Wonder love

Get away

Oh! It's just the thing to do sometimes... the pictures can tell the story.

 

Slow Down

It has been a long winter. Lots and lots of working overtime and Sophie in a (semi-)professional theater production which means she gets paid and I drive and a new puppy and soccer practices and various lessons and all the usual (laundry and such) and the sophisticated mathematical problem solving that allowed us around the family dinner table at least once in a while complicated by picky eaters and school and homework and applying to high school (!) and middle school (!!). And now it is Spring.

Almost 5 year old Stella has become more than a handful. And all this grand thinking about competent children and being mindful of our relationships with them can feel a little suspect when parenting a handful. Sometimes the choices these competent little ones make just are not okay. Their behavior just needs to STOP. Like when you are riding in the car, for instance. When a child makes the exciting transition to a booster seat, the child simply has got to SIT STILL in the car. She cannot twirl around and upside down and explore the variety of ways she can weave her limbs through the belt while turning around to reach what's behind her and taking off her jacket. And putting it back on. She simply can't.

And so I warned her. I warned her that she was going to lose her right to sit in the big kids' car seat. And she blew it, so I told her she was going to have to sit in the old car seat for another day. Oh, and she cried then. She sobbed.

I've been reading Brene Brown's book about shame recently. And as Stella cried, I wondered, what have I done recently to let this not quite 5-year-old girl know how worthy she is? As I manage the world around her moving at mach speed, what have I done to support her to understand that she is not to be ashamed of her 4-year-oldness. The world tilted on me and I realized it was me that needed to STOP -- right about the time we parked, finally at home for the day.

Stella and I sat down together later that afternoon and we created a list: The Rules for Riding in Big Kid Car Seats. It turns out that Stella knew them all. I drew a picture (critiqued by 11-year-old Max) of what she should look like while riding, and wrote the words we created together. Then Stella asked for the pen. And she added her own rule. One I hadn't considered at all.

 

Don't let your ponytails touch the ceiling.

Brilliant. Competent. Not quite 5.

At not quite 45, I have a lot of catching up to do. Clearly, I will need to slow down in order to do it.

Here she is this morning, riding to school, reading the list we made -- which she chose to carry with her in the car. Look at her expert form! About half-way to school she said, "Hey, Mommy! I'm doing all the things!" Worthy of my time and love and attention. More powerful than shame any day. 

The Creativity Crisis

Published almost 2 years ago, The Creativity Crisis re-surfaced on Twitter yesterday from @IDEA and I had a re-read. (If you want to listen to the embedded podcast, start at about 12:30 for the interview with Bronson and Merryman.) If anything, reading this article today, the problem feels more urgent.

Here's another article tweeted by @IDEA about the same time yesterday: Building Better Kids. Written a year ago, it shares research that confirms some of what the first article begins with. That is, that things that are happening for human beings before the age of 10 tend to predict quite well how they are doing when they are all grown up. The second article goes on to use this research to argue for increased improvements in early childhood interventions. (Yes, of course, let's do that!) The authors use the compelling research to make the case that nothing can be done to change anyone's lot in life after the age of 3.

But the Creativity article shares another piece of the research which would seem to conflict. They say that the research shows that creativity has been on the decrease since the 90's. Here's the paragraph that explains:

Kyung Hee Kim at the College of William & Mary discovered this in May, after analyzing almost 300,000 Torrance scores of children and adults. Kim found creativity scores had been steadily rising, just like IQ scores, until 1990. Since then, creativity scores have consistently inched downward. “It’s very clear, and the decrease is very significant,” Kim says. It is the scores of younger children in America—from kindergarten through sixth grade—for whom the decline is “most serious.”

It would seem that, despite the research that is so clear that we must do the best we can by children's brains by the time they are 3, that we can't do anything after that can't quite be true, because, clearly, we have been doing something.

Funny, that these articles should both come by my Twitter feed yesterday just after I'd gotten back on the blogs and reset my intentions. Because they perfectly frame the dilemma. There are things we can do that increase creativity, innovation and engagement. The things we have been doing lately though, and only seem hell bent on doing more of, aren't working. They don't work. They take us backwards. Worst of all, they maintain the status quo -- who has and who hasn't -- secured for generations more. One might begin to think that part is by design... hmmm.

And we're so sure that what we know is all there is to do in school that the only thing we can do is build better brains before they get there? Really?

It is true that the creativity of children relies on the creativity of adults. Creativity is enhanced by collaboration. So why not start from the place that says we CAN turn this creativity crisis around and focus on new ideas instead of throwing up our hands over all the old things we've thought of so far? Countries all over the world are doing it. Schools and individuals all over this country are doing it. Let's focus our attention there. For example... click here.

