Wrestling is good for children.

Originally published Sept 2010

Many of our parents seemed shocked when they came to pick up their children from Beansprouts and found them all wrestling on a mat in the middle of the yard.  No one questioned it, so I'm assuming they trust our judgment that much : )

One of my favorite preschool blogs, who I have probably linked to in the past, is Teacher Tom.  He discusses wrestling in the following posts:

Why We Wrestle

They Went Home Tired

Wrestling 2010


And he also refers to this link, which is also nice.


Before:
Hugging=squeezing and falling

During:
the point was to help kids take cues from others, make contact with one another in a way that was rough but still fun, hard to take cues when too many kids and three-four at a time worked really well.  we split the group up into the blue group and the rainbow group (that was also a great way to solidify their recognition of their own group) we also split it up boys and girls.  six seemed to become the tipping point.  plus they got to work on starting and stopping (took practice) because as we switched groups, the previous group would have to get off and this took practice for all of them.  It seemed that when they were in smaller groups, they self-regulated whether they wanted "wrestling" or "tumbling", as teacher tom differentiates in his post.  Often there was a flow, as the children alternated between wrestling and tumbling.

Also we did have to
make sure it was "fun" for everyone.  When it looked to the teacher that it wasn't "fun", we would ask and modify if needed.  And certain ground rules are in place.  hitting and kicking and clothes pulling are not allowed for obvious reasons.  one of the children started using the word "punch" and we make it very clear that we're not going to let that child punch at preschool.  It's been interesting to watch the children make their own interpretations of wrestling, and for some, it's mimicking what they've seen on tv (fighting) and the teachers are always there to make sure that the children understand that it's not fighting, it's just a game, and those children get to re-define their own scripts about physical contact (competing with mass media messages is one of the biggest challenges of a teacher, so if they come away with a new definition of rough physical contact with others, then we've done our job here)
sometimes we just held an ice pack waiting for the first injury, but whenever a child got injured, they inevitably held the ice on their injury for just a moment, and then returned to the game.  I loved that they were willing to take a risk to participate in a group activity and connect with their peers.

Every now and then we'll get two or three crying kids at once.  It happens about every other wrestling session, not every time.  And each time I wonder if maybe we're giving them two much freedom, but seeing how willing the hurt children are to resume the activity, I'm reminded that preschool fun (and learning) has inherent risks.  Everything they do has risks.  Doesn't mean we keep them in a bubble.

After:
They've sort of lost interest in wrestling.  They've transitioned into a new physical contact bonding ... the cat game.  They all pretend like they are cats, each a member of the cat family, and identify themselves according to their moods or other internal attributes like the "angry" cat or the "grumpy" can or the "bad" kitty or the "tired" kitty.  Considering that family dramatic play is new, this is a significant leap in their social and cognitive experience at school.  They paw at each other, lick each other (we encourage them to "pretend" so we don't spread germs), push each other around for space on the cat beds (old couch cushions that we have in the yard).  Sometimes three children participate, sometimes it's almost the entire group.  It's wonderful.

It's also been great for those children whse social skills are still raw, the social interest just showing up and still resorting to younger-two strategies to enter into play with other children.  For a few of these children, strategies for engaging other children were hitting, grabbing, pushing, hugging to hard, taking the child's toys, and other inappropriate ways of getting attention.  Wrestling sort of "assigned" rough physical contact to the game of wrestling, making it sort of ridiculous to use it in other contexts.  Some bonding occurred as well.

A lot of what they learn is how to engage in physical play safely, they learn awareness of who is in their space, how much is "too" much.

Beckett's breakthroughs

The most important skill

I am convinced that there is one single factor that matters most in learning and success. It's not memory, vocabulary, visual or auditory receptivity, social skills. These things all do help. I have spoken about my thoughts on how social development drives academic learning in preschool. However, under all of this is an even more important skill -- the ability to persist, walk through discomfort, climb over those steep learning curves. It is tenacity in the face of challenge.

Puzzles are a great metaphor but also a great real life example of this. Successful jigsaw puzzle construction does not require the ability to map out the puzzle's image in your head, or to be able to predict angles and pieces fitting, or the ability to make accurate placement based on "edge" pieces or "center" pieces. Success depends simply on the ability to keep trying. Think about the number of small actions required to do a 48 piece puzzle. Doing a 48 piece puzzle takes hundreds of micro-efforts to find pieces that fit. Trying a certain piece at a certain angle, repositioning, repositioning until the next cognitive event - deciding when you've tried that piece enough times in that spot. Calculating...do I try this piece in another spot or try another piece in this spot? Even a 12 piece puzzle often takes several dozen attempts, several dozen adjustments, several dozen failures, several dozen flash decisions. This doesn't even take into consideration the amount of fine motor control being exercised, which is already a cognitive task to some degree. It also doesn't take into account the sheer number of distractions in a normal classroom environment. The brain is filtering through a lot of input for the entire duration of the task.

In the practice of early childhood education, we are not teaching academics as much as we are helping forge a positive relationship between child and learning. We look for ways that we can help bring a child's experience into the range of what is challenging enough for the effort to feel rewarding when completed, but not so challenging that the distress overrides the desire to complete the task, or worse, that the distress overrides the reward upon task completion. In learning theory, this is called "just right challenge". Children need to walk through challenge, just as we do as adults. But so often, it is emotionally hard for us, or just plain inconvenient, for us to allow the child to struggle. So we step in more than necessary, robbing the child of an opportunity to practice in a small yet meaningful way, the ability to produce all those micro-efforts that eventually lead to a feeling of efficacy and internal reward. 

