• Skip to primary navigation
  • Skip to content
logo

MariaMontessori.com

A Project from Montessori Administrators Association
  • Home
  • Learn
    • About This Website
    • Montessori Overview
    • Infant/Toddler
    • Primary
    • Elementary
    • Adolescent
    • Montessori Graduates
    • FAQs
    • Glossary
  • Listen
  • search

classroom

28 Nov

It’s All Science

Christine Carrillo by Christine Carrillo | Montessori Blog
0 Comments
Share

“What is a scientist?…We give the name scientist to a man who has felt experiment to be a means guiding him to search out the deep truth in life, to lift a veil from its fascinating secrets…” -Maria Montessori

He was crying pretty hard. No, he was weeping. His face of was red and his eyes were swollen. He was angry, confused and overwhelmed. Despite the successful orientation just a few days earlier, it has not been easy to say goodbye to mom and dad and make the journey down the hallway to our classroom. In addition to the difficult separation, there was a bit of a language barrier. He spoke another language at home and was not yet fluent in English. I helped him wipe his tears, and took him gently by the hand. I showed him the cylinder blocks. He was immediately interested, although still hesitant. Using a friendly smile and gestures, I invited him to sit beside me as I began to work with the material.

As soon as I began to remove the cylinders from the block, his eyes lit up. He locked his eyes on mine and reached for the next cylinder, clearly showing me that he wanted to go for it. After I finished my presentation, he went right for it, tears forgotten and enthusiasm in full swing. I watched him for a long while, mesmerized, as I often am, at the draw, pull, enticement and attraction, as well as the calming quality of these beautiful materials in my environment.

I observed him as he mulled over the holes, working with purpose until finding the right one in which to gently slide the cylinder. He tried one cylinder in several of the holes before finding just the right fit. I could practically see the gears turning in his mind. Through trial and error, observation, testing and testing again, he was able to return each cylinder to its correct space. He sighed with contentment as he finished, and then started the process all over again.

Montessori materials allow the child to teach himself. Through trial and error, these didactic materials give feedback, this case both visual (he can see that it doesn’t fit) and mechanical (some cylinders just do not fit in some holes), which allow the child to work independently. The child in the prepared environment tests his hypothesis (this one goes here) again and again. He records data in his mind as to which cylinder goes where. He tests and retests. The child finds contentment in his exploration. He feels a calm sense of accomplishment when finished. He desires to repeat the process again from the beginning.

Maria Montessori, herself a scientist and a physician, created her pedagogy through following the interests of children and did not name the approach after herself. We call it “The Montessori Method”, but she called it “The Scientific Method” or “The Child’s Method.” Our approach to education is the only pedagogy based in science, and based on one woman’s dedication of over 50 years of research and practice to create a developmentally based approach to education that follows the child’s natural growth process.

In our classrooms, children teach themselves concepts through trial and error, using didactic materials. These didactic materials provide a child with a sense of purpose and are repetitive and calming. Children are unhurried and can practice, err, correct themselves and explore deeper at their own pace.

When I look around my classroom, I see twenty-seven scientists. They are making mistakes, making observations, testing and retesting, repeating, recording data and engaging in that process over and over again. Once they are confident with one material, they are likely to desire to work with another. This sense of calm, self- assuredness builds wonderful members of our community who are, in turn, a gift to our society because calm, confident, self-assured children become calm, confident, self-assured adults. In the words of Dr. Montessori, “The child is the maker of man.”

As for the little boy who was tearful on his first day, he has happily been working his way through many of the materials on the shelves, with a special love for the sensorial. He does not cry in the morning. Though he continues to be the strong, silent type, this morning he raced across the room to me with a grin, grabbed my hand and led me to the beautiful pink tower he had built. The little girl working next to him shared in his joy and said, “YOU DID IT!” And my heart sang with joy for him and gratitude for this wonderful scientific approach to education that allows children to become the best versions of themselves.

Filed Under: Montessori Blog Tagged With: calm, children, classroom, didactic, materials, montessori, science, scientist, sense, work

26 Feb

Why Wait

Jennifer Rogers by Jennifer Rogers | Montessori Blog
7 Comments
Share

“Education cannot be effective unless it helps a child to open up himself to life.” -Maria Montessori, The Discovery of the Child

Anna

Many years ago, I had a student who was an unintentional and most unlikely source of great inspiration. Where Anna is now, I couldn’t say. I suppose she is in the midst of a successful college career. When I first knew her, she was three years old, smart and strong-willed, the cherished daughter of older Russian parents. For the first year I knew her, Anna was completely silent.

