Leaving it to the parents

We're school shopping. Not in the sense of buying clothes and supplies, but we're doing that now-familiar to me ritual of spring-thinking about where the kids will be attending school next year. They're only going to be in Kindergarten and preschool, but this is what I do. I shop around.

L's current preschool is nice, beautiful, and they do a wonderful job with their outdoor area. For an urban school, it's a pretty large play space, with a few "traditional" pieces of play equipment, (swingset, monkey bars) but it's filled with natural features too: logs, shrubs to hide behind, large rocks and hills to play on. They are outside for about an hour each day. This school goes through 8th grade, and we may well keep her there.

We just haven't yet "settled" on a place for the kids to attend school. We dearly love L's school, and she will likely attend Kindergarten there next year. But, you know me, I love to explore my options, and I have just enough of an education/science background and just enough of an obsession with nature education that I'm a bit...well...picky. And I have pretty high expectations.

Here's how our process seems to go: I pick a school that I like, one that has an educational philosophy that I believe in/agree with/understand. I read book after book on that particular educational approach. I study the pros and cons. I talk to colleagues who teach, for their opinions on the approach. I look at how (or if) said school integrates nature into the curriculum, into the day. We visit the school. I pelt the teacher or principal with questions. All of which are along the lines of "Can I check out your outdoor play area?" "How long are the kids outside every day?" "How many times a day do they go out?" "What's your approach to nature education?"

Here are the responses I got last week from two schools. Both Montessori schools. Montessori, in case you didn't know, is an educational approach which emphasizes strong ties to the natural world, a deep appreciation for nature and "authentic" experiences in nature. Seems like a perfect fit?

When I asked how often the children go outside, one enrollment coordinator told me: (she actually said this!) "Children who come for a half day usually don't go outside at all. We leave that to the parents."

On to the next school. This visit occured last week, during one of our rainy, 40 degree days. Huge puddles everywhere, snow melting like crazy, a perfect day to be outside.

"How often would you say the children get outside?" I asked innocently.

"Oh they go outside pretty often." Ms. Tour Guide beamed. "Except, you know, when it's like this. Or really cold.You know, if the weather's lousy."

Who decides what constitutes "lousy" weather? I wanted to ask. Where's your weather policy written?

I'm so frustrated.

Why do schools "leave it to the parents?" Why is there so little value placed on getting kids outside-in all kinds of weather, every day? I know about barriers, I know why teachers don't do this stuff. But please, somebody, tell me, when is this going to change? Why do schools not get this?

BEING OUTSIDE IN NATURE IS IMPORTANT. It is good for brain development. It is good for physical development. It is good for the soul. Now why on earth is something with so many benefits not an integral part of every day, in every classroom around the country?

Clearly, people, we've got our work cut out for us.

Loose Parts

Rocks. Sticks. Leaves.

Who would have thought these items would one day acheive near-celebrity status in the toy world?

There is a growing appreciation among early childhood educators that so-called "open-ended" toys, or "loose parts" (that is, things with no designated role or purpose, objects that can easily be adapted to be any sort of plaything your child imagines) are good for the brain and good for children's play. They are said to help foster creativity, collaboration with others, and sensory awareness. They allow children opportunities to discover and master their environment (by naming things and then assigning them roles)

Eureka!

Child development geeks would call this "naming and mastering their environment;" L and J would call it "making a choo-choo train"

Any toy with no pre-assigned "job" is considered a "loose part"--blocks, stuff from nature, buttons, you get the idea. Things like rubber bugs, cars, and games would not be considered "open-ended" or "loose parts" because these toys were developed to have one specific role in child's play, therefore they tend to be used by children in only one way. (i.e as a bug, a car, or a game) Make sense?

I completely agree: my own children tend to assign a huge variety of roles to their rocks, pinecones, or blocks. The cars tend to always have the role of cars. The trains have never been anything but trains.

I have yet to see a bag of pinecones for sale at the huge toy store (though they are available online) but many child care settings and preschools are beginning to embrace this notion about loose parts. Teachers are replacing the molded plastic toys in their sensory tables with items from nature. Open-ended toys are brought out during free play time instead of toys with pre-determined roles.

Parents can encourage play with open-ended toys by simply making them more accessible in the home. Put the blocks and the nature objects in a prominent place, and make the "programmed" toys a bit harder to get at. When you're outside, think about what's available to you now. Snow is the ultimate "loose part" --what about icicles, snowballs, or branches?

What are your child's favorite open-ended toys? Tell me about a special way they have been used...

