Clean Up Time Without Bossing the Kids Around

In a comment on yesterday's post about my course The Technology of Speaking With Children So They Can Think, a reader asked for more specific examples of how we can step back from the language of command. I would assert that in most preschool classrooms, the time we tend to boss the kids around the most is when it comes time to tidying up so I thought I'd start there.

When my wife Jennifer and I bought our first house, I spent the first weeks wandering from room-to-room, into the yard, and out to the garage thinking, This is our room. This is our yard. This is our garage. I even once lay on my back in the lawn and told myself, "This is our piece of the sky." I was telling myself those things, because it didn't yet seem real. It wasn't until after I'd mowed that lawn a few times that I began to believe it. It wasn't until I changed the furnace filter, pruned the forsythia, and repaired a cabinet hinge that it was really felt like ours. It was only then that I could get down to the business of living in that house, and caring for it, instead of just wandering its rooms like a guest.

The children often call our school, "Teacher Tom's school." I remind them, "It's not my school, it's your school," but it's more a statement of aspiration than reality until they've started taking care of it themselves, and the place most of the children start is clean-up time.

As a cooperative preschool with all those extra adults in the room, it would be easy to just leave it to them and it would get done, and done well, in about 5 minutes. Instead, however, I instruct the parents to leave as much to the children as they possibly can, even if it takes a half hour and even if the results leave a lot to be desired. Rather than being an annoying, yet necessary part of our day to hurry through, this act of coming together to care for our school is the single most important community building activity on our daily schedule.

Here's how it works in my 3-5's class . . .

The song

I announce clean-up time by beating my drum and singing, to the tune of the Snow White And The Seven Dwarfs song Heigh Ho:

Hey hey

Hey hey

Put everything away

Into the place

In which it stays

Hey hey

Hey hey hey hey hey hey

It typically takes a few weeks, but before long, most of the kids, most of the time, go into action with the first beat of the drum. The rest might need a couple minutes to finish what they're doing, and that's understandable.

Speaking informatively

I expect the adults to avoid bossing the children around with directional statements like, "Pick up the blocks," or "Put the dolls in the crib," but instead strive to make simple informational statements like, "There's a block on the floor," or "The dolls go in the crib." This might sound like a distinction without a difference, but it's important. Humans instinctively resist being told what to do, even preschoolers, and this is especially true when it comes to an activity like clean up. When we command children, we give them two options: obey or disobey. But when we provide information, we open up a space in which they can think for themselves. It's clean up time. I could help clean up. There's a block on the floor. I could put it on the shelf. 

I'd rather focus our energies on coming together to take care of the school than in power struggles between adults and 3-year-olds. Informational statements are the only way I know how to do that. When we respond to a child's complaint of, "I don't wanna clean up," with an informational statement like, "It's clean-up time," we are avoiding a time sucking battle of the wills by not giving them anything to fight against.

I cruise the room, making informational statements like, "We need lots of help in the drama area," "The stuffed animals go in the basket," and "There are counting bears under the table." The trick is to be patient. The kids aren't always going to respond right away. You need to give them a chance to process your statements and make decisions for themselves, because that's the kind of space informational statements leave for the children -- a decision-making space. This isn't about obedience, it's about allowing children to make their own choices, then verbally noticing when they take action to care for their own school: "Max is helping clean-up the drama area," "Alex is putting the stuffed animals in the basket," "Sophia is picking up the counting bears from under the table."

I'm not praising them. I'm not saying, "Thank you." It's their school, of course they're taking care of it. I'm merely making a point of noticing the children who are participating in clean-up time, just as I would notice the children who were participating in circle time by raising their hands.

When children continue to play during clean-up, I give them informational statements like, "This is not playing time, it's clean-up time," or "That's closed. We're cleaning up now." I then follow it up with a directly applicable informational statement like, "The playdough goes in the playdough container."

When a child wants to talk to me during clean-up time, I ask, "Is it about clean-up?" If they say, "No," I answer, "You'll have to save it until circle time because it's clean-up time now. I only want to talk about clean-up." My own desires and opinions are informational statements and during clean-up time I'm a single purpose clean-up machine.