Though her mother reported she spoke “like a storybook” at home, in both English and Russian, at school she said nothing. Anna was attentive, cooperative, and seemingly quite happy. She attended small and large group lessons, listened politely, and nodded at appropriate moments. We often noticed her lips moving when we sang, but her singing was without voice.

We never understood why Anna did not speak. Though she looked content, we wondered if this first separation from the Russian grandparents who had cared for her since infancy might have been traumatic for Anna. Anna’s mother seemed attuned and honest. She was neither critical nor concerned. “It will pass,” she said. “She is fine.”

I continued to worry.

In January, I asked an old friend to observe Anna in my class. “Tell me what to do,” I begged him. He was older than I, much more experienced and confident, on the brink of retirement but still successful in all his endeavors. The morning he came to observe, he stayed in my classroom less than 15 minutes.

“You know what you are going to do?” he said. “Nothing!” He pointed his index finger at me to emphasize his certainty. “This is a beautiful classroom, full of active, happy kids. The environment you prepared is calling Anna. Eventually, she will answer.”

He pointed at me again, smiling. “You wait,” he said, and left.

A month later, three five-year-old girls stood near Anna, talking about a weekend trip to a local ice rink. “I like to skate,” Anna said.

Five-year-old Samantha turned to Anna, smiling. “Do you skate with your friends or with your family?” she asked. “I like to skate with my big sister,” Anna replied.

Samantha extended her little hand for Anna, and the two girls walked off together to continue their conversation in a small group. There was no fanfare, no celebration, just a quiet, long-awaited conversation among friends.

After that first timid conversation with friends, Anna spoke freely, with animation and intelligence. The next morning, when she arrived at the door of our classroom, she shook my hand as she always had, then smiled and said, for the first time, “Good morning Mrs. Rogers. It’s good to see you.” Over the next few days, she demonstrated that she had memorized and could reproduce all the Sandpaper Letter sounds. She began working with the Moveable Alphabet with obvious delight.

It felt like a miracle. It still does.

Amanda

More recently, a parent of one of the oldest children in my class came to the first conference of the year eager to tell me a story. She began describing the behavior of another student, our newest, tactfully avoiding his name. She related her daughter Amanda’s initial shock at the boy’s disorderly conduct and his most unfortunate word-choice. That boy blossomed into a fine member of our community, a good friend to many and an admired leader, but at the time of our first conferences that year, our situation was dire.

Panic rose within me as her stories drew to a close. The tales were true. There was no doubt in my mind whom she was talking about, but I was not sure how to reassure her or respond to her concerns.

As so often happened with this remarkable parent, I underestimated her.

“Here’s what I wanted to tell you,” she said. “I was upset when I listened to Amanda’s stories about this child. I asked Amanda if she had told you. You know what she said?” Here she paused, for dramatic effect.

“She said, ‘Oh mom. Why would I tell Mrs. Rogers? She already knows. It’s going to take a long time. But it will be OK. We can handle it.’”

Her eyes were full of tears. “Can you believe that? My five-year-old daughter is wiser and more patient than I am. I’ve never been so proud. Thank you. I am so grateful.”

Learning to Wait

A casual observer would miss much of the learning and growth the goes on in a Montessori classroom. Many of the experiences of greatest value to a growing child are not apparent they are so embedded in the routine that children and adults rarely notice their impact.

Montessori classrooms are unusually active, just two adults with a large group of children of mixed ages. With very few exceptions, classrooms are prepared with just one of each material available for use. These decisions – large communities of mixed ages of children, few adults and few materials – are deliberate choices intended to help children learn when and how to seek help, how to make independent decisions and, most importantly, how to wait.

Children in Montessori classroom are not expected to take turns or share. If a child is working with a material, she is free to work at her own pace, for as long as she desires. Other children who might like to work with the material are learning to wait. Additionally, when a child needs help, he might not have immediate access to the teacher or the assistant. When a teacher is giving a lesson, observing, or otherwise engaged, children can either seek help from another child, or wait.

Young children whose parents report regular tantrums and fits of rage at home demonstrate great patience in the school community. Why? At any given moment, in any well-prepared Montessori classroom, the same child who can be frighteningly impatient at home is surrounded by children who are actively waiting. Learning to wait is an unarticulated expectation. The prepared environment demands it.