What are those ways that we are helping because it's more convenient for us? When do we fail to see that the child is within their zone of proximal development, their zone of "just right challenge", and we have taken away their chance to experience a tolerable number of micro-efforts (not micro-actions, but micro-efforts) that will allow them to witness their own process of effort-->discomfort-->success, observing themselves walking through that discomfort and observing themselves on the other side of that learning curve. Learning curves can be, but rarely are, comfortable, especially when it's about learning a brand new skill and one that offers a sense of efficacy that makes it rewarding. The higher the level of tolerable challenge, the higher the level of intrinsic reward. 

Sticktoitiveness* really is the most important thing to try to cultivate in oneself.  Delayed gratification is so important because the opposite (the propensity for instant gratification and giving up on long term goals when facing surmountable challenge) is addictive and so hard to untrain once you allow that pattern to set in.

stick-to-it·ive·ness

/ˌstikˈto͞oidivnəs/

noun

INFORMAL•NORTH AMERICAN

noun: stick-to-it-iveness

1. perseverance; persistence.

Mindfulness and emotions

I'm taking a mindfulness course at mindfulschools.org and in one of our discussion boards, someone asked "Emotions are such a huge factor in self-regulation with young students.  How do we get them to think about their own emotions without perseverating on those negative emotions?  It's very difficult, even for me."

The way I understand it is that as we become more mindful of emotions, we are moving from being "in" it, where it's almost like the emotion is having us, to being a witness to it, where we are in a place that allows more acceptance of it -- we can almost referee the emotion. "Oh, I'm feeling anger. I'm feeling it around my stomach and in my chest. That [thing that happened] is happening over there, and my emotion is happening in here". Our role of victim shifts to a role of observer.  This been a powerful shift for me since doing this mindfulness training.

Dan Siegel writes about "top-down" versus "bottom-up" experiencing. Often, when we experience events, we have some sort of past idea about how it will go based on our experiences of similar events in the past.  Our mind (rather than our more primal amygdala/survival part of the brain) dictates the experience of the event in a split second. This is top(prefrontal cortex)-down. My mind registers the thing happening, interprets, and my body has a sensation. For instance if I see a wasp, it's not a new experience for me, especially if I'm not being mindful about it. Instead, I see the wasp, my mind reminds me of the times I've been stung, I feel fear, and this dictates my behavior (I run away or go inside). Usually, I'm running away and covering my behind, because that's where I've been stung twice!

If I'm being mindful, I can use a "bottom-up" approach to this experience of seeing the wasp. I can notice that when that fear comes up, I am able to self-regulate to calm the nervous system, the feelings, and then the mind. How do I self-regulate to support a new response to the wasp?  I notice my impulse to run. I take deep and mindful breaths. I become mindful of the fear as I notice where it resides in my body.  I am then able to choose a different action.  I might choose to simply stand there and wait and see what happens. I can remind myself that I probably won't get stung by simply standing there (creating a new top-down experience for next time!).  I can stay in the experience, experience it for the first time. Maybe the fear is there, but maybe it is just a little bit less.  Taking this more mindful approach, I become a witness to the experience, rather being victimized by it. My perception of this experience now has an opportunity to change because I am responding to the present, not the past. 

This is my understanding of mindfulness so far. I'm very new at this. But it applies to so many aspects of teaching and being. We can also help children in their bottom-up, self-regulatory process.  

Working with children can be overwhelming when their big emotions come up. Lots of things can be triggered for us adults. Helping children create that observer mindset can be hugely powerful. "You're feeling sadness. What's the like for you?" Suddenly they aren't the victim of the thing "making" them sad. They are a human having an experience. Helping them be present to their emotion, staying present and attuned to them, helps them stay with themselves. Even making eye contact and breathing with them creates a co-regulatory experience that supports a bottom-up deescalating process for them.

I'm not saying that we have to help children down regulate every time they experience an emotion. I believe children are empowered, resilient beings, and I trust their ability to handle the human experience. There is a balance. We have to learn to organize our feelings slowly. As they become more able to handle their feelings on their own, then my role can be to witness and narrate their process. "You were feeling sad and you began to play again." [Translation: Sadness didn't take over your entire day. You have power and agency even in the midst of emotion]. "She took your toy and you began to yell, but then you looked at the teacher for help" [Translation: your anger did not dictate your behavior]. "You seem really frustrated that your bike is stuck. I wonder what you'll do now?" [Translation: Your frustration is an experience alongside your physical experience of the bike being stuck, and you have choices.]. 

These may seem like simple ideas, but by narrating these experiences to children, who really are coming from a brain-stem oriented experience, it can help them to contextualize these experiences that might seem overwhelming. It can be hard to control our impulse to solve their problem and thereby solve their emotional "crisis". What do we do with our own dysregulation around standing by while the child stretches their zone of ability? As an educator, it's easy for me to envision the other side of these moments, where the child is walking through the growth opportunities. I've seen what lies on the other side - it is powerfully impactful for the child to see their situation from the outside, and from the success side of the challenge, and to witness t their power as agents of change in their own lives. 

I'd love to hear your thoughts on this. Email me - stephanie at beansproutsfamily dot com.

Narrators

When I sat down to write this, I typed out the title "Children need a cheerleader". But as I was writing, I realized that what I really wanted to address is the power of the narrative.

