“Here, Kian — some tape!  A staple!  Glue!!  A new one!” A different one!”

I would reel off the remedies like so many spinning plates, but nothing worked.  The more I tried to fix it for him, the louder and more insistent his crying would become.

My antics as “Mommy fix it” lasted for 4 years, until one day (just as my arms were ready to fall off from all of that plate spinning) I realized that what Kian wanted was something I could not give him: an older, more capable body.  Fingers that could manipulate deftly, arms strong enough to move the mountains in his imagination, and legs that could run fast enough to carry his quick mind.

I also realized that what I could give him was my attention.  Maybe his crying was  a request to be seen, and heard.  I learned to stop, and rather than diving in to try to fix it, I would simply reflect what It appeared he was feeling.

“Kian, you sound frustrated.  It looks like you are having a hard time taping that piece of cardboard to your car.”

“YEAAAACHHH!”  The end note was high enough to shatter glass.

“I wonder what you could do to make your plan happen?  Is there anything I can do to help?”

“NoOo!”

I realized that the reason why I had the overwhelming compulsion to dive in and fix his frustration is because Kian is his mother’s son.  I, too, have some perfectionist tendencies… the same tendencies that seem to trigger that keening in Kian.  Maybe I just needed to take a step back and work on my own feelings about this….  Another learning opportunity.  Great (just what I was hoping for!)

Then one day, at a friend’s birthday party, Kian was playing with a whistle he had just received.  I watched him toot the whistle joyfully when suddenly, it dropped right down the sewer — as though someone had snatched it from his mouth, his lips still pursed for another toot.  One minute he was blowing through it happily, and the next, it had popped right out of his hands and dropped down into that black hole in the street.

Kian looked completely stunned, and then he started to cry long, choking sobs of desolation.  It was as though his joy had been snatched right out of his hands by something unseen and beyond his control.  I wondered whether life in his still developing body often felt like that.

As I listened to his pained sobbing, I had to fight the urge to make it better.  I resisted the urge to offer suggestions.  Instead, I let him cry, and I listened, and let him be seen and heard.  Once in a while I reflected.

“I’m sooo sad!!!”

“You’re sad.”

” I loooost it!!”

“You lost it.  What can you do?”

He cried for 5 minutes more. Each of those minutes lasted an hour.  I sat by, saying nothing.  I was just “there.” I noticed his emotions, and resisted the incredible urge to dive in and smooth down ruffled feathers;  kiss Kian and make everything better.  A lot went on in those 5 minutes, but it was all in my head, and in Kian’s body.

Finally Kian seemed to reach down inside himself and pull something out.  He sat up straighter, and a glimmer of hope flashed through the tears.  He choked out, gasping through his sobs, “Hey, I know!  They have more whistles.”

“Really?  Are you sure?” I was a little skeptical — I was afraid it might have been Kian’s magical thinking that conjured up that bag of whistles, ready for the picking.

“Yes!  I saw them”  Kian was still crying, and it was hard to understand him, between the choking sobs. ” I can go back and ask them for another!”

“Ok Kian.  Let’s try.”  We hopped out of the car and walked back toward the park.

When we reached the entrance, the last of the party goers were just leaving.  His friend’s mother was one of them, and she was carrying a bag.  Kian walked right over: “Geri, do you have any more whistles?   Mine went down the sewer.”

“Well Yes, Kian. We do have more whistles.  Here you go!”  She reached into her bag and pulled out a replacement whistle for him.  A satisfied calm swept over Kian’s face, as he whistled his way all the way back to our car.  Kian was self-contained in his joy, and his  newfound power was in every bouncy step.

Kian grew a lot that day.  He stepped right into his power.  And I learned a little more about how to step back at just the right time.  Score one for mommy!