Excitement

This weekend I'm attending a conference for Lutheran Early Childhood Educators--so many of whom are interested in, committed to, and inspired by nature education. I attended a presentation all about Play--the value of it, and how we as educators and parents have a responsibility to preserve kids outdoor play.

The folks at this conference are sharing ideas and resources about how to increase kids' exposure to the outdoors-doing everything from Butterfly Rearing Projects to landscaping and everything in between.

This is so exciting to me, to see this momentum and enthusiasm in the field of early childhood education. Most of these teachers are open-minded and willing to try new things, and this is different than the climate I experienced, say, 5 years ago.

Used to be that there was a lot of convincing necessary to get educators "on board" with the need for nature and outdoor play. No more. People are starting to "get it." They are willing to try to make nature a part of their setting, their surroundings, and their schedules.

I applaud educators who believe in the benefits of nature for children. Parents too-those who continue to ensure that children (your own, others) have access to and time in the outdoors. It really does make a difference! Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Bug-eyed birds make me crazy.

My kids recently received a handful of those oh-so-popular toy animals: tiny things, about 3 inches high, with huge heads and enormous eyes. They look like deformed aliens. And they have accessories, like hair ribbons, hats, glasses and there is even a little sun visor that J's lizard wears.

Much to my chagrin, the kids LOVE these things. These crazy, stupid little animals have moved into our dollhouse, and they go for endless rides on J's fire trucks. They take baths with the kids, go on imaginary trips to the grocery store together.

I'm glad the kids are having fun. Thrilled that they are using them for endless creative adventures.

But, come on now, what is it with toys? Why can't animals look like animals?



Why are animals-just as they are-seemingly "not enough" for kids? Look around any toy store, you'll see few if any realistic looking animals. Look for animals native to Minnesota or the northern hemisphere, and you'll either pull your hair out in frustration, or you'll find yourself in a so-called "natural toy store" shelling out big bucks for charming, hand-carved,heirloom-quality wooden creatures.

Here's what you will find:
- The toy animals that are available are, more often than not, tied to media in one way or another, whether it's popular cartoons, or books, movies, etc.
- The animals also generally have a whole arsenal of additional "stuff" such as clothing, townhomes, amusement park rides, or vehicles. These are things which, I am sure, animals in real life do not have.
- The animals generally do not even look like animals. They are often found in very strange colors, they might have psychedelic hair, huge heads, or other distorted features that, if encountered in real-life would set off a scientific sh**storm.
- I've also noticed that their facial expressions are generally designed to make the animals look either 1) sinister: red eyes, long teeth, and the like; 2)stupid: buck teeth, crossed eyes, big butt; or 3) sexy: long eyelashes, a hint of cleavage, and racy accessories like short shorts or midriff tops.



I want my kids to have access to authentic images of animals. Is that too much to ask?

I want my children to play with animals that look like like real animals, the kind that they might see around the great state in which we live. I want them to have toys which demonstrate a respect for animals, toys that don't depict animals as stupid or evil or any of the things I mentioned above. I want them to be inspired to create adventures that aren't some confusing amalgam of human/animal experiences. I want them to hold these animal toys, look at them, and then think about actual, real animals.

I believe this will give them more connection for the natural world than will, say, a big-headed turtle who roller skates. And isn't that one of the reasons children play with toys? To make sense of the world around them?

Am I overthinking this? You tell me.

Come Out and Play

Can you find my daughter in this picture?


If you're like most of us here in the Hinterlands, chances are, Cabin Fever has you in its grip. The temperature soared today! It was a whopping 25 degrees and did it feel good! The forecasts (for what they're worth) seem to agree it's going to be a lovely weekend.

Saturday at 10:30 AM, I'm hosting another playgroup, this time at a park along the Mississippi River. North Mississippi Regional Park is a wonderful place in North Minneapolis. This is a great opportunity to play and just "mess around" with your kids outside. We aren't doing a "nature hike" per se, and there will be no "guided walk"...although all these things are great in their own right.

But the intention of Saturday's gathering, as it is with all these Nature Playgroups, is to simply provide our children (and ourselves!) with a place where they can make their own choices: play where they want to play, do what they want to do, spend as much time making snow angels as their little hearts desire. Just be free to explore and play outside.

Most parents can agree: we all need some "unstructured downtime" as one friend put it. This is it, complete with laughing children, sparkling snow, and sunshine. I do hope you'll join us!

Empty Spaces

Remember exuberance?

