What is important?

It's Halloween and I was thinking of the fairy princess outfit I wore to school yesterday. I think one of the things I love so much about my job is that it allows me to be sweet and silly. I cannot imagine being who I am at a bank, or Microsoft or Boeing... I am not putting those industries down, it's just that I love pink and sparkles and glittery jewelry and so do kids. They think it is wonderful when I come to school in a floor length pink silk dress with pearls artfully sewn on the bodice. In fact they don't even think of me as being dressed up. "Why are you wearing wings?" they ask me.

On Monday afternoon Alexander began screaming, as if he was going to die. Crying, sobbing, begging me to help him. After an hour and a half of trying to make things better, and a call to the nurse hot line, I drove him to ER at Children's Hospital. That was 6pm. By 8pm we were out of the waiting room and in a private room. Maybe it was 9pm. Hospitals are so odd. They look clean and feel efficient. They are bright and everyone is very much awake. By 10pm Fred was asking me if we knew what was wrong and should he join us. Shortly after that we got our first look at and x-ray. "Is there any reason there is a metal wire in Alexander?" WHAT!!!! Fred arrived in time for the second x-ray, and Alexander himself diagnosed his problem, "I bet it's the wire from my expander that broke." (4 days ago!) (Alexander is 9)

There is only one option when something you should not have swallowed gets stuck on its way out... and by midnight that was our only option.

Alexander was sound asleep when we tried to get his first IV in. It took three tries, he was awake when it was finally established. Just as the ER Docs figured out what they were going to try before they took him into surgery, a grandpa visiting a sick child started getting chest pains. I felt wrong to wish he could have some how waited another 30 minutes until AFTER Alexander's 'procedure', but those were my thoughts. Another two hours and everyone was moving into our little room. A tray of drugs, warnings, my sleepy boy, it's all so bizarre in there. Have you ever looked at your child and wondered if he'll wake?

I left the room for the 10 minute procedure. I read children's books. I couldn't be in there, and I couldn't think about my baby. Do we ever stop thinking of our own children as babies?

The nurse came out with a big smile and brought me back to the room, "It took the doctor two minutes to get it out." There was Alexander, in a fog, eyes fluttering, mumbling, and then- "Mom?" Sweet relief. As the drugs wore off the began to talk. First "Mom" and then, "Did they get it?" I still smile at that question.

Sips of Gatorade and a full recovery lead us back to our car, 3:30am. Exhausted, happy.

As parents each of us has our struggles and strivings. Sometimes we triumph, sometimes we fail. I remind the parents at my school that the thing is to strive to do your best, not to achieve the goal, but to strive to achieve the goal. I wonder if any of us feel we have succeeded?

This month, at our Parent Meeting, we will discuss the use of Media and children. We will talk about our struggles and help to figure out options. We will discuss.
When my daughter was enrolled at a Waldorf School I felt betrayed when her Kindergarten teacher told us at our very first Parent Meeting that we would be kicked out of his class if he "found out" we were allowing our children to watch TV. I sat there feeling like a quiet liar.

On Tuesday, November 3rd at 7pm Bright Water School will be hosting a lecture called:
MEDIA AND THE DEVELOPING CHILD

Maybe you can join me and the other teachers from both Fremont Community School and Tara's Tots, and then at our next Parent Meeting we will really have something to talk about.
Hope to see you soon,
Tara

Preschooling in Seattle

Seems to me that if I am going to blog about teaching preschool, then it really ought to be written in a pretty color. I am new to this technology, but old to this profession, I have been teaching for over 20 years now.

I adore teaching, and more than that, I adore being a Waldorf Early Childhood teacher. I don't know if I would teach if I could not teach in a Waldorf school.

I have so many funny stories, so many wonderful moments, and I have taught so many fabulous children. This year my first chickadee has returned to her nest. I have just hired Amie, who was in my class the very first year I taught, at The Seattle Waldorf School. Amie was three. She is now the morning assistant teacher at Tara's Tots and the afternoon teacher. Oddly enough she went to the same college I trained at in England- Emerson College.

Emerson has to be one of the most glorious places on earth. It is nestled into the green, rolling hills of Sussex, about one hour south of London. The college is based on the teachings of Rudolf Steiner. As Steiner had something to say on just about everything, so too the college has an amazing array of topics one can study- from Waldorf Teaching to Biodynamic Farming, to the Arts, Social Development, and Rural Development. My time at Emerson College was profound.

My first year of teaching was exhausting. I had a twenty minute drive to school each day and driving home I would have to take the car out of gear and set the hand brake when I came to a red light because I could not stay awake. Some dear person in the car behind me was always willing to give me a little toot on their horn when the light changed to wake me up.

Once home I would put on the tea kettle and promptly fall asleep again. I burned out more than one tea kettle until I was able to buy an electric tea kettle that could switch itself off.

I was hired to teach and told weeks before the beginning of the school year that I needed to pack up the little kindergarten and move it to a new location. The old house was in a dreadful area of town, on a dreary street, and there was no key for the lock, so I was to climb in through the window, pack everything up and move it to the Islamic School's basement. Somehow I took this all in my stride. When I got to the house I was to pack up I was more than a little anxious, but packed up the kindergarten and went to the Islamic School. I was once again mortified.

I didn't mind being in the Islamic School, what was wrong was the basement. Every wall was a different primary color. (If you know anything about Waldorf schools they are all about not bombarding the senses, but rather about keeping things beautiful and calm.) The rooms had been used for storage and were filthy and needed a lot of work.

My college friend, Brian, rented a paint sprayer and sprayed every inch of the basement white. Then the two other teachers, Mary and Kelly, who were co-teaching in the room next to mine, and I lazured the whole space. (This is a technique of applying paint that gives the look of pink clouds.)

The day school opened, we simply pushed all the paint cans and unfinished business into the one closet, and opened the doors. I had 10 children on my own, including Amie. I was 25 years old.

Days that we wanted to go for a "nature walk" we would bundle up and set out, singing: "A tisket, a tasket, a green and yellow basket- step over the glass- I wrote a letter to my love- don't pick that up- and on the way I dropped it- walk AROUND the man- I dropped it, I dropped it- keep together- and on the way I dropped it- don't pick that up, it's not a balloon, a little boy picked it up and put it in his pocket."

I learned more in that first year than most people learn in five years.