Montessori Blog

04 Dec

A Death in the Community

by Donna Bryant Goertz | Montessori Blog

Speaking to Children about the Death of a Classmate’s Mother
(excerpt from “The Cycle of Life: From Birth to Death and Beyond”)

I have spent the past two days speaking to groups of children, four to six at a time, in various classrooms about their friend Esther’s mother Celeste, the Brownie leader, who is in Hospice care. A couple of parents have requested that I write about these conversations and share them with you. When I spoke with the children, we usually began with how very sick or hurt a person can be and how complete the recovery can be. Treatments and medications can help a person get well again. The children told stories about people they have known who were very sick or injured and how they have recovered.

We spoke of the people who get worse for a long time and finally get better after years of medication and treatment. The children shared stories. We spoke of the people who get worse and worse and no medication or treatment helps them. They continue getting worse and they don’t get better. The children told of people they’ve known who died.

We spoke of the mystery of life and death and how the two are one. There is no life without death. Just as we open our arms to life, we open our arms to death. The children speak of all the animals and people they know who have died. They speak of the little babies, children, teenagers, parents and grandparents. We talk about the usual order of things, the model we expect—that animals and people die when they are very old and ready to die. We grieve and we miss them, but it is an expected and accepted grieving and missing.

We spoke of the babies, children, teenagers and parents who die — how few of them die and how unexpected and unacceptable we feel it is. We emphasized how unusual it is for a mom or dad to die before the children are grown up. I tell the children that a child’s worst fear is often that their parents will die, but that actually their parents will probably live to be eighty years old. Very old people who are sick and feeble may come to long for death. Those who love them may welcome their death as a kind relief. I emphasize that it is unusual for parents to die before their children are grown up.

The children talk about sickness, accidents and diseases. I follow their lead and straighten out their misinformation. I repeat how wondrous, strange and beautiful, how sorrowful and lovely, and how heartbreaking and joyous life is. The children spoke of their ideas of what comes after death. We spoke of Heaven and the angels, of the Good Earth and giving our bodies back to it. We spoke of returning to Live Again and of Life Everlasting and of Becoming All with Nature, both body and spirit.

The children all had their own ideas and ways of thinking and feeling about sickness and death. We brought up many different religions and spiritual paths. We spoke of God, the Life Force and Nature. One little boy waited until the other four children in the group had left. Then, he told me had no religion. I smiled a big, broad smile at him and said a big Ahaa! He looked at me harder, with large and earnest eyes, and said, really, his family had no religion. I told him that in that case, it meant that “all of life” was his religion. He smiled and smiled. He said Yes! I told him he would love all of life and be kind and loving to all of life—that he would be the best person he could be because he loved life so much. That would be his religion.

Children spoke of seeing a grandparent in bed at night and then finding his bed empty in the morning, because he had died and his body had been taken away. Such a mystery! They spoke of burials and cremations. We spoke of joy and sorrow, sickness and health, and accidents and recoveries. And death. We spoke of how long and hard grief can be and how we take joy right in the middle of it. Sometimes we have to open our hearts wider even when we hurt to let a bit of joy come in to the sorrow. We spoke of how sorrow goes away, but not altogether, and how it comes back suddenly. We spoke of how we call joy back, take it in and fill ourselves up with it.

We spoke of how hard it is to see a person becoming weak and thin. Watching a healthy body change can be upsetting to us. A couple of years ago, some of our families and children experienced a father dying over a three-month period. They said it was hard to watch him change so that they could no longer see in his body the person they had known. And it was hard when he could no longer recognize them and began calling them by other names. A child described how it haunted her for a long time.

The girls in the Brownie troop remember how recently they met at Esther’s house and her mother Celeste, their Brownie leader, had made delicious treats for them to eat and prepared interesting activities for them to do. In their practical and life-affirming way, the children were immediately concerned about who will be their Brownie leader.

One girl spoke of how strange it will be to go to Esther’s house and not see her mother. How can that be possible? Life and death are unfathomable mysteries. The children asked if they would ever see Celeste again. They were sad to think they might never see her again. We all agreed that within themselves, they carry a part of her spirit and some believe that they will see her in Heaven and she will be a part of all of Life and her body will be part of the Earth. We will all remember her and speak of her. The children can tell of good times they had with her. The children can make cards. Maybe the children can attend her memorial.

One girl said it is mostly the mother who cares for you and feeds you and listens when you are upset. How can a child grow up without her mother, she wondered? The children said over and over with fear and anger, this is not fair, not fair, not fair. They said it is okay for a sick and suffering person to die but not fair for a child not to have her mother. We search our souls for that fierce and passionate strength that we wish we never needed to find. And we find it. And we grow wiser than we ever wished we would.

But Esther has had such a loving and joyful mother for so long that she is strong and full of joy herself. She will be able to suffer the loss of her mother’s presence on earth yet keep her mother’s loving presence within her. It will be very hard but Esther will be fine.