When a child simply retires to a corner with a book, or sits quietly, I let it go. That child will eventually join us, if not today, then in the future.

And finally, when all else fails, in those rare instances when a child steadfastly continues to play in a way the disrupts or impedes the group activity of clean-up, they are given the choice to either join clean-up or "stay out of the way." A few children make this choice, but most give it up after a few seconds, opting instead for the action taking place in the room.

"Big projects": planning ahead

Two years ago, a parent remodeled her kids' bed room and donated a nice set of shelves and cabinets that gave us a lot more "in classroom" storage space, so much so that we even had room to store our large wooden blocks near our block play area rather than out in the hallway. As we were setting up to start the school year I instructed a couple parents to move the blocks. Malcomb's mom Carol said, "Aw, really? It won't be the same place without the kids taking the blocks to you in the hallway."

She was right and I relented on the spot. Taking the big blocks into the hallway is a "big project" and it generally involves well over half of the kids. As I wait to receive the blocks, I sing my observational statements to the children, usually forcing it into the tune of our clean-up song:

I see

Sarah

Bringing a medium block

And here comes Marcus

With a big one.

Hey hey

Hey hey hey hey hey hey

Hey hey

And Peter is pushing his

Across the floor

While Alex

And Orlando

Are working together

Hey hey

Hey hey hey hey . . .

They have to carry those heavy blocks, some larger than they are, from the classroom, up two steps, and around a corner to were I'm waiting. The doorway causes a bottleneck where they are forced to negotiate that small two-way space while managing heavy, bulky blocks, and the stairs are a real hazard for some of them. It takes a real team effort to make this work and it's wonderful to see all the different ways they do it. Some try to carry 3 blocks at once, while other single blocks are ushered into the hallway by 5 sets of hands. Some push blocks across the floor, while others carry them on their heads. And all the while I'm singing to them, informationally, "Hey, hey, hey hey . . ."

It's useful to plan at least one "big project" clean-up activity every day. Removing wet things from the water table to drip dry on towels can be one of those projects. Moving large objects like our boxes from one place to another will do. Turning over a table that's been tipped on its side can be made into a group effort ("I need lots of strong people to turn this table over!"). So can bringing chairs back into the room from the hallway ("We need 6 chairs at the green table and 4 at the blue table.")

The "big project" is one of the best ways to get everyone involved and there is no better way to build community than engaging in a big project together, shoulder-to-shoulder.

The story of us

When the school year starts, participation on some days might only be around 50 percent, but I have faith that if we (meaning the adults) remain consistent in our commitment to speaking informatively and not worrying about incidental things like how long it's taking or how well it's done, most of the children, most of the time will get involved.

I approach clean-up time with the steadfast expectation that every child will pitch in and that every parent will join me in speaking informatively about what needs to be done. Realistically, an adult needs to step in and handle anything that require sanitizing or to put the finishing touches on the sweeping, but most of the time, the kids do most of the work.

That said, like with any preschool activity, there are always a few kids who opt out, but by mid-year it's rarely more than 1-2 kids each day, and they quickly see that they're missing out. It's hard to resist carrying a block or two out into the hallway where Teacher Tom is singing a silly song, or joining your friends in the effort to right-side-up a heavy table.

I spend most of my time on most day simply narrating what I see happening, naming names. "I see Marissa hanging up costumes." "Jody and Marcus are working together on the Legos." As I do, I feel as if I'm telling the story of us. And most children, most of the time, when left to make their own decisions, opt to be part of that story.

It's not my school, after all, it's the kid's school. And the only way to make that true is to take care of it together. 

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This post is an example of The Technology of Speaking With Children at work. In this course we will explore how the way we speak with children creates an environment in which cooperation and peacefulness are the norm, where children take the initiative, solve their own problems, and, most importantly, think for themselves. Registration for the 2024 cohort begins next week. Click here for more information and to get on the waitlist.

