Poetry is, indeed, everywhere.
Unintentional preschool poem:
Numbers are letters
but you don’t know that
because you are sweet.
Category: art of children / children are art
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(sub)conscious
Today I sat at our school “coffee table” – a very low table situated in our quiet area, next to a small couch and a bookcase. I listened to a child narrate a story while they drew, observing the art take shape as the world of words unfolded.
The classroom exuded a unique energy brought only by preschoolers: playful shrieks, hushed whispers in the cozy corner, the turning of book pages, and a small child nestled in a comforter reading along.
Resting my chin in my hands, I nodded as the child across from me spoke. Amidst their stream of thought, they suddenly said, “I love you, mom.” A brief pause followed – short enough for my ears to detect, but not fast enough for my brain to immediately process. Then, the child course-corrected.
“I mean Corie. I know you’re not my mom but I love you just as much.”
“Just as much but not the same,” I replied softly. Inside, secretly, I understood.
The bond between teachers and students evolves in different ways over the years. The beauty of preschool lies in the fact that the filters haven’t fully formed. Of course, I am not their mommy. I’m someone’s mommy but not theirs. Yet, for these five-year-olds, we fill that void from 8 am to 5 pm.
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also found here
A while ago, a friend suggested that I write about teaching. Initially, I hesitated because I’m generally shy about sharing that kind of stuff. However, during the fall break, I decided to delve back into my archives and discovered that writing about my experiences with students is a terrific form of reflective practice.
Only two posts are up right now, but I have several more in the pipeline.
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a test of little things
Despite teaching for almost ten years, I’m not certified. I have a BA in education and child study and have a long, long list of professional development courses under my belt, but after a while that starts to feel useless without the actual certification paperwork and licensing to back it up. It has taken me a considerable amount of time to discern my place in the realm of teaching and learning. I don’t neatly fit into prescribed curricula and predefined boxes, but I understand that to deconstruct and reinvent systems, I must first immerse myself within them.
I signed up for my Early Childhood Praxis exam this morning. I’d been putting it off for, well, years, but the time has come and I just need to suck it up and take a standardized test, despite my loathing of such evaluative modalities. I gave myself a short lead time to the at-home test, as I know myself, and while my concentration on anything has been minimal as of late, I know condensing the amount of time is most beneficial for my learning style. I just need to take the fucker and get on with things.
In other news, Sid will be returning home for his first visit since he left in June, a prospect that fills me with joy. He’s been thriving at his new school, and I’m hopeful that he’ll be back for good by late spring. I’ve refrained from dwelling too much on the specifics of his visit, focusing instead on maintaining the rhythm of his current life, which has been crucial for his growth. Our phone conversations reveal a young person maturing, displaying more rational and well-defined reasoning. It’s hard to determine whether this transformation is a natural progression of adolescence or a result of the extensive support he’s received over the past five months. It’s probably a harmonious blend of both. Every time we hang up the phone, I can’t help but smile, even if the conversation has been difficult. I miss him dearly but am also eager to witness the person he’s becoming.
Becoming has been a big theme in the last half of this year. I feel very much that each of us is on the cusp of something. After months of floating in chaos, our pieces are landing, slowly, and it’s like a new collage taking shape. While I’m not a fan of uncertainty, I’ve learned that living in the moment often requires embracing some ambiguity, exercising patience, trusting oneself and those around us, and finding a balance between what we can control and plan for, and those elements that demand time and flexibility.
A gentleness, I think.
object of memory 