Each person has a different way of grieving and we commit to respecting each person’s way. Your children will probably want to talk about this with you, their friends and their teachers; and they should feel free to do so. At the same time, it is important that each child respect Esther’s way of dealing with her grief and to follow her lead when discussing it with or near her. Handmade cards are a good way for children to express their sorrow and share their love for Esther while respecting Esther’s right to privacy with her grief. Here at school Esther chooses to say her mother is getting better. After her mother’s death, we will watch and wait to follow Esther’s lead.

Esther has many close friends whose mothers and fathers have helped out with rides to school and outings. These mothers and fathers are ready to do whatever is needed to help Esther and her father. Esther has spent her days at school and after in the company of friends doing fun things.

Celeste’s dream was to move to a house close to school before she died. Her husband and family are working to make that dream come true. Perhaps they will be moving by the end of this month. Esther’s father, Jon, will keep Esther in school next year so she can be close to her friends and their parents.

We knew you would want to know what’s going on and how we are speaking to the children about this so you can support them.

With sorrow and affection, and looking toward joy,

And so, as in all things, the School Culture is pervasive, cohesive, and integrated in philosophy and practice.

24 Oct

Montessori’s Aeroplane

by Jennifer Rogers | Montessori Blog

5 Comments

Passage to Abstraction

“There is nothing in the intellect which was not first in the senses.” -Aristotle

When our oldest son was six years old, he arrived home from school one day in an unusually chatty mood. “Mom,” he said. “Did I tell you I can do division abstractly now? You know, in my head?”

You had not mentioned it, I said. I was certainly glad to know.

Sitting down on a kitchen stool, he folded his hands in his lap. “Give me an equation,” he said. “Division.”

I started with nine divided by three. “Oh Mom,” he said, “At least give me a number with thousands, or maybe a remainder.”

Almost ten years have passed. The equations I suggested are lost to memory, and irrelevant to the story. He could indeed complete division problems in his head, without the aid of a calculator or any of the materials he had been using at school. He was neither proud nor humble, just a little boy who loved math and wanted to share something about his day at school. He was, above all else, deeply satisfied.

Our oldest is not a genius, but he is smart and has always been a good student. He has never been one to talk about the details of his school day, never what he learned at school. We gather our information about his learning by listening and observing. This particular conversation was memorable not only because it was so unusual for him to share, but especially because he was so conscious and articulate about a transition in his learning that was completely intangible.

He knew that he had accomplished something the rest of the world could not see, and the knowledge made him happy.

All children in Montessori classrooms absorb mathematical concepts in a pattern that is both intelligent and fun. We expected as much for our children. Until that moment, I did not know a young child could be so conscious, articulate, and nonchalant about the process Maria Montessori called the “passage to abstraction.”

Similar stories have unfolded in our kitchen several times since then. Our middle son told us one Saturday morning that he had learned to count in binary, on his fingers. His demonstration left me flummoxed.

“Oh mom,” he said, “It’s just for fun. Here, I’ll write it down so you can understand.”

Just a few days ago, our nine-year-old daughter told us she was working with prime factorization at school, and could already do a lot in her head. Like her older brothers, math fascinates and excites her. Unlike her brothers, she is eager and willing to talk about details. She recited, and then drew a diagram of the factorization process she pictured in her head.

Talking like a teacher, she suggested we try factoring another number together, showing us how to draw the familiar descending diagram on paper. It was important to her that we see together, and understand the process in her mind.

Materialized Abstractions
Maria Montessori introduced mathematical concepts to the children in her classrooms through the use of concrete materials. She insisted that children be given as much time and opportunity as they needed to work with concrete materials, until they had absorbed the concepts that the materials were designed to represent. Children work with their hands until the mathematical concept or process was absolutely clear.

Montessori called these lessons “materialized abstractions,” a highfalutin phrase for the common-sense observation that human beings learn best through the use of their senses. Children especially build their intellects most effectively through the combined use of their hands, eyes, and ears.

The Golden Beads are the heart of the Montessori primary math curriculum. Children in primary Montessori classrooms work with Golden Beads as they continue to learn about the decimal system. The differences in weight and dimension between a unit, ten, hundred, and thousand are obvious, because the children carry the materials in their hands and on trays as they learn. As they count, they also touch, look, and hold. When they complete their first addition problems, they can clearly see that when several small numbers are combined, the final quantity is larger.

As Montessori children progress through the math curriculum, the materials become increasingly abstract. The difference in weight and dimension of the Golden Beads is replaced by a difference in color, then by materials that require students move their fingers in simple patterns to find answers to addition, subtraction, multiplication and division equations.

When a child in a Montessori School masters a mathematical concept, he will often continue working uninterrupted, setting aside the learning material that had been an aid to development. The shift is barely noticeable, but hugely significant. For the child, a fundamental mathematical concept exists within him. He can complete mathematical operations with the same ease he demonstrates as he ties his shoes, or buttons his shirt, or prepares his table for lunch.

The Story Rug
Observing in my own primary classroom a year ago, I overheard a conversation between children that at first confused me, but still delights me. Three five-year olds were working with Golden Beads independently. Their work had just begun. One of the boys reminded his friend to get the story rug.

“I’ve already got it out. It’s right here,” his friend said, pointing to the empty rug at his feet.