Ideas for Parents

“These are the joys which prepare a man for life and are the only ones that are really suitable for the education of children.” -Maria Montessori, The Discovery of the Child

The world our children are growing up in is so mechanized, efficiency-oriented, and virtual — helping children learn to wait requires parents make deliberate, conscientious choices about how they spend time with their children. Most of the experiences and entertainment for children offer immediate, constant feedback and demand very little attention. Waiting is a soft skill, but it is also the precursor to the virtues of perseverance. The ability to actively wait is the cornerstone of success in any arena.

Some Ideas

  • Gardens: For many years, my husband planted moonflower seeds with our young children. There is nothing to compare with the just-before-bedtime delight when the first fragrant blossom opened outside our back door. I have also been the grateful recipient of flowers a child planted at home and picked before school. Vegetables in the ground . . .tomatoes in a barrel . . . geraniums in a can on the window sill. . .marigolds by the mailbox . . .every seed planted and cared for by a child is an opportunity to learn that growing things takes attention and time.
  • Cooking/baking: The only experience more valuable than sharing a meal with a child is first preparing it. Waiting for bread to rise, or cookies to bake, or soup to boil fills a home with good smells and good feelings. Most families cannot manage a sit-down meal as often as we would like, but every meal prepared together and shared at a table is a gift and an investment in the health of a child and her family. Really.
  • Road Trip: Infants and toddlers gain nothing from hours strapped in car seats and carriers. Older kids can, however, learn a great deal from trips with maps in their laps and a destination to explore. Too often, our children travel great distances so quickly and with such little thought or attention, they return home with no idea where they have been or how many miles they traveled.
  • Read Aloud: Often. One of the simplest, most valuable joys of childhood is listening to a story. Even when a story is often repeated, children love waiting to hear what happens next. There are now so many beautifully illustrated books for children, waiting for the page to turn is a real source of joy for kids whose parents make time to sit down beside a child with a book in hand. As children grow older and can listen attentively to chapter books, they also spend a full day anticipating the next night’s reading.

We Never Stop Learning to Wait

“Before anyone can assume a responsibility, he must be convinced that he is the master of his own actions and have confidence in himself.” -Maria Montessori, The Secret of Childhood

One of the first times I had a Montessori consultation, I was working in a classroom situated at the end of the hallway the children walked down as they entered the school. Eager to observe the morning greetings and, I suppose, to see the expressions of the children as they entered the school, our consultant began her day sitting in a chair just inside the door to my classroom.

That year I had a little boy in my class who was autistic. When he saw the smiling stranger seated within his classroom, he screamed in terror, turned and ran back down the hallway. Horrified, I made eye contact with my assistant and very quickly left the classroom, feeling certain the consultant must already be convinced I was incompetent and unworthy of my position.

My terrified young student stopped when he saw me and sat down to cry in the hallway. “It’s OK,” I said, “She is my friend.” Then I stood waiting, until he took my hand and joined me as we returned together to a classroom that was by now in full swing.

I spent the day dreading my after-school conference with the consultant.

“Well, Jennifer,” she said as we sat alone together in my classroom. “Wonderful.” Then she paused, smiling, allowing her encouragement to sink in.

“First, I love how you left your classroom in the care of your assistant to follow the child who needed you most. Your classroom functions well when you are not present. That is as it should be.”

“Second, I love how you waited for him. That is what he needed. We teachers often want to swoop in and fix things, acting out our own fear and anxiety. You gave him the time he needed to recover, and you allowed him to feel in control of his situation once again. Well done.”

The conversation continued. I had much to learn from the consultant. I still do. Each of her comments was so accurate and so gracefully communicated, the entire conversation still resonates. She reminded me that we never stop learning how to wait, but each pause is significant. Real growth, she said, continues only when we act with an intelligence informed by a long vision of an unfolding life.

Disclaimer for Parents: If a trusted teacher or doctor has suggested an evaluation or therapeutic intervention for a speech, language processing, or other developmental delay, waiting is not a good strategy. Early intervention saves lives. A “wait and see” approach rarely helps a struggling child.