I like to think of myself as a narrator of the children's lives. Narratives have power. How we tell our story not only reflects its current meaning for us, but it re-creates an evolving interpretation as we compose our story.

Years ago, I remember, a newer, greener teacher we had, David, said something very powerful. We were talking about why we narrate the children's lives back to them. For instance, we would notice, and say out loud, "there goes Tomas with a huge bucket! I wonder where he is taking it?" or "Sara looks like she's trying to decide what to do about Aden taking her doll". David noted that by reflecting back what we see to the children, it brings their consciousness back into what they are doing in that moment. Children move so quickly sometimes, it's easy for them to get lost in their fast-paced activity. How often are we mindlessly walking through each moment, impulsively and habitually behaving and acting? When we act on habit, we are responding to the past. But this moment, the present, the new version of the situation, might call for a different course of action, or may draw our attention to a different nuance of the situation, or might present a new opportunity. By narrating out loud what we see, the children can return to the moment and return to themselves.

Narrating also takes the adult out of the situation in a more visible way. We want children to own their experience, to own their behavior, to own the unfolding of each activity. They so easily fall back into approval-seeking from the teacher, looking to the adult for cues on what to do or what is okay. By narrating, we create the illusion that we are coming from afar. We communicate to the children that "I'm over here because you are capable and powerful and you can handle this."

That doesn't, however, mean we cannot still be their cheerleader.

"Wow, Dillon chose to help Maddie, and now look at the big block tower they've made together!" or, more directly to the child, "I noticed you decided to ask for the red marker back instead of grabbing it and that seemed to work really well for you to get it back!"

We are noting, out loud, the child's choices and consequences rather than involving ourselves in the process, which can often become intrusive and detract from the organic process between children. This allowing is deeply empowering for the child. It reveres the children's sense of agency and competency to live freely as an initiator of change. By narrating, we facilitate a narrative for the children of self-empowerment and contribution to their own sense of self.

We strive toward objectivity with our words (even though our feelings are often portrayed through our tone, posture, etc.). Things like "I'm so proud of you" or "you did a good job", while complimentary, are judgmental and highly subjective. Without going into much discussion about the "inverse power of praise" (see the work of Alfie Kohn and Carol Dweck for more), praise can be hugely detrimental to children. It creates a "praise junkie" mentality and sends the message that what I think about your activity matters disproportionately more than it should. What matters is what the child thinks and feels. What matters is the intrinsic experience. To have that be judged by an adult--yuck. Something so precious--the inner work--should stay sacred.

It's so tempting to want to be right there giving all the positive feedback, though. It feels good to see the kids feel good. Everyone is happy, so what's the problem?

The problem is that today's happiness is tomorrow's insecurity. "Will they like my painting if I don't do it the way I did it yesterday?" or "The teacher isn't telling me she's proud of me this time...WHY NOT?" "Am I still ok even though I'm not getting compliments?" They will begin to wait for your judgment, ahem, I mean compliment, every time they produce something, and over time, lose that internal sense of pride and intrinsic value in their work. And what's worse, they will begin to lose their sense of that inner quiet self, that small voice inside that we call intuition. The new point of reference is external validation. We want to continually bring that back inward.

It feels good to be noticed. It feels good to simply be seen. We don't need to judge to do that. We just need to BE THERE. Not on our phones. Not half listening. Not patronizing to show how much you're listening. Be. There. Take a minute. Take a few minutes. Honor the space around the child by allowing it to be whatever it is.

We can narrate. We can notice. We can comment pleasantly with a healthy degree of enthusiasm. We can be close to the child and be quiet. We can remember that just by being there as a silent yet attentive witness, we are doing a great service to the children.

---

Food for thought - so, you are taking yourself out of the equation and not trying to dictate or change the child's experience. What, then, is your role? I'd love to hear your comments.

Yes Day

There are many reasons for me to say no to children's various requests. Safety concerns, schedule and time limitations, limited supplies, limited manpower to supervise and clean up messes, generally not feeling like putting one more thing on our agenda that day. 

But if I am going to be really honest, I often say no because I have been conditioned to, in the interest of running a smooth, safe preschool program for children, assume that the worst case scenario can and will happen. If I let them dance on the table, they can and definitely will fall off and break a limb. If I let them run in the classroom, they will obviously slip and crack their head on the corner of a shelf. If I let them use the water from the handwashing station for their sand and mud play, they will definitely do this every day without regard to how cold or late or inconvenient it is to be in wet muddy clothes. 

What I am saying is, 90% of the time I say no, it comes from my own fear and not necessarily on reality.  There is a part of the brain called the Cingulate Gyrus that is overactive or imbalanced in some people (like me), where, in the interest of self-preservation, will automatically interject a "no" without a thought process to support it. I have learned that I have to outsmart this part of my limbic system when I find myself saying "no" too often. 

It becomes tricky here at Beansprouts because the children feel really comfortable asking for things from the teachers. Today, for instance, they asked for chalk to stomp on. I repeated back, unsure whether I heard them right. "You want pieces of chalk to smash with your feet?" "Yes," said the spokesperson of the group, "we need you to get us some sidewalk chalk for stomping".  Since it was a yes day, I gave them all one piece of chalk...with the instruction "only one piece each"... which I TOTALLY regret because, well, in my mind I was thinking they were wasting chalk. Despite my best efforts, I had managed to insert a little "no" into my "yes". Looking back, I see that letting them stomp all of the chalk would not have been a waste of supplies at all. How is drawing with chalk any more valuable than stomping and smashing chalk?  It was a blast for them, and the collective energy around this chalk stomping was surreal. Saying yes to chalk allowed an activity that offered a social experience more valuable than what I could have been able to manufacture myself.