I love visiting big, open areas with my kids: spaces with few trees, few rocks, not much of anything other than grass (or sand). Playing with with them in places like this is so fun. It's different than the way they play when there are trees and rocks to climb, sticks to collect, leaves to pile up.

They jump. They dance. They spin in circles. Sometimes, they just run. They have room to move, to whip through the air with nothing nearby-just glorious space. They move their bodies through this space, feeling what they're capable of, trying new things, feeling the wind in their hair. Learning what fast feels like. And sometimes, what slow feels like. They play chase. They throw things as far and as hard as they can.

Usually they are also very loud, as if the wide-open-ness of the wide-open spaces just begs their voices to be as full and loud as can be. And how many places are there where kids can really yell, shout, scream, really check out what their voices can do?

It's great to visit these places and watch our kids revel in the freedom, but how about you? Do you remember how to spin in circles until you are dizzy? Roll down a hill? Whoop and holler just because you can? Go outside and find some open space. Your kids will remind you how to do these things. I promise.

Risk Assessment.

The kids and I spent a glorious morning over the weekend leading a "nature playgroup" at a wonderful and underappreciated gem of an urban park. (One of my most delightful jobs is to lead these nature playdates for families with children...we get out and explore the urban park system and generally have fun just messing around in natural areas.)

J and L (and about 15 other kids!)were frolicking in the sunshine, picking up leaves and tossing them high into the air. We were all on a hill that was dotted with huge, sprawling oak trees. There were sticks and acorns everywhere. J immediately found a stick about 6 inches long, as big around as, oh, I don't know, Barbie's leg. He didn't want to put it down. He was carrying it around under his arm, holding it like a walking stick, even cuddling with it at one point. And in his exuberance, he was running and jumping.

I wasn't going to be "that parent" who won't let her kids play with sticks (and who am I kidding? I'm not that parent.)But then again, it did cross my mind that, well, he was running with a stick.

I actually had an entire internal dialogue about this: Should I put a stop to this? No, he's fine, he's having fun. Let him enjoy it. What's the problem? Relax, I told myself. You worry too much. A wisp of anxiety floated through my mind...well, he could get hurt, couldn't he? But really, what are the chances that he'll actually poke his eye out?

Well, wouldn't you know. The moment I had that awful thought, J fell down. Onto the stick. Luckily, it didn't actually enter his eye, but it came darn close. For a few moments there, I felt like The Worst Mother in the World (again). I mean, I let the kid run with a stick on wet leaves: OK, not the best choice.

So. The corner of his right eye is bruised, swollen, and scratched. He cried for a long time, but was OK. No real harm done. In fact, he's a little proud to tell the story to anyone who'll listen.

I've heard lots of reasons for parents and educators' not wanting kids to play with sticks, and injury is top among them. But it's often there that people stop. Well, OK, I ask them, so what if there was an injury. Would that be OK? Or not? Is the risk worth the benefit? How bad would it be?

When it comes to playing outside, many parents hope and try to eliminate the possibility of any injuries altogether. How can you mitigate every possible risk? I don't think this is realistic, or even possible. I'm certainly not saying I think injuries are good, and I'm not trying to minimize real risk and real injury. I'm just saying that sometimes minor injuries aren't necessarily as bad as we imagine them. The risk of getting poked with a stick is, to me, not high or bad enough to warrant removing sticks from my child's repertoire of playthings. And isn't that how it is with most risks involved in outdoor play? There is often a considerable risk of some relatively minor injury and a much, much smaller risk or something much, much worse. So, when do we refuse to let them have the experience because of the small risk that Something Really Bad will happen?

Now granted, I recognize J was darn lucky this weekend. It could have been really bad. But it wasn't. And most of the time, thank goodness, it just isn't.

Freedom

"Come on, come on, let's go! Get in the car or we're going to be late!" I barked at the kids this morning. L was due at preschool in a mere 10 minutes and they were messing around in the backyard, playing in the garden.

"Come on, get in the car" I said, aggravated and impatient. Finally the two of them walked up to me in the driveway, each with a flower they had chosen "just for you, mama."

This, of course, made me stop in my tracks.

I took a deep breath. I received the flowers they had chosen for me. I gave them each a big hug, and felt myself unwind.

As we drove to school, (and I tried not to speed!) I wondered, what's this rushing around for? Will it really matter if she's 5 minutes late to preschool? It's not a Presidential address, for goodness sakes. I tried to remember--when was the last day I allowed them to take their time, to lead me instead of the other way around? I feel like these days, I am constantly rushing my kids.

