#edcampkinder reflections: But I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it.

(Introductory note: #edcampkinder was a live meetup, in Las Vegas, earlier this week, attended by 10 teachers who are frequent fliers on the #kinderchat hashtag. Basically: we chose a destination, a hotel, and we hung out for 3 days. It was an ongoing conversation about What We Do, interspersed with pool-lounging and show-watching and buffet-eating, spread over the hottest 3 days in recent memory. A few of us had met in person before. Most of us hadn't. It was amazing and weird and terrifying and awesome.)

I was telling a friend -- a good friend, who knows me well and shares some of my homebody-introvert tendencies -- about #edcampkinder, and she commented: "I'm impressed you went, especially all by yourself. I don't know if I would be able to do that." Fact: it never occurred to me NOT to go. The timing worked, the cost worked, the destination worked. I went. Not only did I go, I helped plan the thing. I chose the hotel (FYI: there was shade at the pool!).  I encouraged others to go.

With all of this being said, there is no denying: #edcampkinder was, for the most part, a big fat blind date. And, if you know me like my friend does, you know this: I hate dating. HATE. IT. I hate small talk and chit chat and all the things that you do to make it feel okay that you are sharing a meal with a stranger. I hate strangers. In university, I had a roommate who talked all the time about how she LOVED meeting new people. Me? Not so much. I like MY People, but I do not find myself on a constant quest to have more People. It makes sense that my friend was surprised at my trip.

World's biggest blind date? Surprisingly non-awkward!

I do want to be clear, especially to my dear  #edcampkinder and #kinderchat friends who are reading this: I did not, for one moment in all of this, consider you true "strangers." We know each other. We talk nearly every day.  We tweet and e-mail and Facebook and google doc. We collaborate and cooperate and dream and scheme and plan together.  In 140 characters, you can know a surprising lot about a person.

But also: in 140 characters, you know everything and nothing about a person. Ditto for e-mail, Facebook comments, and online chats. Far too many years of online dating and internet-based camp staff hiring have taught me that. Lots of people give good e-mail/Facebook/Twitter. But until you see them, face to face across a hamburger or a latte or a cold Corona, the possibility remains that it is all just smoke and mirrors.

You see, I believe in chemistry, and not just in a romantic setting. I believe that there is something that happens when you are smiling and making faces and raising your eyebrows and pointing your fingers and waving your hands around when you talk to someone LIVE AND IN PERSON. At least, if you are me, you do all of those things when you talk. It's who I am and it's how I am and it surprises some folks when they meet me in person, but there it is: I'm a hand-talker. If that doesn't work for you, we probably can't be friends. Or something.

For all that I hate "getting to know" people, I love KNOWING people, and I love when people KNOW me. I love that spark of "oh, wow, dude, you totally GET me." I love discovering My People. And the very possibility - the still, small, hope of REALLY SEEING and being REALLY SEEN by another person... that's what got me, with all of my weirdoms (or what my #kindertwin, @matt_gomez, generously refers to as my "quirks") on a plane to meet 9 other teachers -- 6 of whom I had never met -- at a mid-range hotel on The Strip, in Vegas, for 3 days. The desert, in July. Dessert (preferably of the frozen variety) in the desert. With strangers.

And what did I find there? People I knew. People who knew me. Spine-tingling moments of "oh, wow, dude, you totally GET me." I REALLY SAW, and was REALLY SEEN. Hand-talkers. Finger wavers. Eyebrow-raisers. Sh*t disturbers. Smartasses. Kind hearts. Generous souls. Shared laughter. Some of it inappropriate. Oh yes, these are My People.

I have a list, on Twitter. A pretty darn short list, called "People I Actually Know." That list is a little longer than it was a week ago.  If you know me, if you REALLY KNOW me, you know: that, all by itself, is a pretty damn big deal.

Thank you, My People.

But things come slow or not at all

So, yeah, I am running the #kinderchat summer blogging challenge again this year, and, as usual, I am among the last to post my own response. In the name of full disclosure, I started this draft weeks ago, and have been tug-of-warring with it ever since. But first, the question:

What did you learn this past (or, for our southern hemisphere friends, what ARE you learning this current) school year that you couldn't have learned any other year, from any other students or colleagues or administrators or parents? What lessons did this particular year, this particular setting, these particular children bring into your life?