Although it was my classroom, I did not know what a “story rug” was. As I watched, I understood that the children were referring to the place where they would organize their final equation. The story rug is the spot where they would discover an answer to their equation and read it aloud together. For these children, mathematical operations were tangible and, most remarkably, stories to be enjoyed with friends.

Montessori’s Aeroplane
In Maria Montessori: Her Life and Work, biographer E.M. Standing writes that Montessori compared a child’s passage to abstraction to the flight of an airplane. Technology has changed flight it several ways, but the metaphor endures. Children do need a long running start, firmly connected to the earth, and increasing in speed as their knowledge and understanding grows. Children do still launch into abstraction with apparent ease, but only after they have independently achieved the speed and strength they need to fly.

21 Jul

A Gift from the Children

by Julia Clark | Montessori Blog

2 Comments

Lessons of Kindness and Compassion in the Montessori Elementary Community

The school day starts with free play outside. We walk inside and I distractedly set down my things and prepare to guide the children through our daily mindfulness practice. A child comes over to me and I actively ignore him, trying to tend to the day’s little details before I recenter and connect with the children at the rug. He’s persistent, though, and finally gets my attention. “Ms. Clark, can I ask you something?” I’m pressed and short and say without looking at him, “Sure. Go for it.” He asks, “Can I sit separately from the community today during meditation? It’s just that a lot of people make me feel silly and I want to try to focus today.” I’m smiling on the inside, thinking, “he’s practicing mindfulness right now!” I turn to face him and try to stay pretty neutral. I reply, “Of course. Sounds like the right idea for today. Join us at the rug if you change your mind.”

Next on the docket, I accompany four children on a Going Out museum visit. They planned the trip themselves, as they’ve been prepared to do. I am the [mostly] quiet and supportive chaperone. One group, studying early humans, spends about 45 minutes taking notes while the youngest child in the group waits for her turn to visit the rocks and minerals exhibit upstairs. We break for lunch and I receive a message saying we have to get back to school earlier than expected. I share the disappointing news with the group, “we will have to plan another visit to see the rocks and minerals.” One of the boys who had the chance to finish taking his notes says with enthusiasm, “Next time we visit, we should let Sophia see the rocks and minerals first, since she didn’t get to take her notes.” Everyone takes the news in stride, accepting the disappointment while showing steely resolve to plan another trip next week.

Upon return to school, we meet up with the rest of the community on the playground for recess, and a spirited game of flag football is underway. One child yells, “PENALTY!” to another player who throws the ball too early (as far as my novice eyes can tell). Another child chimes in with a calm and friendly tone, “Come on, he’s just a learner. Let him take another try.” Everyone agrees. Game goes on.

Across the playground, a soccer game is underway and one child goes crashing down. Another player notices and yells to the others, “Guys! See if he’s hurt. If he’s hurt, you take a knee.” The group immediately falls to their knees. The fallen child takes a moment to himself and then stands up. Everyone else stands, saying nothing, and the game goes on.

Then, two children sprint over with fresh bunches of carrots from the garden, screaming with glee: “HARVEST TIME!” They plan to share the fresh food with our class guinea pig (and yes, this is a literal guinea pig, not the metaphorical kind of guinea pig that serves as a beta tester, as my sister thought when she first read this story, although we have those too!).

No community is perfect. Not every day feels this way. But today, from where I sit, the example of the children rises above the noisy internet full of persistently polarizing politics, and I remember why I wanted to do this work of peace education. These children, right now, have something we all need. How beautiful to observe the flowering of the qualities we take time to nurture in our community, how right it is to support the development of the whole child, not only tending to matters of the intellect, but also, the heart.

Julia Clark graduated from the University of Maryland with a degree in English Language and Literature in 2008. She received her AMI Montessori Elementary diploma from Washington Montessori Institute and her M.Ed. from Loyola University. She currently guides a community of thirty-three six-to-twelve year olds at Full Circle Montessori School in Arlington, Virginia.

16 May

Why Montessori?

by Jennifer Rogers | Montessori Blog

15 Comments

Preaching to the choir
A persuasive tone in speech and writing lends an urgent and important feeling to any topic. Then again, talking or writing persuasively about the benefits of a Montessori education before an audience of parents whose children are thriving in Montessori classrooms is a little silly. Parents who attend school meetings and read blog posts are among the best. They are typically people who are already thoughtfully engaged in education and parenting.

At every parent meeting, teachers look out into an audience of familiar faces. We notice that the same people also volunteer, ask honest questions in parent-teacher conferences, participate in fund-raisers, and arrive at school on time. We look for their faces in our audiences because the smiles are reassuring, and also because we know our words will make an immediate and lasting difference in the lives of their children. It’s a grand exchange, but asking “Why Montessori?” is a risk. Redundancy is boring, and smart people do not like to be bored.

My response to the “Why Montessori?” question is not detailed or exhaustive. It is a broad-strokes personal narrative, loaded with opinions formed in more than two decades of teaching. The arrangements of space, time, and people that I consider essential to an authentic Montessori education are not doctrinal. Others would answer the same question differently, but accurately.