I put a lot of time and effort into this blog. If you'd like to support me please consider a small contribution to the cause. Thank you!

Treating Children Like People Rather than Their Challenging Behavior

Over the last two decades, I’ve worked to understand challenging behavior in children. And more often than not, I find that the problem is me, not them.

 

When I look back on my day and feel it was largely spent dealing with uncooperative children, I’ve learned to look at myself.

 

When I feel that I’m “losing control,” I’ve learned to look at myself.

 

And when I resort to threats, scolding, or other authoritarian tactics, I’ve learned that the problem is definitely me.

We’ve all been there. I know this because my inbox is full of messages from educators and parents desperate for help.

 

It used to frustrate me, for instance, when children refused to participate in group activities like clean-up or circle time. I now know that they weren’t reacting to the activity as much as to the way I was speaking to them about it. Psychologists, philosophers, and neuroscientists agree: the language we use creates reality. And so often, the way we speak with children leaves them with little choice but to ignore us, resist, or otherwise behave in ways that we label as challenging.

Eventually, through much trial and error, I discovered how so many of us inadvertently create environments in which the children in our lives are actively discouraged from thinking for themselves. No wonder they rebel! Over the years, I’ve developed a comprehensive approach to communicating with young children in a way that frees them up to rely upon their own better angels instead of the constant direction of adults. The result is a 6-week course I call The Technology of Speaking With Children So They Can Think. It delivers a whole new paradigm, built upon thoughtfully changing how we actually speak with children . . . and with everyone else, for that matter. 

It’s a way of creating a new reality through language in which so-called “challenging behaviors” in children are greatly reduced and in many cases eliminated; where children are enabled to make their own decisions; and where adults are freed from the need to behave like authoritarian task-masters.

It’s an approach that frees children to think for themselves, while enabling educators and parents to create a world in which children listen and cooperate, not because they said so, but because they've chosen to do so.

The best part of all of this is that when you adopt this "technology," you will find yourself being the kind of teacher or parent you always imagined yourself being -- one who is the calm, confident, authoritative (not authoritarian) presence young children need in their lives.

I'll be sharing more details about the course in the coming days, so stay tuned. If this sounds like something you want to know more about, click here to get on the waitlist for the 2024 cohort.

In the meantime, in the coming days, when confronted with challenging behavior, pause for a moment to ask yourself, "Is it me?" And if it is, ask yourself how you would want to be spoken to if the shoe were on the other foot. Because at the end of the day, the "technology" I'm talking about is the one of treating children, even very young children, like people rather than their challenging behavior.

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The language we use creates reality. In this course we will explore how the way we speak with children creates an environment in which cooperation and peacefulness are the norm, where children take the initiative, solve their own problems, and, most importantly, think for themselves. Click here to get on the waitlist for the 2024 cohort.

I put a lot of time and effort into this blog. If you'd like to support me please consider a small contribution to the cause. Thank you!

They Taught Themselves

Some time ago, we took the children on a field trip to the local post office. We were a group of some 20 children and eight adults. The woman giving us our tour introduced herself as Ms. Lui, before insisting that the children get in a line. It was an inauspicious start. The kids had no idea what to do. Even we adults were at a loss. Queueing up isn't part of what we do at Woodland Park.

I could see Ms. Lui was irritated with us. She tried to remain cheerful, but it was through gritted teeth. When I explained that we didn't know how to line up, I reckon she thought me the worst teacher in the world.

As a play-based educator, I strive, against a lifetime of training to the contrary, to resist the temptation to exert power over the children which is what we do when we insist on things like marching in lines or sitting in straight rows. It's what we do when we insist on zippered lips, dress codes, or asking permission to use the toilet. School is notoriously a place of rules and regulations, of teachers in the role of drill sergeant, or, if I'm being honest, prison guard.

I am responsible for the children's safety and general well-being, of course, and in that capacity there may be times when I cannot allow a child to do certain things, like jumping off the roof of a three story building, but by default, any power that comes my way by virtue of my titles of "teacher" or "adult" is to be returned to the children in the form of empowerment.