Filed Under: Montessori Blog Tagged With: children, classroom, consultant, conversation, home, learning, montessori, school, wait

12 Sep

Back to School Blessing

Jennifer Rogers by Jennifer Rogers | Montessori Blog
9 Comments
Share

Our neighbor Joe visits several times a week. Joe is eight years old, polite and respectful, happy, bright-eyed, a popular kid in our neighborhood. When he steps onto our front porch, he’s usually looking for someone to play with. Sometimes, his mother sends him to fetch his sister.

Joe knows how to knock appropriately, and he knows our doorbell works. Most days, he neither knocks nor rings. Joe prefers to chat with our dogs through the window, until I notice his voice and the dogs’ cheerful barking. “Mrs. Rogers,” he says when he sees me. “Is my sister here? Please tell her it’s time to come home.”

One mid-summer day, after he delivered his mother’s message, Joe said, “Mrs. Rogers, do you know there is a caterpillar on your door? A big, fat, fuzzy, white one?” Joe’s earnest expression made it clear that our front-porch situation was urgent.

I pressed my forehead on the glass door and gazed down, my eyes following his finger. Sure enough, a caterpillar was dangling from the door spring. “Yes indeed,” I said. “I can see it.”

“Well?” Joe awaited my response. The awkward pause gave him confidence. He could see I was missing his point. “Mrs. Rogers, don’t you think I should do something? And, by the way, Mrs. Rogers, don’t open the door. He’ll be squished.”

“What do you have in mind, Joe?”

“I think I should get a twig, and carefully move him, Mrs. Rogers.”

I agreed that was the right thing to do. “You can go now, Mrs. Rogers,” he said. “I’ll take care of this.”

It was hard to leave, but I did. I didn’t want Joe to think I lacked confidence in his ability to tend to the life of a fuzzy caterpillar. I can still picture Joe in my mind, though, his expression, his commitment, the natural way he noticed a caterpillar and cared. Weeks have passed. I will think often of Joe and the caterpillar as my school year begins and it feels like there is much less time to pause and notice small things. There is always time.

Joe will be in third grade this year; remarkably mature of him, I thought, to simultaneously observe a precarious situation and respectfully communicate with an adult. This year, I’d like to enter the classroom with Joe’s front-porch spirit. I’d like to remain in the ready-position, searching for the twig that will rescue the dangling caterpillars I learn beside every day.

©MariaMontessori.com

I’d like to enter my classroom each day with my eyes as wide-open as Joe’s are. When fatigue or discouragement hit, as they inevitably do, I hope I have the good sense to sit down and observe the young people who hold so much hope and promise. It is not as hard as it seems to observe and quietly celebrate the purposeful work that continues to give the lives of children meaning and direction.

My teaching situation is delightful. I spend every day in a beautiful Montessori classroom, surrounded by teachers and administrators who care as much as I do. It should not be difficult for me to slow down, but it is. It does not require extra energy to keep my chin up and my eyes open, but it does require deliberate thought and movement. My heart-felt desire for myself extends both to those as fortunate as I am, and especially to all those brave parents and teachers who work in circumstances and environments that tax their souls:

May the children in your care bless and inspire you. May the urgent expression of a child remind you to believe in the importance of your work. May your faith in every child keep you engaged in the work of his hands and the life of his mind. May your observations of the children in your care bring you an abiding sense of satisfaction, peace, and great joy.

Filed Under: Montessori Blog Tagged With: caterpillar, children, classroom, confidence, expression, montessori, observe

15 Mar

Beauty Within

Jennifer Rogers by Jennifer Rogers | Montessori Blog
5 Comments
Share

Mary memorized Robert Louis Stevenson’s poem The Swing effortlessly, through the natural absorption of story and song that is one of the gifts of childhood. Stevenson’s timeless collection of poetry for children, A Child’s Garden of Verses, has always been on the bookshelf beside Mary’s bed. It is also present in her classroom library. Mary’s mother and her teacher read poetry to her often, sometimes singing as they read.

©Bergamo Schools
©Bergamo Schools

When Mary was five, she was able to read some poetry independently. By the time she was six, she enjoyed writing favorite poems like The Swing in her own cursive handwriting. She often added illustration to her poetry, using the watercolor or pastels she found on the shelves of her Montessori classroom.

The day Mary recited The Swing for the first time at school, her voice rose and fell following the poem’s cadence. She smiled as she spoke, held her body still with poise, ease, grace, and confidence.