I could easily add to the following list, but I could not take anything away.

Diversity
The youngest Montessori students gather information through observation and admiration of their older classmates. The oldest students are challenged and often transformed by urgent demands to help and guide their younger peers.

The failure of most public and private schools to incorporate diversity into the formation of classrooms and curriculums has been widely reported. It is an old and persistent problem. The segregation of ages and the standardization of curriculum is a lost opportunity. Standardization and segregation are huge limitations to academic achievement, and to the growth of human understanding.

There are children learning in Montessori classrooms from a kaleidoscopic array of ethnic, religious, and socio-economic backgrounds. They learn as much from each other as they do from formal lessons. Geographically isolated Montessori classrooms can be more homogenous than a school located in a diversely populated urban area, but every authentic Montessori school has a student population of mixed ages and abilities. Montessori students are not differentiated by age or intellect.

This diversity is, in my opinion, the single factor that has the most profound and lasting impact on the education of young children. Montessori students demonstrate how much we have to learn from each other as well as how much each of us has to offer our world.

Prepared Environment
Furniture in Montessori classrooms is the appropriate size for the children who will use it. This is also true of the tools, utensils, and materials they will hold in their hands. Pictures hang on the wall at the level of the students’ eyes. Every classroom is organized in such a way that the sequence of learning is materially present on the shelves and obvious to the children. The goals of independent decision-making and internal motivation are built into the carefully prepared environment.

Montessori classrooms are as different as the teachers who tend them, but they evince an attention to order and beauty rarely witnessed in education. Most are filled with light, plants, fresh flowers, and an ambiance of grace. Environments affect the quality of the experiences within them. The earliest memories of learning are, for Montessori students, forever associated with the warmth and peace of their first classrooms.

Purposeful Work
Maria Montessori was educated and trained as a physician. Throughout her long life, she remained fascinated with her observations of human health. The work she offered her students was always purposeful, and it always involved the coordinated work of mind and body. Montessori understood that a strong mind paired with strong hands led to optimum development of a child’s intelligence. This was true with her first students, and it remains true today.

Students in Montessori classrooms have daily opportunities to select their work. Children may repeat the tasks they select as often as they desire, until the task is mastered. Work chosen independently and repeated without interruption often leads to deep concentration. Montessori’s ability to cultivate and protect the concentration of young children through their purposeful work remains one of her most significant contributions to the education of young people.

Skilled Leadership
A traditionally structured classroom usually includes a teacher-directed curriculum. Time and space are marked and organized by the strong, clear voice of a teacher who is trained in an age group or an academic discipline, mathematics, for example, or four-year-olds, or music.

Montessori classrooms are active, creative, and adaptive communities. The teacher’s voice is seldom heard, and she frequently sits beside a child as he or she learns. It might seem that the hierarchical structure of a traditional classroom would require stronger leadership and stricter discipline. Actually, a healthy Montessori community requires a much more intelligent and intuitive style of leadership.

Montessori teachers must be skilled in the practice of observation and comfortable with the independent, purposeful movement of young minds at work. Nationally and internationally accredited Montessori teacher training courses are intense and demanding. This is as it should be. Montessori teachers should be experts in the abstract principles and concrete materials that structure the life of a classroom.

Silence
Visitors to Montessori classrooms first notice the beauty and order present throughout the environment. They also notice the quiet, especially if they are accustomed to teacher-directed systems of education. There are no bells prompting students to change activities or locations, no intercom, and no video or television instruction. Montessori teachers do gather the entire class for special events, singing, or shared story, but the voice of the teacher does not direct the movements of the children throughout the day.

In Montessori classrooms, there are occasions when the classroom is silent, when every child in the community is at work. More often, Montessori environments are characterized by the quiet hum of children at work, moving and talking together about subjects that demand their undivided, uninterrupted attention. In a contemporary culture heavily influenced by the interruptions of technology and the distractions of screens, this is a rare and precious gift.

Why Montessori?
If it were possible for a young child to answer “Why Montessori?” in a phrase or sentence that stretched beyond her limited frame of reference and her real gratitude for the fun she had a school that day, she would probably say, “I found myself!” Though their academic accomplishments are remarkable, the greatest achievements of Montessori students are far grander and more lasting.

Montessori students do have a confident, comfortable understanding of the academic concepts they will rely upon for the rest of their lives. They are academically strong not just for the short-term, but for a lifetime of learning. They also have a realistic understanding of their strengths, weaknesses, and talents. They can identify times and places when they should lead, as well as occasions when they should ask for help.

The experience of working in an intelligent community helps children understand both that there are some tasks we must do alone, and that we need each other to achieve our goals. Even our youngest students know how to reach inward and outward. The inner teacher of a healthy Montessori child is more reliable than any methodology or even the guidance of a talented teacher. Our students know how to work toward a goal, how to persevere when challenged, and how to connect in meaningful ways to the people in their home and school communities.

Why Montessori? Because a strong Montessori community is a group of people working together to help each person become the best version of him or herself. The gift of a Montessori classroom is that children begin their education with strong bodies and strong minds working alongside friends who know and love them almost as well as they know themselves.