I can make an argument for this position from moral grounds, but my genuine motivation is simply to be a good teacher. I'm familiar with the research on the effects of people possessing more power than others and I've concluded that when I exert power over children, especially the capricious and arbitrary kind of power exerted in most classroom, I'm doing direct harm to the children's educational prospects.

As Rutger Bregman writes in his book Humankind: "One of the effects of power, myriad studies show, is that it makes you see others in a negative light. If you're powerful you're more likely to think most people are lazy and unreliable. That they need to be supervised and monitored, managed and regulated, censored and told what to do. And because power makes you feel superior to other people, you'll believe all this monitoring should be entrusted to you . . . Tragically, not having power has exactly the opposite effect. Psychological research shows the people who feel powerless also feel far less confident. They're hesitant to voice an opinion. In groups, they make themselves seem smaller, and they under-estimate their own intelligence."

That adults should exert power over children is so ingrained in us that many cannot imagine it any other way, but by doing so we make the children smaller, we make them feel ignorant, and we undermine their confidence. 

We've all experienced educators who are convinced that the children are lazy, that they can't be trusted, that they must be constantly monitored and managed. It's a kind of self-fulfilling prophecy. 

I asked Ms. Lui if we could just promise to stick together as a group. She didn't think that would work at all. She wanted us, on the spot, while on a field trip to a place of great excitement, to instruct them on how lines worked. Fortunately, there was a painted line on the floor so we asked the kids to stand on the line. Most of them tried it out for a moment or two, but as empowered children they were far more attuned to their curiosity than standing on a line. Some wandered off. Some pointed and asked questions. Others negotiated with their friends over their exact position on the line. After several minutes of this cat herding project, I turned to Ms. Lui and said, "This is the best we can do. Do you really need us to march in a line?"

It was a simple question, but it stumped her. After muttering something about "keeping order" she shrugged, adding, "Can you at least tell them not to touch anything?"

That I could do, although even then, I returned the power to these empowered children: "There's a lot of stuff around here that could hurt you. Ms. Lui wants you to ask her before touching anything." I did not command them, but rather gave them information.

She shook her head as she led the way. At every point-of-interest, from the sorting machines to the post office boxes, the children asked, "Can I touch this?" or "What would happen if I touched that?" At first her tone was slightly scolding, but gradually she began to relax, even seeming to take pleasure in the children's obvious curiosity, their confidence, and their willingness to voice their ideas and opinions.

In preparation for this visit, we had written letters addressed to ourselves. Ms. Lui showed us the outgoing mail slot and the children, unprompted, lined up, one-behind-another, to deposit their letters. She was by now in fine spirits. I joked, "See? We can line up."

She lowered her eyebrows at me, "I thought you said they didn't know how to line up."

I replied, "I didn't think they did. Maybe they just didn't need to know it until now."

This time when she shook her head it was with a sense of wonder, "I guess they taught themselves."

******

The language we use creates reality. In this course we will explore how the way we speak with children creates an environment in which cooperation and peacefulness are the norm, where children take the initiative, solve their own problems, and, most importantly, think for themselves. Click here to get on the waitlist for the 2024 cohort.

I put a lot of time and effort into this blog. If you'd like to support me please consider a small contribution to the cause. Thank you!

She Would Have Just As Soon Continued Wondering

Dale Chihuly

One of my favorite science writers is Carlo Rovelli, the Italian theoretical physicist and author of a dozen or so books, most of which are concisely written with the lay reader in mind. What makes him compelling is that he writes about those places where the scientist must be a philosopher and vice versa. In our modern world, we've come to fetishize science as the arbiter of truth, but what Rovelli does is revel in the reality that much of science is the act of wondering about the unknown.

As musician Tom Waits puts it, "Everything is explained now. We live in an age when you say casually to somebody, 'What's the story on that?' and they can run to the computer and tell you within five seconds. That's fine, but sometimes I'd just as soon continue wondering. We have a deficit of wonder right now."