“How do you like to go up in a swing?” the poem asks. As if the words of the poem lifted her upward, Lucy swayed gently forward and back. She stood before an audience of her friends and teachers, but she was in Stevenson’s swing, radiant, joyful, fully alive and engaged in the world of poetry.

For the adults watching it was an event, a real performance, and a celebration of all that is possible when parents and teachers read to children.

Mary’s four-year-old classmate Jon was amazed. It had not occurred to him that a poem could exist apart from a book, or that song and poetry could be shared so wonderfully with friends. Sitting in the front row of Mary’s audience, Jon was mesmerized.

The same day Mary recited The Swing, Jon whispered in his teacher’s ear, “I want to recite my poem for you. Just you.”

His teacher tilted her head closer to Jon’s mouth, smiling as she listened. “I’ve never heard that poem before,” she said.

“I wrote it in my head,” Jon said, “for a long time.” He was sincere, earnest, as honest as a four year old can be with his teacher.

Jon was an unlikely poet. He was not yet writing independently. His weak fine motor skills and short attention span were, in fact, an area of some concern. “May I write the words of your poem on paper?” his teacher asked, “so you can share your poem with your family and other people who are not with us.”

Jon was elated. His eyes sparkled. His smile was immediate, and radiant. He sat in his wooden chair with his pudgy hands clasped studiously on the table in front of him. His teacher sat beside him, listened again, and wrote. Even when she asked him to repeat, the words of Jon’s poem never varied. A poem clearly existed, complete, in Jon’s mind.

I love the sun.

How it shines on me

     And it’s so bright

So children can play

     All day.

Jon’s delight was, for his parents and teacher, as refreshing as a spring breeze at the end of a long, cold winter. At four, Jon was impish, disorganized, easily distracted, and sometimes disruptive. His favorite things about his Montessori classroom were his buddies, lunch, and the playground.

“I’m always thinking,” he once said of himself, smiling but serious. “I forget a lot of stuff, though. The stuff I forget always comes back to get me in trouble.”

The day Mary recited her poem so beautifully, Jon could imagine what a poem looks like when it lives within a person. For a moment, Robert Louis Stevenson’s poem became real, incarnate in one of Jon’s best friends.

Mary’s performance and Jon’s composition offered windows into the inner worlds of two children. That day and those that followed also reminded their teacher that poetry can help organize a cluttered mind. Montessori children continually absorb the order and beauty present in their classroom environments. One special day of poetry made it abundantly clear that children will also absorb the abstract order and beauty present in fine language. Both children had been read to; both children felt encouraged, confident, and inspired; both children could re-create concepts of tone, meter, intonation, and structure ordinarily observed in mature artists.

The beauty Jon and Mary absorbed in their classroom exists within them. The simple forms of poetry held meaning for them that reflected and transcended both their classroom environment and the pages of the books they had enjoyed. Jon, Mary, and their many friends at school derive strength and joy from the language they have absorbed.

Filed Under: Montessori Blog Tagged With: beauty, children, classroom, montessori, performance, poem, poetry, song

14 Dec

A Quest for Reality

Paul Gutting by Paul Gutting | Montessori Blog
3 Comments
Share

“[It] may be said that in order to develop the imagination it is necessary for everyone first of all to put himself in contact with reality.” -Dr. Maria Montessori

When Dr. Montessori opened her first classroom in 1907 in the San Lorenzo tenement housing in Rome, she had two cabinets of materials for the children’s use. One was filled with the materials she had designed and made for the children based on her earlier work in hospitals, and the other was filled with toys that had been donated to her by her friends.

DSC_7932-mediumDr. Montessori found very quickly that the children in the classroom exclusively chose the materials over the toys. She was surprised, and went so far as to sit down with the children and show them how to use the toys. After sitting with the dolls and so on for a short time, the children returned to the materials and remained with them. This observation brought Montessori to the conclusion that the children preferred reality and real work to toys and fantasy. Her conclusion has since been supported both by Montessori’s own work and that of many educators the world over.

I have found myself wondering on occasion if such a scenario could still take place. Surely contemporary battery-powered toys with flashing lights and a different song for every button would attract attention away from our simple, orderly materials. But I have seen that it is not so.

A year or so ago, my school hosted a fundraising garage sale. We filled part of a classroom not being used for the summer with donations. We had all kinds of things – plastic play kitchen sets, a cat-shaped keyboard, toy cars, dolls, a bin of dress-up clothes, bikes, and the list goes on. The other half of the classroom still had Montessori materials neatly arranged on shelves.