Oh, Lord. THESE children...??? It has been a while since I had a group like this: a group who exhausted me, pushed me, needed me, questioned me, stretched me so much and so frequently. A group with whom I fell so utterly, completely, and hopelessly in love... In fact, I'm pretty sure the last group like this was not a class at all, but a group of teenagers on the side of a mountain high up in northeastern California. But that is another story, and will be told another time.

This group of kids questioned everything. EVERY. DAMN. THING. Why do we have to do this? Why do it this way? Why do we print letters starting at the top? Do I have to draw a bowl for my goldfish? Can I have a book at rest time? Can sit under the table to do my reading? Can I cut it out and THEN colour, or do I have to colour first? Why do I need to colour first? Why do we stand in a line? Why can't I sit on my knees if I can't see? Can I sit on a chair at circle? Why can't *I* choose my spot for lunch? And they didn't accept a simple "yes" or "no" or "because I said so." Why, Mme? Why not, Mme? I can do it that way at home, Mme, why not here? I was tired. Lord, was I tired. I am still tired. I may always be tired. But from that dark, bone-deep-tiredness has come some lightbulbs: moments of clarity that have changed me, my classroom, my teaching. 

So here: this is my list, far from exhaustive, of the things I learned this year, that only these children, these smart, funny, LOUD, quirky, demanding, stubborn, inquisitive, impatient, messy, sticky, and determined (did I mention LOUD?) children could have taught me.

THINGS LEARNED IN MISS NIGHT'S ROOM, BY MISS NIGHT, THIS YEAR

• Criss-cross-applesauce is overrated.
• Walking in a perfectly straight line is rarely necessary.
• Sitting in a chair to work is not a requirement. Kids can work standing up, or laying down, or crouched over, or squatting.
• The traditional "Today is; Yesterday was; Tomorrow will be..." calendar routine is a waste of 30 minutes. Kindergartners don't conceptualize time that way.
• I am not willing to expend energy to convince a child to complete anything in a workbook.
• In most cases, following the steps of an activity in the exact order I demonstrate is unnecessary.
• In many cases, my demonstration is unnecessary and may be detrimental.
• Most activities that involve use of a photocopier have no place in my classroom.
• If a lesson or activity is going to result in 18 perfectly identical completed projects, I probably have no interest in doing it. 
• Many crafts, no matter how cute, are glorified worksheets.
• Sitting perfectly still is not a reasonable expectation for anyone, never mind an active five-year-old.
• Being perfectly silent is not a reasonable expectation for anyone, never mind an active five-year-old.
• If the children are bored, I am boring.
• If I am boring, I need to change something.
• Bored, disengaged children are MY problem to fix.
• The cure for boredom is engagement, not entertainment.
• If I am going to ask children to do something, I better be able to explain why it matters.
• If I am going to ask children to do something, I better BELIEVE why it matters.
• There is no glory in winning a battle of wills with a five year old.
• There may, however, be danger in LOSING a battle of wills with a five year old.
• If I'm going to have a battle of wills with a five year old,  I better choose it carefully, and be prepared to win.
• Even if it means spending my own lunch break supervising a child who is refusing to put away the train he hurled across the room.
• No matter how many great transition songs I know, sometimes the best way to handle a difficult transition time is to eliminate it. (Ask me about the beauty of the snack centre.)
• Respond as if you are assuming the best, even if you have solid grounds to assume the worst. Assuming, and responding as if,  a child has picked up a stray toy with the intention of putting it away creates an entirely different interaction than assuming she has picked it up to sneak it into her backpack.
• There is always a back-story. The story rarely begins at "He hit me." The question "what happened before that?" is important. The story deserves to be heard.
• If I want them to be calm, I need to be calm.
• There is no shame in announcing to a room of kindergartners that "Mme needs a time-out."
• I teach CHILDREN first. Before the program or the curriculum or the philosophy, my job is to TEACH. CHILDREN.

Important work happens, without a workbook, a photocopier, a chair or even a teacher demonstration.

It surprises me now, reading this list. These are all things that I thought I knew, or that it seems I should have known, long before these kids came along.  Many are things I thought I understood.

So maybe, what these kids taught this teacher is that we all, always, need teachers. It was an honour, a blessing, and a privilege, to be their student.

Peace like sleeping in a new bunk bed

I knew there was no way I would get away with mentioning a "Peace Potion" on the Twitterz, without doing a follow-up blog post. Plus, I want to record every bit of this little project, because it blew away my wildest expectations.

