I can scarcely believe that today marks the beginning of our last two weeks of school. Honestly, I think I’m in denial. I can’t stand to think of the year coming to an end, and yet I can hardly wait to shift gears. I imagine the children are feeling their own version of these opposing forces.
Tomorrow, we have our last two Great Brain presentations, and then the Great Brain Fair in the afternoon. We are now at the final stages, the culmination of weeks and months of student work. The Great Brain Project is incredibly individualized, from the topic each child chooses to the method of presenting to the class. And what has really impressed me this year is the ability of the community to adapt to each individual’s presentation.
We have had sixth graders sharing what they’ve learned about pi, or book publishing, or the history of mathematics. But we’ve also had our younger students presenting on dog breeds, or pets, or rocks. The range and depth of the material has varied significantly, as has the comfort level of the presenters.
A couple of weeks ago a younger student, who during her first month with us barely spoke, stood up in front of the class and was able to speak a bit about her topic. During the presentation, I worried about how the class would react. Would they ask probing, difficult questions that would be beyond this person’s ability to answer? Would she be able to handle the Q&A portion of the presentation? I shouldn’t have worried. When she asked for questions, her classmates inquired about aspects of her topic that made her feel at ease. They didn’t demand more information or try to point out discrepancies. Rather, they kindly steered the questions to more personal interests and connections.
Today we had a similar situation. Another student (my daughter, actually), has been terrified of presenting in front of the class. This afternoon she set up her materials, was all set to begin, and then hid behind her display board. Hiding there, she began to cry. As the class waited patiently, another teacher went to help her. Another student stood up to offer assistance, too. After 10 minutes, she finally mustered up the courage to stand in front of the class with a friend and shakily work her way through a presentation. During the Q&A, not only did the class ask about her topic, but they also offered words of encouragement and support. They showed they cared about her as a person.
When people visit our school or inquire about Montessori, how can we begin to capture the importance of this kind of learning? My hope is that our students carry this kind of compassion and thoughtfulness out into the world. They are sensitive souls, these children. They understand their impact. They think about others. They care.
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We’ve been busy. This time of year is busy anyway, what with Great Brain Projects coming to fruition, kindergarteners visiting the elementary for their move-up days, field trips galore, practice for the drama production, and just the general “oh my gosh I really want to learn/teach this before the end of the year.”
On top of it all, we’ve had an influx of interest in the school. It was to be expected as we moved into our new, lovely campus. I personally love talking to observers. I’m always intrigued by their questions and what they noticed.
Today, I rather unexpectedly spent most of the morning talking with a variety of different observers. After spending time with two people interested in the toddler program, I tried to squeeze in two Jr. Great Books discussion groups before talking with high school students visiting as part of their child studies course. I should have known better. The second group felt rushed. I felt disconnected.
I talked with the high school students and their teachers through lunch jobs, brought them through the classrooms, asked some elementary students to explain their projects. I couldn’t help myself. I could see the dawning realization among this visiting group. I could see them start to understand how important it is for children to have the freedom to dive into building a model of a chemistry compound for a day and half, how vital it is that children learn about their interests and learning styles, how groundbreaking it is for children to take responsibility for how they spend their time in pursuit of knowledge.
But the downside of all this sharing and showcasing was that I really didn’t spend much time in the classroom this morning. And with all the busy-ness we have these days, there was some fraying around the edges. As one co-teacher, Julie, so aptly put it, our tuning fork children were starting to hum. They were letting us know that all was not right.
When I realized, thanks to the wonderful insights of my co-teachers, that the class was feeling off-kilter, I felt an incredible mix of emotions: guilt, responsibility, exhaustion, uncertainty. My daughter approached me a few seconds later and upon looking at her, I felt my emotions start to come to the surface. She was bubbling with information about something she had done, but as soon as she looked at me, she stopped. “What’s wrong?” she asked. I really couldn’t say. She gave me a hug. Another girl passed by and did the same.
I sat there for a while, just feeling the impact of having two people show me their love and support when my edges felt frayed. And then it hit me. The whole class and each individual needed that kind of love and support.
As we shifted into post-lunch read-aloud, I paused, knowing that as classroom community we needed to name what was happening to all of us, to the community, as we each handled the levels of busy-ness in different ways. I started by just acknowledging how much we have going on. I pointed out the observers, the field trips, the Great Brain work. I shared how much it helps me when someone notices I’m having a hard time and lends me a hand. I reminded everyone about how important it is for all of us to do that for each other, in different ways. I noted how much we expect from each person in the class and how very, very capable they are. And I tried to explain how the only way we can gracefully handle all we have to do as a community is to support each other.