And finally, some words of wisdom from Howard Gardner:

The Creative Mind:

 The Creative Mind is embodied by Einstein in the Sciences and by Virginia Woolf in the Arts. People who are creative are those who come up with new things which eventually get accepted. If an idea or product is too easily accepted, it is not creative; if it is never accepted, it is just a false example. And acceptance can happen quickly or it can take a long time.  

 I believe that you cannot be creative unless you have mastered at least one discipline, art or craft. And cognitive science teaches us that on the average, it takes about ten years to master a craft. So, Mozart was writing great music when he was fifteen and sixteen, but that is because he started when he was four or five. Same story, with the prodigious Picasso. Creativity is always called “thinking outside the box.”  But I order my quintet of minds in the way that I do because you can’t think outside of the box unless you have a box.

 As a psychologist, I thought that creativity was mostly an issue of how good your mental computers were. But my own studies and those of others have convinced me of two other things. First, personality and temperament are at least as important as cognitive powers. People who are judged creative take chances, take risks, are not afraid to fall down, and pick themselves up, they say “what can I learn from this?” and they go on.

 The other day I was giving a talk and the first question asked was “How do we make people creative”? And I answered that “It’s much easier to prevent it than to make it”. You prevent it by saying that there is only one right answer and by punishing the student if she offers the wrong answer. That never fosters creativity.

 Second: People think of creativity as a property of the individual and therefore they say “I am creative”, but that doesn’t work. The only way that creativity can be judged is, if over the long run, the creators works change how other people think and behave. That is the only criterion for creativity. Therefore, the bad news is that you could die without knowing that you are creative, but the good news is that you will never know for sure that you are not creative. 

 

Opal School Blog is Open!

The home page of the Opal School Blog is now open to the public! So that's where I've been for the past few months. I'm going to try and develop these two blogs as reflective of one another -- one personal, one professional -- and both in the collaborative spirit that is the most wonderful opportunity with blogs. In both, my hope is to explore possibilities for relationships between adults and children that recognize the vast resources in each.

What does it mean for adults to be in a productive relationship with children who we know to be competent protagonists of their own lives and learning? What does it mean to "teach" or "nurture" a child who arrives in the world with powerful natural learning strategies that are ready to be put to use? What tools and strategies support such competent children? What do we have to learn from the children themselves?

There is such tremendous untapped potential in what we currently understand about our relationship to children. This limitation impacts the decisions we make from our homes, to our childcare settings, to our children's museums, to our aftercare programs, to our public education policies, to our pediatrician's offices. It is time to push ourselves towards new visions, new possibilities for the choices we make that truly take us beyond our standard assumptions. 

But it is so very hard to take this leap of faith with the ones we love who are children now. How can we take risks with these precious ones we are responsible to care for right now and who only get this one chance for childhood? When we underestimate what children are capable of, we underestimate our own selves. Any new vision for how we want to be together in this world starts with them. 

We need stories and images of new possibilities and productive, encouraging outcomes to support us to try new things. We need to share our successes and our challenges, our questions and our discoveries, our worries and our dreams. We need to share information, too. So let's help each other have the courage to carefully, responsibly, creatively (and with great joy) chart new territory together. That's what Wonder love and Opal School Blog are for. So help us share them, and share with us, and let's get to work-- with curiosity, with forgiveness, with joy!

2011 Top Ten

Well, I really did try to choose just 10 images of 2011 moments that would capture it's spirit. Offer a nod of gratitude. Leave a trace. But that inspired a different way of thinking about it. It's really about reflecting on this year's top 10 treasured values that are always the lens and frame of an image I shoot and collect. Those that are favorites at the end of a year all got to be on that list because they snapped those values to life in the first place. My eye seeks what my heart wants to know and remember. 

Here are the things my heart wanted to know and remember this year:

1) Such amazing tiny hands and feet

2) Sustained curiosity

3) Surprise and Delight

4) Beauty

5) Testing limits

6) Early Literacy

7) Togetherness

8) Exploration

9) Making use of inspiration

10) Play

Oh, what a good way that was not to have to choose 10! If you were to try and choose your own -- whether from family, travel, classroom, where ever 2011 may have taken you and your camera -- what would they show you you cared most about?

Here's to a happy, healthy, playful 2012!

A peek into Opal School

There is, actually, an official Opal School blog. Someday soon I hope to make it public -- but for now, I have to settle for sharing a post here and there, slurped from that blog over to this one -- just to give you a peek into the incredible work those children and teachers do together. This one is from our classroom of 8 - 10 year olds and their new teacher, Avery Hill. (Her blog is a public one: http://rootedingrowth.blogspot.com/.) It is Avery's first year teaching at Opal School and her first year teaching. She spent last year as Opal's apprentice teacher, studying the ways we work together. And this year she is supported by a part time mentor teacher, an experienced Opal teacher -- later referred to as MG.