(Side note: a little while later, someone asked to draw a hopscotch game on the patio, so luckily we still had some unstomped chalk!)

Today's Yes day started at the morning art table. We were using felt-tipped markers on paper towels and paper. We discovered that applying water (ahem, or my coffee) with our fingertips diffused the color and turned the paper towel into art that could transfer to the white paper underneath it. The kids asked for more water as their little dishes ran low, and my cingulate gyrus presented me with a beautifully frightening image of an art table that runneth over with marker tinted water, down to the floor, kids slipping, sopping wet clothes. But I said Yes, because this was my commitment to myself and our school today. And they did end up pouring bowls full of water onto their drawings (see our Instagram post). 

But guess what? Even though they were, as a group, at that table for thirty minutes or more with unlimited water refills, I did not find one drop of water on the floor, and rarely had to clean up any water from the table. Again, if I had limited them to one container of water, it would have limited their interest, limited their time at the table, limited their ability to bring this project to its full fruition. I would have stunted their creative expression and artistic development.

Not every day can be a "say yes to everything" day like today. But for today, Yes was my priority. Yes to the child who asked to free climb from the picnic table to the side of the climbing structure. Yes to the kid who asked to have snack 45 minutes early. Yes to all of the kids who raised their hands at story time to share something that ended up being the same thing they shared from the page before. Yes to the kid visually checking in with me to see if it was okay that she was stomping in puddles. Yes to the child who "needed" to change their pants because there was a smudge of dirt on the pocket. Yes to the friend who asked to make several off-topic announcements throughout the portion of circle time that I really wanted to talk about our quality of self-care. Why not? 

In the grand scheme of themes, saying no to these things makes my life more convenient, but in what ways does it rob them? What if that child sharing at circle time is the one memory she takes from today? Or what if the child who asked to change his pants was really trying to alleviate a scratchy seam, but because that was more than he could verbalize, he asked instead to change his pants because of this little smudge of dirt? Maybe my impulsivity toward "no" comes from seeing only a small slice of reality.

Every time I implement a "yes" day, I benefit.  Ultimately, it is for the children. I want to reset and reboot and remind them of how much freedom and independence and trust and respect we give them. But what I get in return is priceless. I get to overcome my own fears and anxieties, my worst-case-scenario thinking that limits our collective opportunity. I get to unpack and inspect my real motives for saying "no". What a gift to be in this profession, where everything I do gets reflected back to me in a way that lends itself to personal growth. 

The Power of Pretend Play

A few years ago I got a master's degree in human development. My first thesis, before my epic hard drive crash where I lost all of my data and changed topics altogether, was on the power of pretend play. Specifically, it was a discussion of animal pretend play, and how when children take on animal personas, they get to explore these parts of themselves that they don't feel safe exploring in their own personal reality. 

I had a child who never participated in circle time - until he discovered that he could be a kangaroo. Slowly, he began participating at circle time, first with small movements of his kangaroo paws, then with verbal participation as if from a kangaroo, and eventually, the child opened up as himself in front of the group. Another child witnessed domestic abuse, and for the next several days, she pretended she was a cat, narrating her story from the cats perspective in the context of pretend play rather than from her own very real, human, traumatic experience. 

I read a snippet from a book this morning about how children discover their ethical prosocial selves in play. 

I've been thinking about this all day.

In the context of play, I see children acting out important themes that come up often in their lives - themes of conflict, empowerment, misbehavior, disobedience, cooperation, helping, not helping, including others, being included, intimacy, separation, enemies and friendship, death and rebirth, having superpowers beyond measure, and being stripped of those superpowers. It's a bold thing to, in the context of make believe play, tell your pretend mom that you're not going to come home that day. Or to realize that one of your pretend family members have died and you must now avenge their death (although 99% of the time, the dead family member "wakes up" within a couple of minutes). Now imagine - just imagine - that you're a younger kid in the group, admiring the older kids from afar because you can't quite keep up with their games and dialogues and unspoken rules - and then suddenly, they let you be "the baby" in your game, and you now have access to this group of kids you have been longing to play with for weeks or months. Gaining entry into a coveted social group is a priceless experience afforded often in pretend play scenarios. Almost every game needs a one of the more submissive characters, and the younger kids are almost always willing to take on those roles - the baby sister, the baby brother, the pet dog, the bunny (doesn't every game have a bunny?).

By experiencing all of these themes in real life (because their play IS their real life, in that moment), they experience, the safest way, the consequences of various parts of themselves - including their ethical and moral selves.  They witness responses from the other children, and learn about behavior and taking others' perspectives and thinking for and as a group, rather than for their isolated selves.

And we see children taking breaks from the group play, to play alone and process and assimilate all of this. And to spend time in solitude, to nurture another part of their selves.

And in this way, children create their own learning environment in a profound, meaningful way. The teachers? We just set the stage. The kids are taking on the lead roles here.

Valentine's Day

We had a wonderful family visiting this morning to tour our preschool.

