How to Make a Me Box

Part of settling in and committing ourselves to community is getting to know each other--not only our individual needs but also our individual gifts and passions! What does each of us love to do? What are we really good at? What are the strengths and joys and interests that each of us brings to this community?

I start the ball rolling by giving first graders (and any other new students) a lesson on my Me Box. A Me Box is a special box that's all about me. The box I've chosen for mine is one that my crafty grandmother painted years ago.

Me Boxes are a little bit mysterious.

Each of the objects inside is a clue about the person who assembled the box. They might be hints about hobbies or souvenirs from significant life events.






I gather the children in a circle, and (one at a time) each is invited to remove something from the box.

The children act as investigators--making observations and drawing conclusions about the objects. "What is it? What is it made of? How is it used? Why would I have included this in my Me Box? What does it tell you about me?"

Each child is invited to create a Me Box and bring it to share with us on his/her birthday. The "boxes" come in all shapes and sizes--a tiny suitcase, a shopping bag, a decorated shoebox . . . a child named Starr used a star-shaped box for hers. The contents are equally varied: sports trophies, family photographs, early schoolwork, old journals, artwork, rocks . . . One child brought in a cast from a broken arm. It warms my book-loving heart that the children so often include a favorite book in their Me Boxes! And I love watching each child give us "a lesson" about him or herself!

A great book for adults: The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien--The title essay explores the ways in which the objects we carry speak about who we are and what we value.

Bring your hard working self

Boy, am I bringing my hard working self! Last year, we had the luxury of ten third graders (nine of whom had been with me since first grade) and five second graders. From the start of the school year, most of the children knew the procedures and modeled our classroom expectations. Most of the children had already received enough lessons for them to fill their mornings with independent learning.

This year, we have fifteen new first graders. Fifteen little people who need to be introduced to enough materials to keep their busy bodies learning independently throughout the morning work period. Fifteen is really too many for a Montessori "small group lesson." It takes too long for your turn to come to touch the materials. Fingers get fidgety. Minds wander. Bodies turn to explore something else in the room. So I'm busy dancing from lesson to lesson, group to group, and back again to make sure everyone understands how to use the materials and remains on task.

Fifteen first graders who need to be nestled into a productive work cycle. Fifteen first graders who need to learn our routines. It feels a little like trying to steer an unbalanced ship or push one of those nutty grocery carts with one "off" wheel. We're moving along, but it takes an initial push--and a lot of redirection--to get everyone going.

Then, there's the bathroom buzz. Every year, the newness of being permitted independent trips to the restroom is a treat that's hard to resist revisiting . . . again . . . and again. (Our early childhood classes either have a bathroom in their rooms or they make group trips to the hallway.) Our bathroom sign-out board is as busy as I am!

Amazingly, we are rolling, thanks in large part to Mrs. D and our patient older children. Most of our first graders have got the idea. "What should I do next?" They're hungry for work, excited to learn. Today, when I took a moment to gaze at the big picture, almost everyone was engaged in productive work. Some have already adopted the kind of deep concentration that is difficult to disrupt. Not bad for the third day of school.

Soon, our wheels will roll more smoothly. Eventually, we'll discover days when momentum eases our cart down the aisle without much pushing at all. Before we know it, these first graders will be third graders, capably leading the class. Patience and persistence. "Cycles do what cycles do."

Rules to live by

Sometimes children possess such wide-eyed wisdom that it takes my breath away.

At the start of each school year, on the first day of school, we sit down together as a classroom community to talk about how we want to be together. First, I ask the children to envision a classroom where their bodies and minds feel safe enough to make mistakes and try new things, where they feel comfortable and supported as they work and learn. What kind of learning community do we want to be? Then, we discuss the rules and guidelines they think we need in order to make that happen. I record our Class Agreement in the children's own words.

In his essay titled "All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten," Robert Fulghum writes, "I realized that I already know most of what's necessary to live a meaningful life--that it isn't all that complicated. I know it. And have known it for a long time. . . . All I really need to know about how to live and what to do and how to be I learned in kindergarten. Wisdom was not at the top of the graduate-school mountain, but there in the sandpile at Sunday School."