I told the class how much I love each one of them. And then I started to cry. One girl came up and gave me a hug. Another child came over from the other side. And before I knew it, I was surrounded by arms. Encircled. A classroom full of love and support. All together. That spontaneous, group hug ranks among one of the sweetest, most profound moments of my life.
I know, too, that our community is starting to realize that the end of our time together is near. Next year our classroom will be different. A few of our classmates will move on. Our oldest students will be with Julie in the adolescent program. Change is in the air. Our connections are so strong, and yet so fragile. Oh to savor our time now, through all the busy days, to savor our time together.
This morning after our Community Meeting I found myself feeling more and more grumpy. No good reason, really. I just wasn’t feeling particularly bright-eyed. So I decided to remove myself from the room for bit, make some coffee, and try re-entering the environment with a fresh perspective.
After coming back, I really took note of what was happening. One girl was still working on long division. She had asked to be introduced to the long division materials immediately after Community Meeting and spent the next two hours working non-stop as she challenged herself with increasingly complex problems. A girl next to her was working on building molecules and had also been engaged for most of the morning. On the other side of the room, an older boy was tackling sentence analysis. Two younger boys had been trying to learn the land and water forms and once they realized they were still a bit fuzzy with the advanced land and water forms, they spent the next 45 minutes working through a land and water command map lesson until they felt confident with the material. Two girls were taking out the timeline of life. Someone else was fixing her work with squaring and cubing numbers on the bead chain, with a little help from a classmate who was nearby and about to focus on his penmanship as he wrote a letter to a teacher.
I sipped my coffee as I surveyed the scene. An older girl came up and gave me a hug. All my grumpiness faded away.
Sometimes it just takes getting out of these wonderful children’s way.
This week of April break has been entirely exhausting. I feel like I should share about how uplifting and inspiring it has been to spend everyday moving boxes, unpacking, moving more boxes, figuring out flow, arranging shelves, running errands to get last minute items, seeing the classrooms come together and take shape. But quite frankly, I’m just plain worn out.
On the advice of one of my wonderful co-teachers, I was just headed up to run a hot bath. As I made myself a cup of tea, however, I had to pause with a feeling of overwhelming gratitude.
After spending the afternoon at the new school tending to the assorted last minute details and heading to the store to get assorted last minute items, I came back to find our architect’s car parked outside. I expected that perhaps Dana Bixby, our incredible architect, was going over assorted last minute details with Todd (husband/Head of School). When I rounded the corner of the hall, however, I found Dana mopping the floors. After finishing the floors, she went outside to sweep the patios.
Her presence did much to buoy me. And her willingness to pitch in to make sure the building was ready for our children and families means so much.
All week, in fact, we have had so many people step up and lend a hand. Our teachers came in over their vacation time to set up the classrooms. Parents volunteered to assist in the moving and unpacking process. Elementary students tackled all sorts of projects, from setting up lessons and unpacking books to wiping down cubbies and watering trees.
Really, this has been a community effort. And despite my sheer exhaustion, I cannot help but feel supported by a web of wonderful people. Thank you.
Today the elementary class gathered together first thing in the morning. We went over some basic guidelines for packing boxes and assigned students shelves, and then the students dispersed throughout the room to begin the huge task of packing a roomful of materials.
I realized last night that I was feeling rather anxious about the day. This realization came to me as I was obsessing over some relatively trivial matter regarding handwriting instruction. Why in the world was I worrying over how to order some materials to help children who hadn’t mastered cursive transition from print, through italics, and then into cursive? After voicing my worry about this detail to my husband (a.k.a. the Head of School), it became more clear to me.
Packing up one’s belongings is a tough-enough task to tackle. Moving, transition, change. All of that is enough to make one feel uncertain as the ground starts to shift. In the case of moving the school, not only are we facing this huge change, we are also committed to having our students and families be part of the process.
So Sunday night, as I fretted about ordering handwriting materials, I realized that in fact, I was worrying about stepping aside and handing over the packing process to our six- to twelve-year-old students.
Of course as Montessori teachers we step aside and hand the process over to our students all the time. It’s par for the course. And with all the practice our students have in acting responsibly and carefully, I shouldn’t have worried. The class was amazing. In less than three hours time, they had the entire room packed up and cleaned. Those who finished their packing began working on research for their Great Brain Projects. One boy even found the box containing the concentration cubbies so that he could really focus in on his research as the room was dismantled around him.
I am still in awe.
With such great success, some of our elementary students will help our Children’s House classes pack up their rooms on Wednesday. I have no doubt in the ability of these capable individuals to help our youngest students take part in the process of preparing for change. As I offered support to the class as they packed our room, I felt a profound sense of joy. These children are our future. And knowing that, I feel at ease.
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