03 Apr

Today is Saturday

by Donna Bryant Goertz & Sveta Pais | Montessori Blog

4 Comments

It is still dark when four-year-old Sam is up at a little after six in the morning. He rubs his eyes and sits up in bed, a mattress on the floor he has slept in since he was an infant. Sam’s parents chose this for him instead of a crib so that when he awoke he had the freedom to move as he wished. The entire room was prepared to be safe, like a crib, with just a few things made available on a low shelf. Once, Gwen, the parent-infant educator at Sam’s Montessori school visited, and Sam had proudly shown her his room. Gwen said, “Oh, I see you have a floor bed!” but Sam just calls it “bed.”

Sam hears his sister, Hannah, get out of bed in the room next door. Hannah is nine. “Today is Saturday, Sam,” she says, knowing intuitively that her younger sibling is awake. On weekdays, Mom and Dad set an alarm to wake up before the children, but on the weekend they like to sleep in a little late. “Let’s go check,” says Sam. The children meet in the passageway outside their room, and a ceiling light activated by motion flickers on. The motion-sensor switch was Mom’s idea so the children can be independent if they need the bathroom at night. On rainy days, when the house is dark, it also serves as a fun game to see how still you can be before triggering it.

After using the bathroom, the children check Mom and Dad’s bedroom door. It has a sign that says, “It’s the weekend! Have some breakfast before driving your old parents around the bend!” Hannah reads the sign to Sam and the children giggle. They are sure Dad made that sign because he always makes humorous signs for them. Even Sam, who cannot yet read, gets funny notes and reminders, always written carefully in cursive.

The children help themselves to bowls and cups that are conveniently located on the second-to-lowest pantry shelf. Mom has recently moved them there from the lowest shelf now that Sam is taller. “Sam has had a growth spurt,” she informed the family when showing them the new set-up. “Now he can reach the higher shelf and it makes it easier for the rest of us to access the things we need. Look! The lowest shelf now has the bin for recycling.”

Hannah fetches the whole-grain cereal and pours the milk. There are two scoops in the container for cereal: the larger scoop is blue and is marked “H” and the smaller scoop is pink and marked “S.” The children serve themselves, remembering that Mom and Dad encourage them to prepare one portion first, then a second only if they are still hungry. If Sam wants more milk later, he can help himself to the small pitcher of milk on the lowest shelf of the refrigerator. As the children eat, they watch the sunrise and the birds visiting the bird feeder just outside the dining room window.

After breakfast, Hannah gets out her special set of 72 Prismacolor pencils and a large sheet of paper to illustrate a map of a civilization she has been researching at school. Using a sturdy wooden stool kept in the kitchen for this purpose, Sam places his bowl and cup in the sink. He thinks of the rhyme Dad made up for him to remember what happens next. Oh yes, “Toilet, breakfast, and teeth…” the song goes. Sam brushes his teeth and gets dressed. Mom always makes sure he has access to three of everything he needs to choose from: underwear, pants, shirts and socks, so getting dressed is easy.

Meanwhile, Hannah is already engrossed in her map, which is rapidly getting bigger and more detailed. After knocking on their door, and being invited into Mom and Dad’s room, Sam snuggles in their bed with them. For the next three hours, Sam works with Mom or Dad to unload the dishwasher, weed the vegetable garden, and fold laundry. He also gets in a bike ride around the block with Dad.

It is almost eleven-o’clock when Hannah emerges from her work, which now covers a large part of the living room floor. She has joined several large pieces of paper together with washi tape. “I’m starving,” she announces. Mom smiles and points to Hannah’s breakfast bowl and cup, still on the dining table. Hannah knows that Mom is a lot more flexible on weekends and says that some days are for being creative in your pajamas. After Hannah has cleared her breakfast things away, Mom asks, “What’s next?” Hannah runs off to get dressed and returns to select a pear from the bowl of fruit on the kitchen island. She gets out a cutting board and a sharp paring knife. Sam watches her cut it. “If you cut the pear in half, will you get two quarters?” he asks. “No,” replies Hannah, “I will get two halves. When I cut each of those in half, I will get four quarters. One whole pear makes two halves or four quarters.” Sam is not sure he understands, but nods anyway.

A little later, everyone is getting ready to hike through the greenbelt to the neighborhood park for the afternoon. Dad and Sam work together to make sandwiches and hull strawberries for a picnic lunch. Mom retrieves the stale bread she’s saved in the freezer to feed the ducks. Hannah fills water bottles and packs the picnic blanket. It takes a while to get everything ready, and then Dad remembers the most important thing: the frisbee!