Nothing grinds my teeth harder these days than sentences that begin, "Science tells us . . ." I write this fully aware that I've penned dozens of such sentences right here on the blog. But increasingly I find that when someone, including myself, does this, when someone asserts something like, "Neuroscientist's tell us . . ." they are attempting, at least at some level, to replace wonder with certainty. The more I read Rovelli and others (e.g., Robin Wall Kimmerer, David Hoffman, Patrick House) who work on the cutting edge of science, however, the more I come to appreciate that actual scientists tend to begin their sentences with "Our theory leads us to think . . ." or "Anthropologists suspect . . . " or, best of all, "I've come to believe . . ." They leave the wonder in there.

This may not be satisfying to those pity-worthy people who crave certainty. Those who cling, for instance, to the snake oil that is being called "The Science of Reading," often smugly boast that "the science is settled." If it's settled, it's not science, it's dogma. And while dogma may give us the illusion of certainty, it always winds up standing in the way of truth.

Schooling teaches us that the point of questions is answers. Life itself teaches us that the point of questions is wonder.

We had an old-fashioned hamster wheel at our school. Every day, often all day, a child would stop to show their wonder about this strange, out-of-place contraption. It was used by some to explore centripetal force, others included it in their dramatic play, some turned it over and drove it like some sort of one-wheeled vehicle. There was always some new way to include it in their play. One day, as a girl was using the circular part of the wheel as fencing for her herd of little ponies, a well-meaning adult informed her that she was playing with a hamster wheel. The girl asked, "Do we have any hamsters?" When she learned we didn't, she took her ponies elsewhere. Unsolicited answers have a way of shutting down wonder. Like Tom Waits, she would have just as soon continued wondering.

Yesterday, I came across a recently published scientific paper entitled "On the roles of function and selection in evolving systems," written by a 9-person team comprised of astrophysicists, geologists, and philosophers. In it, they propose a "missing law of nature." Of course, a journalist writing about the paper immediately attempted to frame their "discovery" with certainty, saying they "claim they have identified a missing law of nature," when, in fact, they do nothing of the sort. They wonder about it.

From the abstract:

The universe is replete with complex evolving systems, but the existing macroscopic physical laws do not seem to adequately describe these systems.

". . . do not seem . . ." That is an assertion of wonder.

Recognizing that the identification of conceptual equivalencies among disparate phenomena were foundational to developing previous laws of nature, we approach a potential "missing law" by looking for equivalencies among evolving systems. We suggest that all evolving systems -- including but not limited to life -- are compose of diverse components that can combine into configurational states that are then selected for or against based on function.

" . . . a potential "missing law" . . ." "We suggest . . ." " . . . that can combine . . ." Wonder.

When we identify the fundamental sources of selection -- static persistence, dynamic persistence, and novelty generation -- and propose a time-asymmetric law that states that the functional information of a system will increase over time when subjected to selection for function(s).

They do not, as the journalist claims, say they have "discovered" anything, but rather wondered their way into a proposed "law." In other words, they have given the rest of us a hamster wheel to wonder about.

They call this "The Law of Increasing Functional Information."

Building on Charles Darwin's famous theory of natural selection, which suggests that function exists to ensure the survival of the fittest when it comes to living things, these researchers, astoundingly, assert that it may also be applicable to non-living systems. Holy cow! What an exciting idea!

They point out that the universe is made of complex systems, from entire planets to atoms, that perpetuate themselves in ways that look strikingly like Darwin's theory. You can read the paper for yourself, but the part that jumps out at me is their suggestion that one of the ways that the natural selection of systems takes place is through "novelty generation." Dynamic systems of all kinds "explore new configurations which can lead to surprising new behaviors and characteristics." 