Riviera PlaySchool in Redondo Beach, CA

Parenting From Balance

A humanistic, constructivist, and mindful program for the “whole child,” inspired by the best of Attachment Parenting, Reggio Emilia, Montessori, Waldorf and Compassionate Communication.

direct: (310)408-5616

www.RivieraPlaySchool.com

“People are people no matter how small.”  ~ Horton

Wisdom begins in wonder.    -    Socrates

“Do not train children to learning by force and harshness, but direct them to it by what amuses their minds, so that you may be better able to discover with accuracy the peculiar bent of the genius of each.”  ~ Plato

“If a child is to keep his inborn sense of wonder, he needs the companionship of at least one adult who can share it, rediscovering with him the joy, excitement and mystery of the world we live in.”   ~ Rachel Carson

These programs have a child ready (academically) for today’s’ highly academic kindergartens by the time they are 5! So the bigger quest here is how to get parents to relax, and understand that development takes time; and that time is dictated only by the clock within their child. And there is no judgment on this. Some kids are ready to read at 4, and some are ready at 8. It doesn’t mean that either is better. They will all read finally, by third grade. Today’s kids are not failing the academic standards — the academic standards are failing our kids! Everyone has their own timetable. If we honor it, then they can bloom.

I read somewhere that Einstein didn’t speak until he was 5. If he had been born in this decade, he would be facing evaluation by psychiatrists, and probably drug therapy for his potential autism or other neurological problem… and then what would the world lose?

A child is ready to learn when s/he is ready to learn. I read somewhere else that any academic advantage a child has in kindergarten is short-lived, and outgrown by the time they are in 4th grade. This means that if you take their 3rd and 4th years, and spend them drilling on alphabet and counting, you have simply wasted their time. These children might know how to spell apple, but do they know that an apple is crisp, and cool, and sweet, and white in the inside, red on the outside? They might know that one plus one is two, but do they know that “one” weighs less than “two”?

It also reminds me of the new “your baby can read” fad. What is the sense of this? It reminds me of something I did, when I first met my husband. He is a native Farsi speaker, which is written in the Arabic alphabet. I wanted to show him that I could read it, so I memorized the alphabet in one night. Not a big deal, really, since there are only 26 or so symbols to remember. In the morning I demonstrated my new ability to read Farsi by reading the title of the Persian newspaper. My husband said “very good. impressive. Now tell me what it means.”

The same goes for these little guys who are drilled to learn abstract facts and codes. They can definitely do it — that is not even in question. Their minds are supple sponges, ready to soak up anything within reach. But when we give them things to learn that are driven by our agenda, is that to their benefit, or ours? Are we allowing them to develop their gifts? Are we even allowing them to develop naturally?

And this pressure we feel to keep our child moving in rhythm with the rest of their society is all governed by “standards.” And those standards for children are not developmentally appropriate. Kindergarten is intended as an arena for social and emotional developmental, and first grade a transitional year as our children move from the concrete to the abstract. The system now has foreshortened this in a disastrous way… in fact, many people now refuse to send their child to kindergarten until the age of 6, to avoid the stressful experience their child may encounter in today’s academic and achievement-oriented kindergartens.

In setting guideline for appropriate standards for young people, most challenges arise because the people in charge lack an understanding of developmental milestones and stages. It is pervasive, throughout our society, and trickles down to the parents’ level. The stigma of having a child who is “slow” is a hard one to bear. And if your child doesn’t measure up according to academic standards, then he the implication is that he is a little inferior than the rest of the “normal” population. Ouch! It’s hard not to take that one personally. This is your crown jewel, your little prince, the apple of your eye. A chip off the old block. And you have just been informed that he is not quite good enough. (And what does that say about you…?) And the funny thing is that there is really no “not measuring up” at all! If we all understood ages and stages, then most of these judgments about our children would not be made at all!

Just because our society has advanced into the computer age does not mean that children do not still need to develop from the ground, up. We need to allow children the opportunity to experience the REAL world before they advance into the abstract. We need to let them pick and eat and hold an apple, before we expect them to recognize that a black line drawing represents one.

But the bigger challenge, as educators and child advocates, is how to express this to parents, caretakers, and other educators in a way that they will embrace. How to express this without being judgmental and therefore turning them off completely to what we have to say (and therefore losing the opportunity to make a positive change in someone’s life, and in the world itself.)

www.RivieraPlaySchool.com

Riviera PlaySchool
TEACHING FROM BALANCE
A Mindful program for the ‘Whole Child,’ inspired by the best of Attachment Parenting, Bev Bos, Montessori, Waldorf and Non-Violent Communication.

Lots of Love,
Linda Shannon