After an afternoon of hiking, playing, and exploring, Mom, Dad, Hannah, and Sam are home. Everyone is exhausted. Sam and Dad relax with a book, while Mom makes hot chocolate for the family as a special weekend treat. Hannah enters the kitchen fuming. “Sam has invaded my Prismacolor pencils,” she says. “I know because the greens and blues are mixed up!” Mom hugs Hannah. She acknowledges how angry Hannah is and how frustrating it can be to have a younger sibling to contend with. When she is feeling better, Mom reminds Hannah of the house rule that anything within Sam’s reach is available to him. “But I did put them away on my art shelf!” Hannah insists. Mom realizes that Sam’s recent growth spurt has enabled him to reach some items that belong exclusively to Hannah. Mom and Hannah plan a time after church the next morning to discuss how to solve the issue of Sam’s evolving height and how to reorganize her belongings to protect them from “invasion.” Mom thinks to herself that Sam is developing impulse control because he has looked through Hannah’s pencils, but not used them.

When everyone has finished their hot chocolate, Dad checks in with Mom and explains to Hannah and Sam that he needs to excuse himself to the study to work at his computer. The children groan. Dad is a computer engineer but never uses a computer in front of the children. Hannah knows that her parents try very hard to keep their life filled with real-life experiences instead of screens, and minimize their use of electronic devices in front of her and Sam. While Dad works and Mom cooks dinner, Hannah explains to Sam the various parts of the civilization map she has illustrated. Sam repeats some of the big words Hannah uses. Even though he does not know what they mean, he loves to practice saying words and hearing how they sound coming from his mouth.

After an hour, Dad is done working. Soon after, Mom finishes cooking and Hannah rolls up her large illustration. Sam sets the table. As Dad, Mom, Hannah and Sam sit down to dinner, the sun is setting and they chew slowly, watching the birds on the bird feeder. Mom tells the story of how earlier in the day the ducks gobbled up the stale bread the children had tossed to them from the pond’s bank.

Weekends are the best part of the week because everyone is home.

23 Dec

One Mother’s Story

by Donna Bryant Goertz | Montessori Blog

3 Comments

When I was a young mother living out of state for a year, I learned a lot from a group of mothers working on bringing Montessori to their town, which was, thanks to their efforts, already rich in Suzuki. I took each of their stories to heart, tucking away in my heart for when needed, the values and the points of practice for living them out.

One Mother’s Story

As Christmas approached, Ellen braced herself. It was a dangerous time for a single mom’s budget and self-esteem. As she often did, Ellen reviewed her values and goals. She recalled the preparation for her baby’s birth and her plans for staying home with her. That was nearly two years ago and she felt strong and happy that she had persevered in staying home with her baby girl.

Ellen shook her head as she heard a mother on the radio assert that, despite the fact that she had lost her job, she would make sure her children received everything they wanted and expected for Christmas. She would just put it all on her credit card and worry about how to make her mortgage payment later. “Christmas is for children,” the mom had said.

Ellen disagreed; it seemed to her that Christmas was for families and a parent’s job loss was a family emergency. All members of the family should share, age appropriately, the sacrifices required to return the family to financial security. Besides, no matter who Christmas is for, it is not primarily about getting or giving all the presents one wants. And, certainly, it would be a perversion of all the values of Christmas to use a charge card for presents one couldn’t afford. Even though Ellen was only twenty-four years old, she could see where that could lead.

Ellen thought that the mom was missing a rare opportunity to give her children a gift that would benefit them for the rest of their lives–the example experienced in their real everyday life of bearing disappointment and hardship gracefully, delaying gratification and controlling impulses. Ellen wondered how children could ever learn to “Just say no,” if their parents couldn’t model saying no for them.

Only a few years earlier, Ellen had been wild and free. She had rebelled a little, experimenting with various lifestyles while she put herself through college. Ellen’s degree had not prepared her for a job and she was still searching for her career or profession. She had considered going to graduate school. She hadn’t considered having a baby.

When her baby girl was born, Ellen drove an old car in order to avoid having car payments. She lived in a cheap apartment. Teaching yoga for children allowed her to take her baby along to work, but the short hours and low wages made finances a struggle.

Beans, rice and pasta were cheap, but fresh fruits and vegetables, even in season, were not. Avoiding drinks and juices, deli and specialty items and prepared and packaged foods made a highly nutritious diet affordable for Ellen’s baby and her. Ellen knew that if she were to stay in good spirits and keep her energy up during these years of sacrifice and hardship, she would have to take really good care of her health.

Ellen could make her own clothes and her baby’s clothes as well. She could buy books at the second hand bookstore and yard sales. Sheets and towels were sold at resale stores.

By refusing to have a TV in the house Ellen ensured for herself significantly more time for getting things done at a pleasant pace. She also eliminated the materialistic influence of commercials and the cynical attitudes of the sitcoms. Ellen had a radio and a tape player for her own enjoyment and for providing the particular music she had planned for the baby. Besides, there were no cable bills.

Ellen slept with her baby on a mattress on the floor. A table and chairs and shelves for holding clothing were all the furniture she needed for herself. For the baby, she had prepared a special environment in the living room: a full length mirror mounted lengthwise along the baseboard for her months of creeping and crawling; a closet rod mounted along another wall eighteen inches from the floor for her months of walking while holding on; a little stair step up to a platform with a slide down the other side for adventure; and two long shelf boards to hold her developmental toys and books.