Isn't that exactly what children do when they are free to play: Explore new configurations which can lead to surprising new behaviors and characteristics? We know that many, if not most, animals play. Indeed, we are increasingly coming to believe that play is a key driver of evolution in animals. There are even those who have suggested that plants play. And now here we are considering the amazing idea that all of nature's systems -- living and non-living -- play. Not only that, this behavior that, at a minimum, shares a great deal with what we call play, behavior that is on its face non-functional, may be a key part of a foundational "law" describing how the entire universe functions.

That's something cool to wonder about.

******

The language we use creates reality. In this course we will explore how the way we speak with children creates an environment in which cooperation and peacefulness are the norm, where children take the initiative, solve their own problems, and, most importantly, think for themselves. Click here to get on the waitlist for the 2024 cohort.

I put a lot of time and effort into this blog. If you'd like to support me please consider a small contribution to the cause. Thank you!

The Magic Circle of Play

"You have to go around that tree."

The boy was telling a friend how to run the obstacle course he and the other kids had created. After running around the tree, there were some stairs to climb, a clamber through the sand pit row boat, a scamper up and a slide down the concrete slide, a stop in the garden to pick a ripe berry ("or something else to eat"), a jump off of something, a balance across something else, and so on until you arrived back at the starting point. 

It was even more elaborate than my explanation and the boy being instructed listened with an intensity, asking for clarifications, obviously wanting to get it right. Then he was off as the others cheered him on. "You forgot to ring the bell!" "It's okay, I couldn't find any berries either!" "Hurry!"

He was flushed and panting by the time he'd completed the circuit. Now it was time for someone else: "Go!"

As the next child rounded the tree, the others cheered. The boy who had just joined the game, likewise joined in the cheering, naturally, because that too was part of the game, an unspoken, but nevertheless vital rule of this game of obstacle course running.

This was a game that emerged entirely from the children themselves. It was not urged upon them by an adult, although the physical space of our playground may have suggested it to them. Indeed, it was clearly a game that emerged from these children's interaction with our junkyard-like outdoor space. They had been coming here for some time. Ethologists tend to distinguish between "exploration" and "play," although I've always considered the two behaviors part-and-parcel because one so often leads to the other. Exploration is the evolutionarily functional process of answering the question of "What is this?" while play asks the open-ended question, "What can I/we do with this?" On this day, the thing they found to do, their play, was this game of taking turns running a course.

In his 1938 book Homo Ludens, Dutch historian and cultural theorist Johan Huizinga theorized that play is the primary and necessary condition for the creation of culture. He argued that while play is a self-selected activity, one that is entered into via an exercise of free-will, the space in which it takes place (in this case, our playground) becomes circumscribed by a "magic circle." Inside this circle, there are rules that exist by agreement of the players as long as the game continues. Those who violate those rules and refuse to mend their ways, are either expelled from the game or, if they persist, the game comes to an end. Everything that is outside this magic circle becomes irrelevant for the time.

There were no rule breakers in this game on this day, but had there been, had there been a conflict over the rules of this game, for instance, I might have felt compelled to step inside the circle which would have, in an instant, destroyed the magic. If the conflict turned violent, I would have had no choice but to intervene, but short of that, I try to allow conflict to play itself out. Often, beautifully, it results in some sort of compromise. Sometimes it leads to the formation of a second magic circle in which the rules are completely different. And sometimes it leads to, as Huizinga suggests, the exclusion of someone from the game.

This is the hard one for early childhood educators because, in the backs of our minds is the idea that no one be excluded. "You can't say you can't play." But what of the player who, say, refuses to start by going around the tree? What of the player who decides to spontaneously add tackling to the game? Certainly, they can suggest these changes, discuss them, negotiate, but if the rest of the kids are against it, it would be grossly unfair of me, the adult, to insist that the newcomer and their unilateral changes be included within the magic circle. In fact, to do so would, again, destroy the magic. I can suggest to the child who has been excluded that they create their own game, to attempt to circumscribe a new magic circle with it's own rules, but if the goal is to be part of the culture that has sprung up around the obstacle course game, then the only choice is to abide by those rules.