If only all of us could live by the rules the children have proposed for our classroom community, the world would be a peaceful place.

Come peacefully.
This one was proposed by a second grader for whom personal peace has sometimes been a struggle. What a gift to hear him offer a statement so poetic and profound!
Be kind. Protect each other. Be careful with your body and your words. Treat others the way you would want to be treated. Use an inside voice. Walk carefully.

Bring your hard-working self.
Bring an "I can" attitude. Choose challenging work. Do your best. Work during work time. Play at recess.

Be honest. Take responsibility for yourself.
This one evolved from, "Don't blame others." They needed a little guidance to turn the "don't" into what we will do instead, but we all agreed the rule was clearer in the end.

Help each other.
This provoked some discussion about what it means to "help." Help others figure it out for themselves. Don't tell them the answers because then they won't learn it. Raise your hand to give everyone a chance to think.

Respect and protect the materials.
I love the way the children worded this! In a Montessori classroom, this is critical. Much of our hands-on learning equipment is expensive and fragile. Some of the materials in our classroom have been used by children for close to twenty-five years (a few were in the classroom when Mrs. D's daughter was a student)! We rely on the children to use them with care.

Listen to each other.
This one's tricky because you can't see listening. We talked about how a listener can show a speaker that s/he is listening: Put your eyes on the speaker. Answer questions but don't interrupt. Sit with a quiet body.

Probably all of us know a few adults who could benefit from these rules. A big part of our work in the Montessori elementary classroom is the not-always-graceful, sometimes stepped-on-toes dance of how to live these rules day to day. The vision is simple. Living it is the challenge . . . no matter how old you are.

What We're Reading:
Whoever You Are by Mem Fox
Our Peaceful Classroom by Aline Wolf

Beginning Again

As Catherine McTamaney so eloquently describes in The Tao of Montessori, the start of each school year is a little like a birth. Now neither she nor I intend dishonor to the real, sweaty physicality that accompanies the birth of a child. I've witnessed this, and it is a huge gift, in a long line of many, that mothers give their children. (In fact, after seeing it, I began to think that we should be celebrating mothers every year on children's birthdays!)

BUT there are similarities. There's the excitement and nervousness of a new beginning. There's the hurried, worried preparation--getting things ready for the arrival of a child. There is often grunting, sweating, pushing--sometimes harsh words or tears. Finally, there's the beautiful business of getting to know the needs of an individual and falling in love with a child.

"Every year, we begin again. Every year, we wonder how in the world we had the stamina to survive the year before. There is a grace in short memories. If we remembered how difficult the beginning of each cycle is, we might not have the courage to begin again.

Each year we struggle. Our classrooms begin in such chaos. Children are crying. Mothers are crying. Fathers are crying. When everyone's gone home, we are crying! Pitchers of water crash in the kitchen. Golden beads hide in the cabinet out of fear. Toes are stubbed on unattended chairs. The toilets overflow.

We are birthing our classrooms again and find ourselves in the sweaty, wet redness of hard labor. Like mothers with many children, it doesn't get easier but we gain perspective. We trust that the children and the classroom will calm. We know that the fear will subside.

There is a gift for each of us in this cycle. Each autumn brings us rebirth. Each school year gives us the chance to begin again, to apply the lessons we learned from our mistakes. Each school year gives us the chance to be young again, even on the days when we feel like we may be too old for this!

There is danger, too. Each year, we agree again to love the children we will lose in ten months. Each year, we agree to the briefest moment's glimpse of the peace it creates before it is time again to say good-bye. Amazingly, our vulnerable hearts keep beating. We return again and again.

Cycles do what cycles do. They build, rise, crest, and begin again. That is the nature of schools. Love dearly each beginning. Mourn dearly each good-bye. Begin again."