For Christmas, Ellen had bought a square yard of fabric printed with a town and its streets. She hemmed it and bought three little vehicles and five small people for her daughter to move along the streets, in and out of shops, to school and the post office, to church and back home again. A bright red stocking cap with a big pompom and a ball to throw would round the presents out to three, giving her just the right number to open. Ellen gathered a few neighbor children, practiced Christmas carols and took the baby and them caroling around the neighborhood. A few days later she had the same group over to make Christmas cookies. For presents for friends and family Ellen made ornaments.

Ellen thought that, in many ways, having so little money made bringing up her daughter much easier. She considered the temptations some of her friends struggled with and lost, overwhelming their children with far too many toys, video movies and electronic games. Some of their children were bored, hostile and demanding; others were bored, clingy and whiny. A couple of Ellen’s friends felt sorry for her daughter. They thought she was deprived of the normal joys of childhood. Ellen found “joy” to be a poor description of the quality of her friends’ children’s lives and a rather more apt description of the quality of her own little daughter’s life.

It was Ellen’s passionate commitment to herself and to her daughter that she would always do her best to remember what really mattered and live by it. Six years later, when I heard from her again, she was enjoying an upper middle class income, a devoted husband and a second child. Now Ellen’s commitment was being thoroughly tested by the amplitude of her resources, but with her characteristic reflective nature and her ability to persevere, she was able to remain true to that commitment. Ellen and her family continued to choose a life rich with family activities and fairly free of material excess.

One day a friend dropped by Ellen’s house. Even though Ellen’s children were in various stages of recovery from an intestinal virus, she had been working full and half days because of rehearsals and performances at her children’s school where she worked. Ellen’s husband had pitched in by reducing his typical 5:30 am to 9:30 pm work days to nine hours to help out during the family sickness. Carrying a casserole, she had made to help the family out, Ellen’s friend walked into the house expecting a disaster zone. The house was in pleasant order. Her friend expressed dismay crying out that her own house would only look this good if she had been preparing ahead for house guests. Ellen thought to herself that she would not be nearly so concerned with the comfort of temporary house guests as she was with her own children’s daily lives.

“They are creating themselves day by day from their environment. That’s what children do,” Ellen thought. “They invent and reinvent themselves, and make the adults they will become out of the environment I provide for them. This home is their workshop, their studio, their laboratory. It provides the materials, supplies, ambiance, support and framework for my children’s work of self-construction. I’m a mom. That’s my real job. I put my best efforts here. I don’t cut corners or slack off when things are tough. When my children are grown and gone, my husband and I can slack off to whatever degree suits us. For now, we keep the children’s environment, our home, prepared for their best development whether we feel like it or not, whether it’s convenient or not, whether we’re busy or not, even if we’re sick, no matter what. Besides, it’s easier and a lot more fun bringing up children this way.”

One of Ellen’s friends was given to proudly proclaiming that she spent her time on her children, not on keeping her house in order. Ellen considered her own life with children and the long hours she spent playing board games, wrestling, building a playhouse, helping with arts and crafts, making costumes for everyday play, playing chase and hide-and-go-seek and playing dolls. It seemed to Ellen that keeping the home environment prepared gave her more time to spend with her children, not less. “If we are eventually going to clear off the table, pick up the toys, wash the dishes, put the dirty clothes in the laundry, fold the clean clothes and put them away, how does it save time to put it off until later?” Ellen wondered. It always seemed to take at least the same amount of time to do it now as it took to do it later. The difference, Ellen thought, was that cleaning up and putting away now, allowed her family’s playing to take place in a pleasant and convenient environment where everything needed could be easily found. Cleaning up and putting away later would have caused Ellen’s playing with her children to take place in a mess where finding what was needed brought frustration and confusion.

It was the same old “pay now or pay later” choice as far as Ellen could see. Dropping dirty clothes on the floor just meant they had to be picked up later. Leaving the dirty dishes in the sink just meant they had to be washed later. How did this create more time to spend with the children? “Charge it,” seemed to be the principle some of her friends lived by. “Put it on the credit card. Pay later with interest,” thought Ellen.

Later there would be a bigger mess; it would take longer to clean up, and then, most importantly, it would seem pointless to the children to clean up their part at all. “Why now? Why not clean up another day or week later?” they would wonder since “Later” seemed to be their family motto? What difference did it make anyway? Living in a mess was normal for some families; cleaning up was abnormal, something that happened sporadically when mom suddenly got in a certain mood. To the children, it looked unnecessary and no fun. They were used to living in a mess. Ellen wanted to avoid setting up that kind of confusion in her family and in her relationship with her children. She was determined not to lay the groundwork for those losing battles in family life.

It was difficult enough for children to put away a morning’s or an afternoon’s mess, even a whole day’s worth. Expecting them to deal with a couple of days’ or a weeks’ worth of mess would be unwise and unkind. Ellen had a deep sense that keeping up with things during the day was easier, more relaxing and allowed more time for fun.