It seemed like for the duration of this tour, things were spilling, falling, crashing. At one point, a child accentuated this theme when she had the wonderful and creative and powerful idea of jumping off the bench onto the large magna-tile structure she had built. She looked like godzilla landing on a relatively tiny skyscraper. It was amazing, and totally captured the pattern of the morning. The mom that was here noted, "there must be a full moon or something". And yet while it all appeared to be in chaos, when you looked at the children's faces, or watched their reactions to the baskets of blocks getting knocked over, or the marker block upturning and markers rolling everywhere - they were totally at ease. And this made me feel at ease.

However, when the touring family left, I felt like we were going to need a little reset. Like, come on, the rest of the day can't possibly go on like this or I'll be going crazy cleaning up little messes everywhere.

So I told myself, at circle time, even though I have a million things planned bc of the holiday, it must be a venue for centering and grounding ourselves.

We started circle time in the usual manner. Songs and such. Then we continued the passing out of Valentines, which we did differently this year. Instead of the usual "drop the card in each mailbox" method, the children were carrying their tote bags and personally exchanged Valentines. This brief but powerful interpersonal exchange was so beautiful to witness. The smiles, the eye contact, the seeking out of the person they were trying to hand off a card to, the excitement, the spontaneous hugs and kids telling each other "Happy Valentines Day". I have to admit, it was one of the most special Valentines Day circles that I can remember.

This sense of validation, of personal attunement and connection, being seen, being valued, being thought about. I really think this was so special to the children. Not only is this special to the children, but it is an innate need and necessary part of healthy development. And this is a group of children that really seems to get some of these deeper more subtle aspects of human interchange.  I mean, they are still preschoolers, testing boundaries and what not, but they function at a high level - while they don't always act on it, they have an emotional and social literacy that seems to me to be very advanced.

My favorite part of circle lasted about 2.5 seconds. I was about to hand the children my Valentines. My very impersonal, plastic, just bought at Target two days ago, Valentines. Plastic heart-shaped glasses and stencil rulers. I even opened the packages right at circle time as I was explaining to the kids how I would pass them out. It was a poorly planned gift to say the least. But here comes my favorite part. I told them that after each of them got to choose the color of their gifts, I would then tell them something I loved about them. And I saw their faces light up. They were thrilled to hear this! And it reminded me that not only are they special to me, but I am special to them.

Yesterday, I asked each child at circle if I could be their Valentine or if they could be my Valentine. They all agreed enthusiastically except for one resistant child, who came around by the end of circle when she realized that you aren't limited to one Valentine. As one of our circle time love songs go, "Love is something if you give it away - you end up having more."

Happy Valentine's Day!

We'll just skip circle time today.

This morning, I thought the kids and I would go outside a little extra early, enjoy the nice cool weather, do the art project I had planned in the beautiful outdoors.

However, each time I asked the children if they were ready for circle time, which is what we do before heading outside for snack and outdoor play, they said no.

It was clear that they were really enjoying their indoor play time. With each other. With our stuff.  The vibe of our small class size in the summer.


I asked again at 9:45 whether they were ready to finish up inside and move on to circle time.  I asked at 9:50. I asked at 10. I asked at 10:15. They repeatedly said no.  It became clear they were not motivated to do anything except to continue the play themes they had spent the whole morning constructing.

I wanted to honor their play. That's why I asked to do circle rather than telling them. Usually, I say "It's time for circle". Today, I asked "Do you want to clean up for circle tiem?".   They just seemed so invested in their play, and what was it to me, whether we stuck to the schedule or not?

Finally at around 10:45, I started getting antsy. If we have circle too late, snack is too late, children get hangry, the whole systems fails. So I thought, hm, they can sacrifice circle time if they want. I'll just have an extra social snack time so we can all feel seen and heard and connected. That's the point of circle time, anyway.

I was sure they would skip circle time in lieu of extra play time. And, I'm not going to say my feelings weren't a little hurt that they didn't care about "my" circle time, which I consider fun and something that elicits loads of motivation and participation and excitement.  I started doubting myself. Maybe I've lost my teaching mojo and my circle times are no longer fun or interesting. Maybe I've lost that magic of creating a circle time that induces a sense of wholeness to the individual and the group and builds up our little community members. Maybe I've lost my touch.  My circle time used to be so outrageous and spontaneous and fun. I guess it's turned hum drum and they would just rather free play all day.

So I offered them a circle time alternative. I announced this to the group:

"If you would rather play an extra three minutes than have circle time, I'm willing to let you do that. But if you take the extra time to play, no circle, because we have to have snack soon."

That's when I heard the murmurs. "What? No circle?" "Then when will circle time be?" "What did Stephanie say?"

Mass confusion ensued until one spokesperson said "Okay, we'll take circle time". They promptly began putting toys away.

Why did they take the circle time option? My ego tells me it's because I'm fun and know how to make that time engaging for kids and I'm this old experienced teacher who just know how it's done.  My more logical brain tells me that its because even tho they loved the make believe play that was happening, they are still children, and children need to feel the sense of routine, and they want to come together for this special group time to be seen and heard and acknowledged.

I'm honored to be a part of this.  So deeply honored.

Space to Feel

Children's responses to "would you like to share your feelings today?"


This list of feelings emerged in our circle time conversation today. I would like to share the complexity of feelings that emerge in our group time. It was a very honest and organic conversation.


Some days, I plan our circle time. Other days, I am spontaneous. Most days, the kids let me know what we're doing, whether verbally or just showing me that they aren't interested in my plan. Circle time is pretty flexible. We're always ready to change the course.