--Catherine McTamaney, The Tao of Montessori

So to all the teachers out there, I wish you well in the midst of sweaty labor and the birth of another year, another community. To all the mothers (and fathers and grandparents and aunts and uncles!), we honor the work you've done and are doing that brings a beautiful child to the doorstep of our classroom and entrusts in us his/her care. Please know that we wouldn't do this work if we didn't fall in love with each and every one of your children. It is a gift to be able to "participate in the unwinding expression of their individuality" (McTamaney).

What We're Reading

Wemberly Worried by Kevin Henkes

The Fabulous Flying Fandinis by Ingrid Slyder

Gratitude

Be genuine.

Grow soft and lift your heart to feel grateful.

Stop everything and listen when someone has a story to tell.

Take time to say "thank you" and to write thank you notes.

Discover the extraordinary in the ordinary and admire it.

--Ellen Haas, Coyote's Guide to Connecting with Nature

At the Wilderness Awareness School Mrs. C and I attended, outdoor activities are structured around a foundation of Core Routines for connecting with the natural world, the "learning habits" by which Howard Gardner's "naturalist intelligence" is developed. Gratitude is one such practice, one of the "things people do to learn nature's ways." Coyote's Guide to Connecting with Nature explains that "taking a moment to see the grace in elements of the natural world--frogs, rain, berries, or the sun--deepens our relationships with each one. Thanksgiving reinforces the interdependence of all living things." A routine of appreciation for "the things around us that support our lives" helps us turn our attention to the positive, to all that is right in the world. This is something like the "acknowledgements" we share at the end of each week during our class meeting--little handwritten notes documenting appreciation for those among our class whose acts and words help our classroom community continue to be a peaceful learning place. But this Core Routine of gratitude goes a step further in that it not only calls attention to what is going well with people but also to what is going well in the natural world around us. It calls us to offer conscious appreciation for the ways in which this supports our simple yet miraculous ability to be alive every day. "Discover the extraordinary in the ordinary and admire it."

The traditional Thanksgiving Address of the Iroquois Nation begins with people and then in turn notices that which is beautiful on the earth, in the waters, among the plants, animals, etc. Today, I begin with People, as well.

In a place that typically receives regular summer afternoon showers, we have had a record-breaking hot, dry summer. While Fluffy and I were adventuring far from home, we went an entire month without rain. I was feeling very impressed with the hardiness of native plants when I returned to school to discover that not only had our class butterfly garden survived, but it had flourished over the summer. Then another teacher clued me in that a neighborhood mother and grandfather (belonging to a first grader who will be joining our class this year) had been watering our gardens this summer! In this heat, that is a serious gift. It has also been a gift to take a moment from my frantic preparations to look out our big classroom windows onto a little patch of green buzzing beauty.

Thanksgiving also for family and friends, who fearlessly follow me off the deep end into absurdly messy, sweaty classroom projects. Thanks go to my patient mother who willingly waited without complaint while I debated over just which bulletin board border would look the very best in our classroom, which small lamp would best brighten our dark corner, which pitcher would be right for our landform work, the most attractive whiteboard to replace our bathroom sign-out board, and which white paint to use.

I am probably one of the few who regularly recruits the folks with advanced degrees to help paint her elementary school classroom (but then again, maybe not!). In my defense, this particular friend offered--well, mildly mentioned to my parents, "Doesn't she need any help painting or anything this year?" Before 24 hours had passed, she was swept into a faithful band of volunteers assembled to spend hours painting in my classroom last Sunday afternoon. Such "mild mentions" are dangerous at this time of year!

Regardless of your politics, I firmly believe that the work we do with children can't be done in isolation. No one can single-handedly raise a beautiful, healthy, happy human being without help. It really does take "a village" to do this well. Deep gratitude for all of you out there who are members of my village and for those who allow me to be a part of yours!

Maria Montessori wrote, "We are the sowers--our children are those who reap. We labor so that future generations will be better and nobler than we are." May it be so.