In this classroom, as they were getting to know one another this year, some tinkering workshops gave way to some interest in bridges, and the metaphors spilled over as ways to describe and think about the learning community. The concrete bridge images provided tangible, visible, playful opportunities to hold the concept of community. And so what follows makes perfect, if magical, sense. And they are a starting place for the rest that will unfold over the year.

Post by Avery Hill:

Opal 3's work to compose and adopt agreements for our community has continued these past weeks. After brainstorming and refining, the children came to agreement on five ideas to guide the way we will strive to be together this school year. But it felt strange to call them "agreements" after all the discussion about and comparison of our community as a kind of bridge that we are building. How could we envision our agreements in the context of our work with bridges?

The children wrote this letter to our friend, occasional special guest, and founder of Opal School Judy Graves, to tell her about the work we had done:

Dear Judy,

We expect you know about the Opal agreements.  Well, they just took a trip to the trash can and they’re NOT coming back.  So, say goodbye!  We replaced them with guiding pillars… big GINORMOUS guiding pillars. 

Between the time when you last visited us and now, we came up with these guiding pillars.  When we were done with our bridge work with Steve, we started thinking about our community as a bridge.  The pillars are our agreements that guide us.  Our guiding pillars are:

·        Be safe.

·        Respect everyone.

·        Support everyone in our community.

·        Treat materials and surroundings like treasures.

·        Think before acting.

MG had an idea to create the pillars in the classroom.  So on the playground side of the classroom you can see five painted pillars that represent our guiding pillars. 

We’re using our guiding pillars to help us figure out what role we play in our community. 

We want to share this with you and hear the end of your story tomorrow.

Love,

Opal 3

   

  

    

    

    

As we continue working and learning together in the New Year, these pillars will provide constant guidance to our thinking and acting. Certainly, they will inspire questions and continue to spark our thinking about what it means to be a community together this school year.

Wishing everyone a lovely and restful Winter Break - see you in 2012!

 

 

No homework

I was just finishing an article for Opal School's newsletter about the wonder of learning. I looked up from my work to see Max and his dad fully engaged in the collaborative creation of a new comic strip series. Character development. Plot lines. Dialogue. The need to spell Vanquish just right. The illustrations. The incredible detail.

I am so glad Max didn't have any homework tonight. 

Thanks

As I was driving today my eye caught the briefest glimpse of a bird poking around in the yellow leaves piled at the edge of the road. And I wondered just for the briefest second about how many birds there might be under those leaves, poking around for bugs and worms -- at tremendous risk of being run down by speeding tires, any of the hundreds whizzing past. And yet there they were. A quick shift of focus and there they were.

Sophie's class took a field trip to the city's waste water treatment facility today. It was a sensory experience that will remain ripe in her imagination, invisible to most of us. Maybe happily so. But it made me think, for another brief moment, about on how much we rely that we don't see. There is a magic in that shift in focus.

I woke up so tired today. There is a new personality to attend to in this household:

Her name is Lucy.

When Stella woke up with a sore throat and wanting to stay home, it was easy to say yes. But I had a headache and I had a meeting that couldn't be missed, and Sophie and Max still had to go to school, and oh! the driving! I am sure I drove the equivalent of a trip to Idaho and back today. And the rain. A mudpit of a backyard and a puppy. oh! the laundry! and the mopping...does muddy laundry water count as waste water? I kind of hope so.

Those little birds just refused to stay out of sight to me today, though. I'm not sure why. It may have been the confidence I picked up in the few paragraphs I read of Madeline Levine's The Price of Privilege -- where she assured me that being a working mother wasn't damaging my children. Or this quote I'd read, quite early in the morning, from Edith Cobb's The Ecology of Imagination in Childhood:

...wonder permits a response of the nervous system to the universe that incites the mind to organize novelty of pattern and form out of incoming information.

And so it was the absurdity of Max and Sophie pretending to be my sister's dogs invited by Stella to the family tea party that made me laugh. And the fact that they played their parts for her with mostly straight faces and cooperative barks.

And it was Stella's determination to prepare and clean the lettuce for dinner's salad that made me so proud. And the fact that she noticed how much everyone enjoyed eating it.

And it was Max's enthusiasm for sharing his careful work putting together and painting his tiny army guy models and watching him lost in his play with them not long after that filled me with love and awe for this big little boy. 