On this particular day, we would be singing songs. Before circle time started, I noticed a little wooden toy on the floor. I asked the child sitting next to me to put it away. When she returned to circle after putting away the toy, her seat had been taken by another child. I waited to see what she would do and she seemed content to sit in another spot. Normally i would save that spot since she was doing a job, but she didn't seem bothered in the moment and didn't ask for her seat back.

However, as circle time progressed, I noticed she had a sour facial expression and didn't seem too thrilled when it was her turn during the good morning song.


When that song was over, I announced to the group that I noticed some feelings at our circle time and asked if anyone would like to share their feelings.


I reminded them about a story from the day before - a story where a grumpy joey (baby kangaroo) who woke up feeling grumpy. It's a very sweet story, where the mama kangaroo tries to cheer up the joey. However, what I honed in on in this story was the mother kangaroo's persistence in cheering up her baby. When one strategy didn't work, she would move on to the next - hugs, distraction, jokes, games.


We talked about the idea of cheering someone up versus trying to change their feelings when they don't want help. We talked about ways to ask for help, for instance asking for a hug or asking to be cheered up. Sometimes we just want to feel our feelings, which is a trend that I've observed with this group of children. That's not to say they are unique in this way -- perhaps I have not tuned in to this with prior groups.


The same day, a child at story time didn't like the way I corrected her behavior, and she was quiet with folded arms (something I'd describe as "pouting"). I felt uncomfortable by her sadness and wanted to comfort her. Moreover, I wanted to control how she perceived me in my teaching efforts. I offered her a hug. She declined. I let her have the space to feel the emotion and she recovered quickly. But I SO BADLY wanted to "fix" her feeling.


A couple of guiding principles of my teaching philosophy are:

1. no one is in charge of anyone else's feelings

and


2. feelings, positive or negative, are okay and normal parts of our life.


We welcome and talk about feelings A LOT. Not in a way that creates a sense of victimhood and "poor me". We talk about feelings in a matter of fact way. It's okay to have them, feel them, not have them (because sometimes I really want kids to feel the "positive" feelings!).


I let the children know that when they share their feelings at circle time, I won't try to change the way they feel. They get to have whatever feeling they want. Feelings are welcome in our safe space. This seemed to allow them to get more vulnerable and share the darker feelings (as you might notice on the feelings list in the photo).


Each child went around the circle and each person was offered time to share their feelings. If they chose to share, they were asked if they'd like to elaborate. I wrote the feelings down (and made little faces to depict the feeling so the children could "read" the feeling). I wanted the feelings to be visible, reflected on this paper where we could see it, have a little more sense of perspective around it, let it be a word and not this whole nebulous overwhelming experience. I wanted to validate the experience while allowing the children to feel bigger and empowered over their feelings.


After all, we are not the way we feel. We are not the feeling. Feelings aren't facts. They feel like facts. But they are fleeting experiences. And when we know this, we can offer coping skills and ways to reframe their experiences when the experience is overpowering. We are building emotional literacy, so we can be members of the community who feel compassion and sorrow and excitement and hope, without acting irrationally and impulsively based on a fleeting emotion.


The child whose space was taken at circle time - perhaps she needed time. Perhaps she wanted to explore the feeling and just sit with it like a friend for a minute. Maybe she needed words to label the feeling and thereby understand it.


My most important role is to create the space, hold the space, allow the space, and be there for when (or if) the child needs my more direct support.


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For more from me, visit www.todayatpreschool.com

Weekend Q&A: When Children Don't Get Their Way

 

Welcome back to our weekly Q&A!

This week, a mom writes:

Here's our top issue right now: How to offer help or coping mechanisms when dealing with feelings of frustration when things are hard or don't go the way you want. 

After I inquired further on this question, I understood that the parent was referring to the child's ability to manage feelings when things don't go exactly the way she wants. This applied to situations as seemingly trivial as when a pet chicken ate from the ground when the child wanted it to eat from her hand.  Big emotions ensue when she tries unsuccessfully to get her way. They have applied new tactics to facilitate more flexible thinking and openness to alternative outcomes. These have improved things to an extent, but the parents ultimately want to know how to help their daughter figure out what to do with her strong emotions as she continues to learn more mature coping skills.

Many parents struggle with this, so it's the perfect topic for a Q&A post!

I want to note here that the ideas expressed here are simply a collection of the most common problems and solutions that I've seen when working with individual families. This is by no means an exhaustive list of strategies and does not take into consideration every possible case. After working with dozens of families over the years, however, I have seen recurring patterns. These are the insights and/or suggestions that I would make, based on some of the most common core issues that I've seen over the years. 

Less emotionally charged moments are great opportunities to practice emotional coping skills.

Try not to fix the child's smaller disappointments throughout the day. Small let downs are easier to appease, but these are the best times for children to practice new emotional coping skills because they are less charged and usually less escalated.  Children need to experience small disappointments in order to learn how to handle larger ones. I'm not suggesting that you let your child walk around in a perpetual state of frustration.  I am saying that children need experiences that allow them to be disappointed so that when larger, more meaningful situations arise, they have some foundational skills for how to deal.

In this situation, the daughter seems to be reacting with extreme emotions for what seem to the parents like minor disappointments. This may indicate a need to practice not getting her way in very small micro-situations--situations that may even feel almost meaningless to the child.  I suggest paying attention to the less noticeable times when the child gets her way.  I'm referring to the smallest, most trivial moments.