After dropping L off at school (late), I decided to forego the errands I had on our agenda, and I headed straght to a nature center in town. I told J "The morning is yours. You get to decide where we go, how long we stay, and what we do."

I set some rules for myself (see below), and here's what I learned about how J plays outside when there's no one telling him what/where/how to do things:

• He spent most of his time inside a 10-foot radius.
• He climbed up and down, up and down their boardwalky-bridge thing 18 times. In a row.
• He asked me to sit next to him on the edge of this boardwalky-bridgy thing. He said, "I don't want to fall down there (pointing to a small streambed underneath) -You got me safe?"
• He used his butt to create a slide down a slope, and I'll never get those pants clean again.
• He spent a fair amount of time picking up sticks, large and small, and throwing them, javelin-style, through the air. Often at me.
• Then he spent an equal amount of time jabbing them into the dirt, making caveman sounds.
• He rolled logs with his butt.
• He collected similar-sized rocks and lined them up in a neat row on a tree stump.
• He found one plant that he described to me as "pokey" and;
• He finally asked to leave after about 50 minutes.

Here's what I learned about myself during this experiment:

• After watching him go up and down the boardwalky bridge thing 4 times, I really wanted to move on and it was hard not to try to redirect him to a different activity. I'm not sure why.
• My first instinct was to say "no throwing sticks" but there was no one there besides us, and I knew he couldn't throw one hard enough to actually hurt me.
• It was really difficult for me not to try to get him out of this little "circle of space" he was playing in. I felt like I needed to show him everything else there was to look at, do, etc.
• It was hard not to ask questions about what he was doing, and why, and what he thought of things.

Try this today. Or tomorrow. But soon. It's good for everyone.

Take your child(ren) to someplace other than your usual nature destinations. Then let them be totally free to explore and play without your intervention. (I suggest a "new" place so that everyone is free from past rules, games, and expectations that have been set in familiar places)

Here are the rules:

• Obviously, first, make sure everyone's going to be safe. Don't do this on a bluff overlooking the river.
• Kids can do whatever they want, however they want, for as long as they want (if you need to set some parameters around this for safety's sake, fine, but allow as much freedom as possible)
• Adults may not say 'no' unless someone is in imminent danger.
• Adults may not lead the child into any activity. The job of the adult is to observe the child. The child decides what to do, how to do it, for how long.
• If a child asks you to participate in some way, follow their instructions.
• Don't ask questions. Just watch. And play, if invited.
• When the child is ready to leave, leave. If at all possible, let the child decide when to go.

What do you think will happen? Will your kids play differently than you expect them to? How long will they be interested in things? What will the experience be like for you? Will it be difficult not to intervene in their play? Let me know what happens, and if anything surprises you.

Going for it

This tree isn 't quite as big as it looks. But my daughter, she is larger than life.

All at once, she's developed this fascination with tree-climbing. A few weeks ago, we were playing in this wonderful little grove of trees near the house, and she just started going up.

Now, she's unstoppable. Even when she's riding in the car, she's scoping out the trees as we pass: "That looks like a good one to climb, we'll have to come back to that tree."

As you might have guessed, I'm a big fan of trees over plastic play equipent. Let's just compare plastic play equipment, such as you might find at your local neighborhood park, with trees and rocks.

Balance:

Your typical "jungle gym" apparatus at a park offers basically one way to go up or down. You use the ladder, or the fake rock-climbing bumps. There is a "right way" (i.e. one way that gets you to the top) and all the other ways-which don't get you to the top of the structure, where the other "experiences" await. The rungs on the ladder, the bars, are all the exact same size and dimension. And there is only one place to go. One outcome: reach the top.

A tree on the other hand, offers a variety of ways to get from one place to another. Reaching the "top" is usually not the goal. (Although for some kids, it certainly might be.)There are exciting and interesting things to be found in all sorts of places within the branches of a tree. Tree branches differ wildly in size, shape, strength and texture. This offers great physical challenge and requires the development of balance well beyond what a series of uniform metal bars offers. It also requires coordination and concentration.

Creativity:

There is usually only "one thing to do" with plastic playground equipment. You climb to the top of something, you slide down. You swing. Plastic play equipment is great for letting off steam. Kids love to climb, slide, and swing. Mine are no exception. But it is rather one-sided, kind of a "flat" experience. Go to any playground, there's just not much variation in the way kids play. Get out in nature, on the other hand, and something else happens.