So, first, you need to know about this group of children. They are so many things: bright, articulate, impatient, talkative, curious, enthusiastic. They are FUNNY. They are quirky. They are LOUD. They are generous. They are chaotic. They are reflective. They are emotional. They are so many wonderful things.

They are rarely peaceful.

Because of these children, our classroom is many things. It is friendly, it is busy, it is active, it is colourful. It is LOUD. It is full of laughter and songs, questions, investigations and tangents. It is messy. It is FUN. Did I mention it is LOUD?

It is rarely peaceful.

And, while I am certainly NOT of the belief that silence is required for learning, I do think we all need a little more peace in our lives. And I definitely have some kiddos this year who need support to find peace within themselves. Whether it is anxiety, anger, impulsiveness, or agitation, many of them have times when they struggle to have peaceful bodies and minds. We do a lot of "balloon breathing." We do a lot of yoga. We listen to a lot of ocean waves and dolphin calls.

So then, on Pinterest, I came across the idea of a "Calm-Down Jar": basically, a jar of glitter and coloured water, which a child shakes, then watches (and relaxes) until all the glitter settles.

So simple. So brilliant. So perfect.

Ok, we need one in my class. But the kids need to help make it. And we need to call it something else (because a "calm down jar" sounds little too much like a "time out jar," which these kids will interpret as an "in trouble" jar.) A Peace Potion? Perfect. And the alliteration works in French AND English!

While the kids were at the gym, I set the stage. On a towel in the middle of our circle, I put out a wide-mouth plastic jar (not brave enough to encourage kids to shake a glass jar over a tile floor), a jug of water, a dish of blue food colouring with an eye dropper, blue and silver glitter glue, and big shakers of blue, silver, and purple glitter.

When they returned from gym, I stopped them in the hallway, explained that we were going to make a potion, and for it to work, we had to be very very quiet and peaceful before we even went into the classroom. We did deep breaths and shook off our sillies, and moved quietly into the dim classroom (peace, of course,  is much easier to achieve with the lights off.). The children sat in our circle, around the "ingredients." and we talked about peace: what it feels like in your body and your brain,  times and places we feel peaceful, why it is good to have peace in your mind, heart, and body, why sometimes we don't feel peaceful.  (They are very comfortable with this kind of conversation, as we have been talking a lot about how feelings FEEL in our bodies, minds, and hearts, and when/where/why we feel different things.)  Their answers left me misty: "Our classroom is peaceful at rest time when everyone has a book they love." "Peace feels calm like water, or sleeping in a new bunk bed."  "I feel peaceful when my whole family puts on our snowsuits and we go outside and lay on the ground and look at the clouds." "Peace feels like love. Like when you see your mom after school and you love her."

Lots of their answers included mentions of the sky and/or water, which made a nice lead-up to how blue is a very peaceful, calm, colour, and therefore the best colour for our Peace Potion. I then asked them to close their eyes and think peaceful thoughts, and said that, when they could feel peace in their bodies, minds, and hearts, to raise their hand and I would invite them to come add the ingredient of their choice to the jar. (The choices: a drop of food colour, a spoonful of glitter glue, or several hard shakes of loose glitter.) Each child took a turn, carefully adding the ingredient that most appealed to them. It is worth mentioning that this whole series of events took more than 20 minutes, and they were COMPLETELY engaged and quiet THE WHOLE TIME (this never happens. N.E.V.E.R.)

Photo cc licensed by Flickr. Shared by jurvetson.

Once everyone had added their ingredient, I had them close their eyes again and think their most peaceful thoughts, while I filled the jar with water. Some of them were so completely caught up in the "magic" of the moment that, when they opened their eyes, they thought the jar had magically filled up, all by itself. I put the lid on the jar, and we passed it around the circle, each child shaking it 3 times until all the ingredients were mixed up. I then said that the potion needed to rest until after lunch recess. (This was because I wanted to hot glue the lid on before putting it in the kids' hands.)

The children talked about peace, and The Potion, all the way through lunch and recess. They urgently reminded each other to stay peaceful "so the potion will work!" One of my most scientific, analytical, little dudes came over and said: "Mme, the glitter in the jar is OUR THOUGHTS! Our peaceful thoughts are IN THE JAR!" After recess, I heard many reports that students in other classes had been "not very peaceful outside."

And, while all of this was very wonderful, the real magic was only beginning...

More tomorrow, when I am recovering from Daylight Saving.

Peace on Earth.