How small? 

The child wants a different thing for breakfast because she decides she doesn't like the pancakes?  

No! That's too big. Let's break it down further. 

The child wants to pour her own syrup so the parents let her with their help? No! That's still too big. 

I'm talking about the microscopic, undetectable-to-the-naked-eye moments. The child wants the syrup on the table but the parents want it back in the fridge (with the promise to get it out if they need more). Yes. This is the scale that I'm talking about. The child knows she will ultimately have it if she wants it, but they are tweaking the situation just a bit by having the syrup in the fridge. 

Practice with the small stuff. The drop of syrup that dripped on her fork so she wants a new fork. Just have her lick it off instead of getting a new fork. This level of triviality is where we get to practice. Or if that's still too big, break it down further. Maybe it's having the child wait an extra second before getting the fork so you can finish pouring everyone's syrup. Whatever it is, it's gotta be something that will only get a 10% rise out of the child's usual 100%. 

She may be accustomed to dominating play or interactions with peers and adults and needs stronger boundaries on a more ongoing basis, in situations big and small. The outcome may not bear much weight in the grand scheme of things, but the child will get to practice being flexible and regulating her emotions on yet an even smaller scale. 

Set boundaries around behaviors while still allowing feelings and emotional expression.

While we don't want to punish feelings, it's okay to set limits on the behaviors around those feelings. Listen, validate the feelings, be present and supportive. Don't allow unsafe, harmful acting out.  I personally go as far as to differentiate crying from screaming, because while crying is normal and necessary sometimes, screaming requires a whole different level of tolerance from others nearby.  Screaming is often used as a tool to manipulate the situation rather than an emotional outlet. This isn't always the case, and the adult can differentiate the child's motive. Only after the child understands the limits will they find ways to express the feeling without using extreme behaviors.

A child’s big feelings does not dismiss her responsibility in trying to manage her own behavior.  Part of the learning to cope is figuring this out. Parents can't do that for the child. We can offer words, space, our presence, but ultimately the adult isn't going to fix the feeling in any lasting way. The solution must come from within the child. Once the child understands that the parent will not try to fix the feelings, she can then move forward and find her own way.

Empathize, but don't be overtaken by the child's emotions.

Sometimes it may feel appropriate to relate to the child with a story about when you’ve had similar feelings and how you coped. "It's hard when that happens. I lost my favorite stuffed animal once, too". Identification is different than codependent empathy. Don't feel the feeling with the child or for the child, because she needs you to be strong and to see that just because she's having feelings doesn't mean the world is falling apart around her (which is basically what's happening when the parents' emotional stability crumbles). The child needs understanding and empathy but not enmeshment.

Allow her to work through it. She may want to talk to you about it, or you may offer some ways to process it. But ultimately, feeling let down for things not going the way she wanted is the only way she can learn to cope with these feelings in the future.

Prepare the child so she can anticipate problems and adapt her expectations.

It may help to prepare your child ahead of time if you anticipate where things may go awry. Giving her a little heads up lets her know that you're not going to try to prevent an upset, but you're giving her time to process it.  

Avoid placating feelings.

One of the more damaging strategies I've seen that is pretty common is when parents pacify children by disregarding their emotions.   Avoid statements that undermine a child's experience, such as, "You're okay" or, "Don't cry".  Understand that your role is to be present, but not to fix or get the child to be okay with the situation. 

It may also be tempting to try and ignore the problem or spin the situation to make it look like the child is getting her way. This includes consolation prizes, which first take away a learning opportunity, and second, sets up an expectation that disappointment invariably leads the parents to offer some sort of appeasement.  

Inasmuch as it doesn't undermine or sidestep the child's authentic experience, feelings, or perception of the problem, use humor to help her move on. 

Using universal statements like "Life is hard" or "Life is just unfair sometimes" victimizes the child and may create a negative, hopeless worldview. It also communicates, ”Your problem is not unique, life is just hard, so get used to it". This does not respect the child's real, true authentic experience. Instead, focus on the situation at hand: "That didn't seem fair to you" or "You didn't like that you didn't get a turn".

Communicate trust in the child's ability to succeed.

Maintain the position that you trust your child to get through this. You don't have to be harsh or firm about it, but when you speak, speak with an authority that she will figure this out.  

One of my most successful tools for helping children build new emotional or social skills is to acknowledge when they successfully navigate what would normally be a challenge.  Point out when the child is being flexible, when she's moving on, when she's expressing herself verbally rather than with an outburst, when she seems to be applying some emotional coping skills for herself. Point out these things so that she, too, can witness herself successfully walking through big feelings.  

Also, point out when characters in stories (or people in real life!) successfully cope with disappointment. This offers the child yet another way to conceptualize how to process emotions.

Physical outlets may calm the body and the nerves.

Physical outlets are effective for calming or venting. Deep breathing can calm the body and mind within a few seconds. Walking and moving the two sides of the body in conjunction can help the brain process information and feelings. Some children need deep pressure or to use larger muscles (pushing, pulling, carrying, punching pillows, kicking balls).  Movement can be a useful tool, but if you find that these are the only way to calm your child, I will suggest seeking the guidance of an early childhood specialist who can help you and your child build internal coping mechanisms that can help circumvent such frequent major upsets. 

Keep your cool.

