual review.  I’m happy to say that there will be no tears at this review…at least sad ones.  This year has been amazing.  And, I teach preschool…I have stories upon stories of things that have happened this year that weren’t amazing, but those stories are nothing in light of all of the good things that happened in my class this year.

Last summer’s self-reflection taught me that I owe it to everyone to stand back and let children learn without my guiding every single moment.  I’ll add my own little caveat here: I don’t do this as often as I should in my own home.  I don’t know if it’s because I have control issues with my own kids, or if sometimes, at the end of a long day with other people’s children, I just need things to go my way?  I’m not certain. But I will say that the Dinosaur kids have had some pretty amazing experiences this year.  I’m guessing most parents will rank field trips and special visitors as the top “amazing experiences” but I’d like to tell you what I think was amazing, if I may…so here’s a list, in no particular order:

We created jobs and each chose one daily.  We made a “helpfulness board” and our “kindness catcher” watched for kind acts that we documented and posted on our bulletin board.  We baked and cooked and ate lots of new and different foods. We were the authors and illustrators of our OWN stories – and we know what the authors and an illustrators actually do (!!!!)  We grew vegetables and plants and flowers.  We hatched chicks. Out of eggs!  We watched caterpillars turn into chrysalis and then butterflies and we set them free. We learned how to have gentle hands and also how to tell our friends about our feelings.  We learned when we need some “safe” time…if only everyone would recognize when they need those moments!  We painted with all sorts of different mediums.  We wrote in journals, we drew with crayons, pencils and markers.  We scooped and shoveled, and dug and sorted and counted and patterned.  We passed out lunches to each other.  We learned to sit in a circle and listen to a story together and how to guess what the story might be about and even what might happen next.  We were really LOUD some days, and other days we needed things to be quiet. We taught a teacher, who was thinking this might not be her calling, to hang in there and to absolutely LOVE what she does.

I’m not certain what the future holds for me, but this class of kids has encouraged me to be my best: every. single. day. And not maybe the best I could be, but at least the best I could be for that day, for that child.  And, really? Isn’t that what early childhood education is all about?

good riddance...

Well, well…well.  Stunning news tonight about Osama Bin Laden.  News that I thought I would never hear.  Dead.  Which, might make some people really, really happy, but honestly I just feel a little bit sick to my stomach.  Bin Laden – the mastermind behind the 9/11 attacks, that took the life of my cousin Karleton along with nearly 3,000 other people.  Bin Laden, who has been hiding, for lack of a better word, for nearly 10 years.  I have a lot of feelings about Bin Laden, many I’m sure you can guess, but now I am worried about the repercussions of this…what happens next? Dancing and celebrating to be sure, but then what happens tomorrow and the next days to come?  

I have always felt that there will never really be true closure for myself after September 11, 2001.  I don’t really know how all of my family feels about this, but it’s how I have always felt.  I mean, of course there was a memorial service, and those concrete things, but when you hear the words 9/11 every. single. day on the news, in passing, somewhere in the day – there really is no true closure.  Imagine, if you will, that images of your loved one’s murder were shown nearly daily on the news or over the internet, or that your loved one’s murderer had been on the loose for the past decade. It’s always seemed a bit like a band-aid getting ripped off the wound. Over and over and over again. 

I guess my hope is that the families and loved ones of 9/11 victims can feel like a chapter in this very, very long story has finally ended. I don’t know that this it will ever feel like closure, but it’s a start.