Life is a Seasonally-Appropriate Cabaret

Other reasons to love Waldorf education:

Reason #1 The children take nature walks.

Neve's class is really really cute.  They have this cool loft where the girls go to play house and give birth or the boys go fishing off the railing.  And sometimes the girls give birth while the boys go fishing.  (Men.)  Classmates rotate spending individual time with one teacher working on a piece of their craft projects, while the other children (who aren't fishing, sewing god's eyes, or giving birth) spend individual time with the other teacher chopping vegetables or kneading dough for the class snack.  When it all goes well, it is like a microcosm of Richard Scarry's Busy, Busy Town.  But when it isn't going as well... they take a nature walk.

They take their gnome pouches (bags made from felted wool sweaters) to the adjacent park to pick up treasures for their nature table.  (Gurrrrl, you know you can't have nunna my acorn bling.)  It is there that the kids disperse within the confines of unmarked tree boundaries to shoot their stick guns (you can't keep a boy from doing it, so why try?) or give birth to their stick children (I told you we should start a preschool contraceptive program, but no one listens...).

Her teachers are amazing.  I tease Ms. Michelle that I think her and her family live under a mushroom.  (In the good way.)  Her room always smells so good, like essential oils and fairy dust, while her kids always seem to listen and randomly break into song about their favorite flavors of tea.  "This is the way we pour chamomile tea, chamomile tea, chamomile tea..."

I know her teachers were responsible for this:

The other day, while outside working in the yard, a chicken hawk is circling overhead.  I thought it was agreed that hawks are bad, seeing as how they've torn over half our flock of chickens to shreds.

Neve: "Look to the sky!  It's a hawk!  It's a gift!"  (cue awkward smile.)

Reason #2:  It Gives Children A Voice

Song and story are a big part of the learning day.  The kids do a morning circle where they alternate spoken verses with sung verses, hand gestures and all.  It's like a 4 year old Liza Minnelli's dream come true (or Neve's).  Life is a seasonally-appropriate cabaret, right?   Right?  Hello?

But even more cute than that, at snack time the kids share a short anecdote about whatever.  The teachers usually start with their own "share" to help guide the stray musings of adorably long-winded children.

Thursday, I was approached by both her teachers.  "We have something we need to tell you."

I immediately begin to panic over what (WHAT?!) she could have shared with her class.  "Mommy called the dog an asshole last night"?, or "Daddy puts apples in his shirt to make us laugh*"?, or "We watched Spongebob Squarepants yesterday"?... please, let her not have said anything about SPONGEBOB!  (We secretly watch it, and I'd put money on it that the school is not an advocate for the show.)

Dera: (sweating) "Yeah?"

Teachers: "Neve wanted to share this with our class today:

'My Daddy went to war.  While he was gone, I had many chores, like washing the clothes, making dinner, and cleaning.' 

Terry went to Iraq!?"

Dera: (whew!) "Um, no.  He's a web designer.
I have no idea where she came up with such a story, but... what a relief!"

Teachers: "Relief?"

Dera: "Uh, nothing."

Other than the fact that the story sounded like Mommy was too busy crying over Daddy to get out of bed and I don't know how she knows what war is, it could have been a lot worse!

Oh yeah, and her voice.  She found it.  That's good too.

*In case you are rereading this and noticed that I edited out a line from my original post, my mother is my post-published proof-reader.  She said, "You sounded too much like a bunch of hippies. Take it out.", and when my mom speaks, I listen. That is all.*

Once Upon A Time...

"Story" has been on my mind lately.  What are the ingredients for a good story?  How do we want our personal stories to evolve over time?  What stories do our children see being enacted in our homes everyday?  What stories are being fed to our families that are unnecessary and possibly detrimental to their soft little spongy brains?

Pragmatically speaking, story has been a huge piece of my day at work.  I create and tell a story to our class of 8 three year old's.  It is always seasonally appropriate, usually somewhat fable-like (has a moral), and often involves finger movements and inflection.  The kids. They love the inflection.  My goal in the moment of "so-help-me-i-HAVE-to-keep-their-attention-or-else" is usually just to simply entertain them.

Of course.

Isn't that what we do as parents afterall?  It sure feels like it at times, as I race around all week from

park to

bakery to

playdate to

birthday party to

grandma's house to

ballet class to

home.

The racing- the entertaining, seems to eclipse my initial goal.  Whatever that goal was.  (Even as I type this, I realize that I know the Sunday School answer for what our goal as parents is supposed to be, but I don't always feel it.)

That's when I think story helps.  It takes us out of the potholes of life, and pulls us into the places we're unable to really go.  While it has restorative properties for adults (escapism), it can actually lead a child down a road that may avoid the need for restoration later.  Or at least we hope as parents.

Story introduces good and bad at a very young age, the slightly more complex injustices of the world as they get a little older, and most importantly sympathy and tenderness for others.  It gives children confidence, while it can also be a reminder of our fragility.  Story can be a test of patience (for those with attention issues), and can be the one place that we as parents can disguise our guidance.  It's a tool, but in the most innocent and inconspicuous way.

One of my favorite aspects of Waldorf education is the spoken story.  For children who are not reading yet, teachers abstain from reading books which encourages children to rely on their imagination for the visual component.  (And it avoids all that "I can't see the picture, Ms. Dera!" stuff.)  What's more, the children hold on to your every word throughout the story (which is told once a day everyday for several weeks, I'll add), growing more and more attached to the nuances of the characters and their journeys.  And depending on how elaborate and dense the story is, we've seen our kids take the premise and use it in their social playtime as well.  It's kind of magical.

The particular story I'm telling right now is all about a little bearded man who secretly lives in a haystack in the back of a farm's barn.  He watches over the animals and the people of the cold town every night, after everyone has gone to sleep.  He speaks an unknown language that only the animals understand.  He peeks his head into the carpenter's workshop after he's closed up to see what toys he's made, then the bakery to see what yummy things were baked that day, and then to the cobbler to admire his handiwork.  As he peeks into each shoppe, I love embellishing all of the sights, sounds, and smells for them, as I watch their eyes stare at my mouth and study the repetition of each adjective.  (It has taken me months to untrain myself to see homoerotic innuendo in most of these "the gnome took his friend back to his haystack" stories.  Yes, there are more than one.)

It's then, as I watch their faces, that I see... I'm not entertaining them at all.  Storytelling (depending on the quality of story, of course) is a means of nurturing wonder in children.  It's a lost art in our day of spoon-fed media.  It's a breath of fresh air, as much for the child as it is to our Dora theme song fatigued ears.

I'm not trying to sound as if I'm teaching anyone anything (because ya'll- most days I'm so exhausted after my 4 hour preschool job, that I turn on SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS [of all things!] for my OWN children so as to decompress before the 2nd half of my day begins).  I'm just so happy that I had the onceinabluemoon awakening that led me to thank God for this opportunity- contributing to my children's sense of wonder, I had share.

With each season's passing, there are more and more opportunities for us as parents to make this life a little more magical than it really is.  While they are young, and wide-eyed.

Besides, there's plenty of time before they need to understand how to hide behind cynicism and scathing jokes to protect their tiny fragile hopelessly romantic emotions.

Ahem.

Or so I've heard.

Because Monday Needs Some Rules.

Why didn't you think of that?