The most important to remember is not to get too rattled by this. Your child will figure this out. You can trust that. You don't have to do this for her. Just be there and set appropriate boundaries so she can see where her own emotional uncertainty ends. It's not rocking everyone's world, just her own. And that's a safe feeling for a child, to know that she is contained, that her big feelings aren't rippling outward, endlessly causing everyone else's core to shake. She's being held by your firm parameters, your unyielding presence, and your trust in her to get through this.

I hope this helps, and thanks for the question!

Behavior Is A Question

I recently observed this teacher-child interaction in my preschool classroom.

A teacher instructed a child to clean up the toys he had been using, to which he responded by rolling around, watching her and laughing.  As he stuck his hand in a basket of toys and stirred it around loudly in a gesture of intentional non-cooperation, he was visibly entertained by the scene unfolding. I could see that he was as curious as I was about how this would go down. The power game was afoot.

It took every ounce of impulse control not to step in and "help" by enforcing her instructions so she could get due respect as a teacher. What I know from my years in early childhood education is that the best thing we can do is observe.

So, I waited and watched. I knew that this behavior was an offering of information about how this child perceives his relationship with that teacher.

A child's behavior is never "bad". Sometimes, a child's behavior is his only way of communicating to us. If the behavior is problematic for us, it is likely a reflection of a broader problem within the relationship.

Why is he not taking her seriously? He's wondering if she means what she says. He's unsure if he can trust her. He's insecure about the entire situation. And therefore, he continues to push the limits and continues his unresponsiveness just to see if things are the way they seem.

Simply put, his limit-testing behavior is a question. Or several questions.

• Do you mean what you say?
• Can I trust you?
• Can I lean on you?
• Where does my power end and yours begin?
• Is my world safe and secure, or am I untethered and out of control?
• Will you still love me if I don't do what you say?

As I watched this interaction unfold, I knew that this moment could lead the relationship down one of many trajectories.  This could be a defining moment, built on many defining moments before it.  How would the outcome of this situation inform this child of where he stands in the relationship with this teacher, and in the world? What a massive concept for a child to discover through testing. But if not through the safe haven of preschool (or home), then where will he learn these powerful life lessons?

The follow tools will make interactions like this easier:

Offer choices

Children are motivated by independence. Offering choices gives an appropriate amount of power back to the child. "Would you like to put the red ones or the blue ones away first?"  This may or may not work, because ultimately the preference was to not clean up.  One of the choices in the above scenario might be to honor that preference, and you can point out the cause and effect of each available choice. "You can choose to clean up now or in five minutes. If you choose to clean up in five minutes, I'd like you to sit next to this basket of toys until you choose to clean it up." If the child refuses to make a choice, you can let him know that you'll choose for him. "You can clean it up now, or I can clean it up for you. If you choose for me to clean it up, you will not be able to use it again until tomorrow".

Take yourself out of the equation

Once the choices are presented, you are no longer part of the power dynamic.  Had the child known and understood the expectation and the consequences of his choices, he could move forward independently. It is no longer a child vs. adult battle of wills.  Nor would the teacher need to make it her agenda to make him clean up.  We are simply acting as facilitators of the outcome.  We narrate his choices, avoiding language like "I need you to" or "I would like it if".  In this way, we take ourselves out of the equation.

Stay ahead of the behavior

This happened right under our noses but if we had seen it happening we could have put some parameters on how many toys he was allowed to take out in the first place! Or we could have offered a little heads up, such as "I notice you're taking out a lot of toys. Remember, it will take a long time to clean those up!" Personally, I prefer not to interrupt play with my adult cautionary narrative. I like to see the children's process of exploration and creativity unfold organically, and if it means I have to clean up toys myself, I'm okay with that.  However, since she had given him the instruction to clean up, the follow through became necessary.

Be firm, but not unkind

Firmness communicates clearly. Wishy washy doesn't give clear expectations and boundaries. Children need to know what is expected.  The teacher used a quiet voice thinking that this was kind and gentle.  Instead, she should have been firm and clear and use an unquestionably audible volume. This is not to overpower the child, but to be sure everyone is on the same page.

Use clear, simple language

The teacher used a lot of words and repeated herself several times, sending a subtle message that she did not expect the child to follow the directions. Our verbal and nonverbal communication conveys our belief in the child's ability to succeed or fail.  By hovering over him and repeating her instructions, she displayed her lack of trust that he would do what she asked. She was prepared to physically enforce her instructions by helping him, and he knew it.

Take a neutral stance

To reiterate, the adult is simply a narrator in the situation. She is not there to pass judgment on the child or his behavior. Her judgment should feel irrelevant.  She simply points out his choices and their resulting consequences, and offers him the dignity to make a choice for himself. The more she judges, the more invested she becomes, and she is then in the power struggle once more.

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Ultimately, the goal is for the adult and child to be in sync, in the harmonious dance of child and caregiver.  Clear boundaries are important to establish consistency and trust. In this example, the actual cleaning up of toys is secondary. Effectively setting limits lets the child know that he is safe and contained within the adult's power so that he may then explore freely within the set parameters. But he will continue to test the limits until they are clear and consistent to him.

Remember that children are doing the best they can with their limited social, emotional, and cognitive resources. Try to understand the question hidden in the problematic behavior.  Closely examine the ways your responses might offer information about the relationship that contribute to the problem rather than the solution.  Continue to build the health of the relationship with each interaction. As the child grows to understand that the adult is a trustworthy, reliable, and powerful pillar, he will want to engage less in testing and more in enjoying life and play.

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For more, visit stephanieantoni.com and subscribe!