I watched as a two-and-a-half year old girl walked into the room, looked at all the toys, even touching some of them, and went straight to the shelves of materials and took great delight in working with a cylinder block (one of the Montessori sensorial materials). She was not prompted in any way, nor did I put her in the room as a test or experiment. She was not a student at our school returning to the familiar joys of the classroom. She was a child entering into a room filled with choices and after seeing what was available, she chose what she wanted (or needed) most.

Often in Montessori, we speak of the materials calling out to the children, and we do our best to make sure that call is clear. That is why our classrooms tend to be simple and uncluttered, decorated to the point of orderly beauty, not to the point of distraction. The children want to engage in the classroom. They want the experience that the materials will give them because they will get more learning from that experience than from flashy toys or reasoned rhetoric from an adult.

I think this story supports several truths about children, but the thought I want to land on today is that children crave reality. They want to do real work with real things. Nearly every parent of a two or three-year-old child sympathizes with the image of sweeping the floor and having to drag the child along on the end of the broom. The children want to help, they want to understand their own power to do work, and they will be best satisfied in that quest when they have real things to do.

Filed Under: Montessori Blog Tagged With: classroom, materials, montessori, reality, toys, work

21 Oct

Don’t Should on your Parents

Charlotte Wood by Charlotte Wood | Montessori Blog
15 Comments
Share

I love the start of the new school year. Everything is fresh and clean. It’s a fantastic opportunity to set goals for my classroom and for myself. These goals typically are phrased as comparatives and superlatives, learning from past experiences, wanting to get it “right.”

©MariaMontessori.com

It can be easy to be a little too enthusiastic at times.

In my imagination, this is the year the children in my classroom work equally in all areas, the year I have fantastic relationships with all my families, the year the smallest cube from the Pink Tower never goes missing, no chair un-tucked, no cough uncovered.

These goals require a level of self-reflection that, if I’m being honest with myself about my challenging areas, can leave me feeling open and vulnerable. Let me provide you with an example:

When a parent comes in the first week of school and tells me they taught their child to read this summer and could I please guide them away from those Practical Life works and work more on reading with them, I feel deflated, hurt, and maybe even grouchy. What do they think I do all day?! Don’t they know washing tables is important?! Wasn’t that the point of the last parent education?!

It was during one such temper tantrum – excuse me, moment of reflection – that I became aware of how my passing comments to a parent might feel. In the classroom, I have the benefit and gift of seeing 26 little humans for at least 8 hours every day. When one of them is struggling with math, isn’t very interested in the newest presentation I gave them, or is having a tough time with friends, I know that these things are completely normal, unsurprising, typical.

Sometimes, when a parent asks how their child’s day was, I mention one of these things without even thinking about it. In that temper-tantrum moment, I realized how critical, judgmental, punitive this must sound. I can only imagine what this parent might be thinking.

– If it weren’t a big deal, why would she even bring it up?

– Surely my child must be the only child in the history of the world who was ever had this issue.

– If this is what she is telling me, how much more must be going on that is even worse???

When a parent makes a passing comment to me about their child’s development and work, I take it very personally. This quality is part of what makes me good at my job. When I make these comments to a parent, it is more than a comment on their job, it’s a comment on their parenting, which is so much bigger.

Parents certainly don’t have 26 children at home, so how would they know this issue is not a big one, barely even a blip on the radar, forgotten as soon as it was mentioned. In the interest of being open and friendly with a parent, I have inadvertently stuck my foot in my mouth, hurt their feelings, been critical.

One of this year’s goals is to ask myself the same questions I ask the children in my class. Is it kind? Is it helpful? I hope I can keep the memory of this vulnerable moment fresh. My goals for this year include one that affects my classroom, but more in the style of an Indirect Preparation: don’t should on your parents. We’re all doing the best we can with the information and abilities we have at the time. Be as gentle with parents as you are with the new children. We are all fragile when it comes to these small people we love so much.

Filed Under: Montessori Blog Tagged With: classroom, goals, montessori, new, reflection, start

©2017 MariaMontessori.com - All Rights Reserved.

All photographs and videos appearing on this site are the property of MariaMontessori.com.

They are protected by U.S. Copyright Laws, and are not to be downloaded or reproduced in any way without the written permission of MariaMontessori.com.