Once upon a Christmas, eight adults and eight children, three and a half to nearly twelve years of age, from Ellen’s husband’s family gathered at his sister’s house for a dinner party and gift exchange. Beautiful and fragile ornaments and decorations adorned every room of the house. The children alternated between playing back in the children’s bedroom and delicately examining the sizes, shapes and wrappings of the presents that were scattered under the tree in the living room. Four of them spent a long time gathered around a new Christmas I Spy book. Now and then the children became overexcited, shrieking and running around, opening and closing doors. Once, they were sent outside for a while to run off steam and another time a child was hurt in a rough game.

In the living and dining rooms two large tables were set with fine linens and silver. At dinner, the children and adults were seated alternately with families mixed in each room, but with either a mom or a dad beside each of the children under six. The first course of soup was served while the children were seated. They waited to begin until after grace was said and the toasts were made. Because the glasses were wide, the younger children were shown to lift them with two hands.

For the second course, the children carried the fine china plates and helped themselves at the buffet with a little assistance from the nearest adult. They focused on moving slowly and carefully. Staying at the table for conversation while the adults finished eating was difficult, but the children made the effort and succeeded. The adults did the clearing away because of the fine china.

Next it was time to open presents and each person took turns, starting with the youngest. Everyone watched the unwrapping carefully and admired each gift. The thanks were sincerely expressed and genuinely acknowledged. Waiting for turns was not easy but it was important. There were dinosaur models, an extraordinary type of flashlight, baseball cards, puzzles, books and more books. Ellen’s favorite present was a beautiful copy of The Oxford Book of Quotations. A favorite present for her now nearly twelve-year-old daughter, an avid swimmer and soccer player, was a second-hand hard cover copy of Edgar Allen Poe’s short stories.

Ellen was content that she had prepared well for her daughter’s coming adolescence with all its potential for confusion, contradiction and alienation. She meant to keep the ties close, the communications open and the trust optimal. The autonomy essential to the age would be based on her daughter’s strong sense of belonging, her highly developed independence, her history of responsibility and her pride in family culture, traditions and values.

05 Dec

The Spiritual Life of Children: A December Story

by Jennifer Rogers | Montessori Blog

7 Comments

“We know how in well-led Montessori classes the children often have a remarkable susceptibility to holy and divine things. . . .we often find ourselves with unexpected revelations.” -Maria Montessori, God and the Child, 10

picture of girl watering a tree — ©MariaMontessori.com

Sami had just finished reading the introduction to our Parts of the Frog booklet. Definition booklets are usually challenging for our five-year-old readers. Some of the vocabulary was new to Sami, but he sailed through the reading with ease. He paused once at the end of the first page, to comment and ask a question.

“This is really interesting,” Sami said. “I’d like to be a scientist when I grow up. Do you think I could be a scientist?” he asked.

“Of course I do.” It was a too-easy response from his teacher, but it was true and honest. “You are interested in the things scientists are interested in.”

“I think so too,” Sami said, thoughtful and sincere. “I don’t believe God would let a little boy like me want to be a scientist if I couldn’t really be one.”

Sami resumed his reading. I continued listening, balancing tears on my eyelids. There are layers of beauty, confidence, faith, and trust in Sami’s comments. I will remember his words, I thought, through the darkest days of December.

“God prods and transforms the adult through the child.” -Maria Montessori, God and the Child, 22

In the two years we have had together, Sami has learned to tie his shoes, add and subtract, and read. In these skills, I have guided him. He was a chronic worrier when we met. We have cultivated the calm confidence he now demonstrates. His comment reminded me, though, that I have learned as much as I have taught. Many of our best teachers would make similar comments, I think. We learn as much as we teach.

Several days after his first wonderings, Sami told one of his friends he thought he would be a scientist. “I want to learn about everything in the world,” he said. “I know I can’t learn everything, but I think I can try.”

Sami’s comments were simple but full expressions of his faith and his curiosity. They were also an absolutely ordinary part of his dialogue with his world. As he was reading about frogs, Sami was thinking about God. He assumes God cares about his learning. Sami’s God pays attention to the desires of a child. For Sami, God is strong and nurturing, present and loving, involved in the work of his hands and the life of his mind.

“We then see in the humble ability to love, which we sometimes look upon as weakness, the true measure of maturity. The means by which the child influences us—the respectful and trusting love – will then be our great power in the educational sphere.” -Maria Montessori, God and the Child, 49

Ours is not a parochial school. Sami is Hindu. His classmates are Christian, Jewish, and Muslim. Maria Montessori was a devout Catholic. Her writings on faith quote liberally from the Bible. She refers to specific moments in the life of Christ. Yet, in the classrooms that bear her name and the mark of her genius, expressions of faith from children of different traditions are noteworthy only because they are so normal. Children offer glimpses of their souls as they polish, scrub, read, and calculate.

In the long months of winter, especially when daylight is scarce, conversations with children can be treasures. Even people of great faith struggle as demands to spend time and money challenge our capacity to give. December days sometimes feel spiritually empty and dark.

But most days a healthy child like Sami looks up from work he loves and shares his faith in a way that is both brilliant and, for him, absolutely ordinary. Montessori often reminded adults to cooperate with the normal patterns of human development.

She also believed that “spiritual education is nothing if not simple cooperation with the grace of God” (God and the Child, 36).