Breathe

I got home last night feeling weary and raw. Although teachers are on district time two weeks prior to our first day with students, very little of this time is allocated for classroom preparation. Instead, most of it is scheduled with meetings and professional development presentations. Even more maddening, some of these seem so far afield from our invigorating, interactive work with children that one wonders if the planners respect teachers as creative, trained professionals at all. As I trudged back to the Metro Rail after a particularly painful program at the George R. Brown last week, I contemplated becoming a taxi driver. (Cab riders of the area, fear not! I am well aware that I do not have the navigational skills to be a taxi driver--missing internal compass and all, but this gives you an idea of my state of mind.)

The result of having our time consumed this way, when there is so much that must be done in the classroom, is STRESS. I feel as if Mrs. D and I have been running a marathon the last two weeks--squeezing as much as possible into the short amount of time allotted, trying to make the most of lunches and brief breaks to laminate, label, cut, copy, collate, paste, paint, and prepare. I have spent hours at school on the weekend and late into the evening, in addition to many more hours at home, trying to get everything ready for The First Day. Mrs. D is up at the school today, organizing the school's lunch cards to reduce the inevitable cafeteria first-day fiasco that takes place when ID cards are not prepared to be swiped by the cashier. Feeling pulled in too many directions, with too many tasks crying out for immediate attention at once--and not taking time to eat a reasonable lunch--produced serious grouchiness on my part yesterday afternoon. The kind where I get very quiet and it's best just not to talk to me or ask me any questions for a while.

When I finally left Friday, the classroom was physically "ready," but I was still feeling scattered and unfocused and unready. "But you said it was pretty much ready," pointed out one very logical and confused family member. True. But I wasn't. Getting ready goes deeper than preparing the environment--making purchases; organizing; cleaning and sequencing materials on the shelves; labeling cubbies, notebooks, folders, pencils, and erasers; copying and collating; storing supplies; adding attractive touches like paint and artwork and flowers. Beyond all those dirty details, it is the mental/spiritual preparation of the teacher that's important. Most of all, I've been mourning the lack of time to just sit and reflect on the coming school year, the space to think big thoughts. And I haven't had time to Blog! This act of writing about our work together began as a way to showcase some of our more exciting classroom activities, but it has become a reflective practice. Writing--and thinking--about what we do has added depth to my work and I missed it.

Aline Wolf writes, "A few years ago I spoke with a beautiful young Montessori guide who told me that in August after she finished painting her shelves and arranging all her materials, she sat down in the center of her classroom and meditated for a lengthy period of time, trying to prepare herself to be part of a loving and peaceful environment. . . . This young woman was aware, I think, of the sacred responsibility of the teacher to be a model and a presence to the children. Teachers are the biggest, most prominent and influential element in their classrooms. Therefore it is vital that their manner reflects the order, the beauty and the peacefulness of a true Montessori environment."

Dinner and sleep helped. Art helped even more. This afternoon, wondering if I should really be taking the time, I hurried off to a Block Printed Fabric class at Sew Crafty. Ahhhh. I was not the only one who felt the relaxing effects. Someone else in the class called it "therapeutic." I was forced to set aside time and allow my mind and body to be enveloped by something other than school. This is not something new. I already know this. I think my best thoughts in the shower and on my walks--when I relax my body and let my mind wander where it may, looking at the world with Owl Eyes. Creativity has the same effect. Ahhhhh. Breathe.

This is where I thank my past self for kindness to the present me. I signed up for this class back in July, when I wasn't yet in the throws of First-Day frenzy. I was aware that the class was two short days before I'd be greeting and shaking the hands of 26 children at the door of my classroom Monday morning. And I signed up anyway because I also knew that it would be good to take time out to just create, time to stop my mind from chewing the same cud and begin to think big picture again. Breathe.


Lessons Learned:
* Remember that children need time for reflection, too. Even though it doesn't necessarily look productive, allowing learners the time and space to ponder and percolate is tremendously important.
* Remember that art is more than creating something beautiful. In the process, the mind is freed for bigger work.
* Remember to feed yourself, both literally and figuratively. Nurture yourself--body, mind, and soul. If you don't take time for this, you'll have little to offer to others. Breathe . . . and eat lunch!

"When you discover something that nourishes your spirit and brings you joy, you must care enough about yourself to make room for it in your life."--Aline Wolf