And it was reading picture books with three children crowded so close we could barely breathe to read and Stella giving voice to the silly parts while Bob and I reached for each other with our toes that I felt so happy. 

And it was Sophie's face, crushed with disappointment over having halved all but the milk in the soup recipe she made for dinner and her relief in finding that it tasted delicious anyway that made me feel thankful.

Thankful that all those little birds are there to find in every moment. Thankful for my own sweet little birds and their dad and those that came before us. Thankful that I can choose the form that I make of the incoming information I encounter in any moment. Thankful for all these moments.

And those to come. Always at risk of being run over by the speeding tires that can't perceive them. But there nonetheless. Visible to me when I choose to see.

Faces for Six Pumpkins

It is a good idea, it turns out, to plan the faces for your extra pumpkins while you are waiting patiently for the seeds... those endless seeds all tangled up in orange goo... to find their way out of the way of the carving knife.

I began my day having stumbled upon this lovely post over on Let's Explore. It caused me to stop and wonder about the way I would choose to take my time on this precious sunny Saturday. What agenda was I harboring? How much space did I have to follow the desires of my children? How open was I going to be to listening? 

Stella and I had our first fallout of the day over Shrinky-Dinks. It was a classic breakdown between adult and young child trying to negotiate the constraints of a craft kit. In the realm of consciousness it was a battle between her lantern and my spotlight. She could see more possibilities than I could and I didn't want her to get burned on hot cookie sheet or melted plastic. She soon tired of me being so uptight and went to find someone or something to do that was more interesting.

By 9 am, we knew that it would be pumpkin patch day. It was this day or not at all, of course, this close to Halloween. 11-year-old Max, having heard that there are corn mazes around town in which you can be chased by people holding real chain saws, thought the G-rated version where we had arrived was lame. But after being convinced that visiting an actual scary maze was not something we were going to follow his lead on, he grabbed Stella's hand and they enjoyed themselves anyway.

I was really terrible with the pumpkins. Why is it that the pumpkins are all already picked, lying around in the muddy field? Why is it that they cost the same, those muddy pumpkins in the muddy field, and the clean ones in the bins at the farm stand? There was just no romance in it for me today-- the pumpkins in the mud. Stella wanted to pick one from the field and the good news, I guess, is that we let her. I do wish that having gone through all that mud, though, she would have at least had some sense of how those pumpkins actually grow. When did picking pumpkins come to mean only selecting?

She found a few she liked. 

And we took them home.

The annual ritual of the carving, the seed toasting, the face-making was something we all could gather around together. It's Stella's fourth time now, and she knows how to play. Finally there was a lead she could take that we all could contentedly follow. She brought the pumpkins to life.

And I will be thinking some more tomorrow about how much I lead, how much I follow, how much I whine, and working on developing a deeper sensitivity for the moments when we are really connected and together. 

Time

I happened upon a few old pictures today. This one just slayed me:

The snaggle-toothed seven-year old Sophie. And this one:

Such sweetness and little wide-eyed faces. I miss those babies. I can't help it. And it's not because now they tell me so bluntly that I talk too much and my taste in music is bad. And it's not that their taste in music is bad or even the fact that they organize their limited weekly screen time around opportunities to watch The Simpsons. It's just that this time goes by too damn fast.

In small snippets I am reading Amanda Soule's new book about the Rhythm of Family. Luckily it's formatted that way -- and whether that's because she's a blog writer or because she knows that no matter how much we talk about slowing down and living deeply in every moment, we still only have the here and there kind of time to think about anything else -- I'll never know. But she's put the passing of time heavily on my mind this week. 

Soule writes about the dreamy moments of baking with a child while a littler one zooms through the kitchen on his wooden trike and an older one threatens to run through the house before removing muddy soccer cleats. And those moments full of noisy love resonate with such meaning I begin to fear the day they end. Worse, I fear the other kind of noise in the house. The kind that is full of discord and unhappiness. Slammed doors. Eye-rolls. I fear that time squeezing out the other. In real time, but maybe in memory, too. What do we make of this time we have? 

While orthodontists unsnaggle teeth and dermatologists prescribe potions to keep faces sweet, wonder shifts to who we are together-- bigger, older, and still together. Trying not to grieve the moments gone, but to be here with them now in all the days we have. 

I sat on the floor today with Stella, painting with shades of gray.

While Sophie and Bob cooked dinner together.

And Max played with a friend.

It was that kind of dreamy. I felt all the beauty and the warmth and the slowness of the moment. And I asked Stella what the paint made her think of. Did she think of a story? A feeling? Stella, does it remind you of anything? And without the slightest hint of silliness while she kept on painting she said, emphatically,

Bird poop. 

She was right. Time marches on.