object of memory

we must return to where it was lost / if we want to find it again

Tag: teaching

  • 525,600 minutes x 7

    525,600 minutes x 7

    One of my favorite people in all the universes—known and yet to be discovered—turned seven today. It feels strange to think I’ve only known him for three years. Perhaps they were light-years or some other measure of time yet to be documented. Perhaps this little guy, who isn’t so little anymore, will be the one to discover it.

    Time brought us together. Time, as in the hours of preschool. Time, as in the minutes left of play. Time, in its exactness: the space between now and next and then. Time as the locus of everything—comfort and discomfort, measurable yet boundless. Like empathy. Feeling. Love.

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  • (sub)conscious

    (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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  • what to do with a busy brain

    what to do with a busy brain

    Raise your hand if you have a brain that is busier than your body. Hello, friend!

    I recently had a psychiatrist appointment during which I expressed distress over my level of anxiety. I know I am anxious when I stop sleeping at night—a frustrating no-win situation where I don’t want to go to bed because I know sleep won’t come. However, I’m also nearly paralyzed by the idea that I won’t sleep and will be too tired in the morning.

    Cue the tiny violins, but honestly, when you work with four and five-year-olds all day, you need to be awake. They know when you are bluffing. Plus, you are used as a human tissue for eight hours a day, five days a week, and if that immune system is depressed, well, you wind up with RSV like an adult four-year-old. Hello. That’s been me for the last three weeks.

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  • sun turns the evening to rose

    sun turns the evening to rose

    Reese meets me in the hallway before school, ready for our twice-a-week individual work. I kneel and gently ask her to take off her backpack and coat. As I speak, she suddenly freezes, tears welling in her eyes.

    “Your voice is wrong,” she says, tone rising with distress. Baffled, I keep myself calm and steady, which is our usual way unless we are playing.

    “Your voice is telling me you are upset,” she cries, pushing her palms toward me. “Why are you sad?” she yells.

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  • a test of little things

    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.