Kids use their imaginations more freely when playing in nature: "Hmm, here's a great big tree. What can I do here? I can climb it, bounce on the low limbs, swing from the branches, hide in the boughs." "Here are some huge rocks--I can jump from them, crawl, lie on my belly, lean against them." With no pieces of equipment directing how kids play, they can be free to make up their own rules and set their own goals for play.

All that aside, it's at times challenging as a mom to let my kids climb trees, jump off boulders, and the like. Occasionally, one of them will jump off something kinda high, "land wrong" and get a minor owie. And sometimes they go really high. Out of my reach. And there are often rocks and roots and other hard, sharp things on the ground beneath them. And what if she falls and hits a branch on her way down? Or, what if he falls off that boulder and cuts his head open?


When these thoughts creep in, and believe me, they do, I really try to see it as a chance for me to work on my own balance and strength. (because, frankly, I've got the "creativity" part down-I can think of a million what-ifs for any given situation)

The thing is, I've got to let them do this. I really believe this is important-it's good for them in a way that nothing else is. And, really, what are the chances of one of these random bad things actually happening? Extremely, extremely small. Is it any less likely that something bad will happen on a playground? Probably more likely, actually.

So, I take a deep breath. I lift him to a bough he can hang from. I give her a boost up to that next branch. And I stand there, under the tree, and we all grow.

The story of the stump and the log

Recently I happened to drive past a place where the city's forestry department was doing some tree work. Excited, I lept out of the car and described my grand plan for the back yard. Forester Man just shrugged and said, "Sure.Pick out a couple logs." Then he cheerfully carried them to my car. Hooray! I am so grateful! Thank you Minneapolis Park Board.

Something interesting (and unexpected) has happened. At first, the kids were thrilled. That first day they spent a lot of time climbing, balancing and dancing on the log and the stump. But now, the novelty has worn off. When we're outside playing, the kids seem to forget about them. They often play "around" them, rather than integrating them into their play. When they do "remember" that they're there, they love them, and do lots of climbing, piling rocks on them, lying down on the log, etc. But still, it's as if they view the plastic stuff as "toys" and the other stuff (stump, log) as "not toys." So how do I blur that line for them?

Without making a big deal out of it, I try to include them whenever we play: piling sand and rocks and flowers onto them, sitting on the stump to watch the birds, using the log as a lookout tower. Lining up J's endless collection of vehicles on the log, to see if it can hold them all. This week we'll do some crayon rubbings on the bark and paint with water on the stump. Maybe we'll have a snack on the log. We might gather up all of our rocks and arrange them on the log. We'll see.

With reminders and encouragement, the kids seem to easily incorporate the log and stump into our play. What's more, they really enjoy it. I think it's just going to be a matter of time and habit.
So, at the risk of sounding like a total treehugging freak, I am nurturing the relationship between my kids and the log and stump!

natural play spaces

No, this photo wasn't taken in my back yard. Don't I wish. We took a trip to one of my favorite places last week, and as usual I left feeling totally inspired to make the yard even more kid-friendly and a better natural play space. When I take the kids out to play in nature, I'm always delighted at the things they come up with to do. Climbing, jumping, pushing, pulling, dumping-- it's better "large muscle activity" than any plastic playground, it really is.

Here's my wish list:

• some good, climbable rocks
• a log or two, for climbing, balancing, and scooting around on
• more sand: heaps and heaps of it
• shrubs, or willow walls or something, for secret "hiding places"

We're off to a pretty good start. The yard is just full of bare dirt which I sweet-talked the Lyndale Avenue construction crew into delivering one afternoon. After using the dirt to correct some landscaping errors, I heaped up the leftovers under an ash tree, where nothing seems willing to grow anyway. This has has provided the kids with hours of fun-they've shaped it into a road, a river, a "town" and of course, it's endlessly good for dumping into the water table or the swimming pool. I want to add sand to "The Dirt Pile" (as we affectionately call it) so it's not quite so muddy and prone to washing away, and then just have a dedicated area in the backyard which would serve as a large "sandbox"--and finally ditch our plastic "tugboat" sandbox, with tiny built-in seats, which my tailbone hates.

So, my next project is to find a good log or two. I have a friend who works at a tree care company, so I've asked him if he can score me one. I'm also scouting my mother's back yard, which borders on a wetland. Surely there must be a reasonably-sized log out there somewhere. If all else fails, check this out. I can actually buy a "natural balance beam" (also known as a log) online. Ah, gotta love free enterprise. Why does this surprise me? You can buy dirt, and rocks, why not logs too? It is just me, or does this seem just a little too weird?