I like this idea that play is the source of culture, but it does require adults who see and understand the magic circle, who are able to treasure it from the outside, because like a soap bubble, the act of crossing the barrier usually makes it disappear. We can't, of course, always stay on the outside. And sometimes, on the best days, we're invited in.

"Teacher Tom, do you want to try it?"

As I ran around the tree, I heard the children cheering, but I knew it wasn't for me. It was for all of us. That's the magic conjured inside these circles -- the magic of us.

******

The language we use creates reality. In this course we will explore how the way we speak with children creates an environment in which cooperation and peacefulness are the norm, where children take the initiative, solve their own problems, and, most importantly, think for themselves. Click here to get on the waitlist for the 2024 cohort.

I put a lot of time and effort into this blog. If you'd like to support me please consider a small contribution to the cause. Thank you!

The Best World We've Ever Made

I was working a floor puzzle with one of the kids. It's a popular puzzle, one with fairies, unicorns, and a castle, but everyone else was busy elsewhere so we were one-on-one. Soon, however, we were joined by another girl, and together, the three of us fit the final piece into place. Then we began admiring our handiwork, as one does.

"I'm that one," said one of the girls, pointing at a fairy.

"Okay," answered the other, "Then I'll be that one."

When I didn't say anything, I was invited, "Which one are you, Teacher Tom?" I picked one to be "me."

"And this is my pet," the first girl said, pointing to one of the unicorns. Her friend picked out one of the butterflies to be her pet, while I opted for a ladybug.

"Where do we sleep?"

"In the castle, silly."

"Oh, right," then bending over the puzzle, she pointed to one of the windows on the distant castle, "That's my bedroom." So we each selected our bedrooms.

"You're room is right next to mine, Teacher Tom!"

"And mine is right above yours!"

"We can have a castle sleepover!"

"I'm just going to dive right into our land." She pretended to plunge into the picture.

"Me too!"

Then in mock panic, "But how do we get back out? How will we get back to our real homes?"

"We just say the magic word . . . Flower!"

"Flower!"

"Flower!"

"We're back home again."

As we played at diving into our magic world, another girl approached, using the language of a master player, "I want to play too."

"Sure, we're just diving into our kingdom"

"But first you have to pick a fairy." The newcomer picked her fairy.

"Then you have to pick a pet." She picked a unicorn.

"Then you have to pick your bedroom." When she did, the others gushed, "You're right beside me for the castle sleepover! We're going to have movie night!"

"Let's dive in!" and we all dove in.

We wove a story together about our magic world, forgetting that we were all fairies, switching our identities to princesses and queens. I was assigned, "The old grandpa king." I was told, "You have to be jolly."

As we played, I mentioned that we had another castle puzzle and so we decided to work on that one together as well. As the puzzle came together, we agreed that, when completed, we would combine it with the first puzzle to make our magical kingdom even bigger. Once the two puzzles were side-by-side, however, we had a problem.

"But, how to we know if it's night or day? This puzzle has a sunshine and this other one is nighttime." After a moment of study, we decided that the nighttime puzzle was where we slept and the daytime puzzle was where we played.

There was one more puzzle on the floor. This one was Halloween themed. "Let's make that one too. Then we'll have day and night and Halloween!" By the time we had pushed the third puzzle over to become part of our story, we had been at it for the better part of an hour.

As we stood admiring our work, we drew a crowd with a half dozen other kids gathered around. We explained our kingdom to them, who we were, what pets we owned, and where we slept. We invited them in by showing them how to dive in and return back home. We explained about day and night and Halloween, the three seasons in our magic place.

We watched our classmates playing in this place we had created together. Then one of the girls said, "This is the best world we've ever made!" and her friends agreed.

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Hi, I'm Teacher Tom and this is my podcast! If you're an early childhood educator, parent of preschoolers, or otherwise have young children in your life, I think you'll find my conversations with early childhood experts and thought-leaders useful, inspiring, and eye-opening. You might even come away transformed by the ideas and perspectives we share. Please give us a listen. You can find Teacher Tom's Podcast on the Mirasee FM Podcast Network or anywhere you download your podcasts.

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