Here we are, playing in the wintry air that blew in last week. It's not really winter yet, but I can feel it on the edges of the day. The early sunset, the lazy, slow light of morning, the gusts of air that smell of the arctic -- all of these have come this week. So we layer on our thick coats and snowpants, mittens and hats, boots and gaiters, and we go out. How can we stay in, when the sun is shining, or a soft rain is falling, or snowflakes are swirling?

Play is learning, and play outdoors is deep learning, a learning that cannot occur within walls. There is a feeling of strength and courage that such play engenders, when we bravely step out of the warmth and into the cold.

The little ones made lanterns this week, and we sang songs and heard stories of sharing our light with the world. This week, go out. Feel that glow in your heart and listen to the call to share it. The world looks dead, or is full of sadness or fear -- shine there. Notice the life under the surface. Meet the fear with love, the sadness with gentleness, the death with life. 

And run. Jump. Climb. Argue and make up, laughing the whole time. Tumble and swing, or sit quietly in some magic place (psst -- they are all magic) and dream...

​Have a beautiful weekend.

sometimes, it's hard to stay quiet, and sometimes going public hurts. I have had two interviews and sample teaching lessons in the last two months, and I have been hired for neither position. For the second, I was applying to take a classroom at the school where I teach now. When I met with the assistant principal today to talk about my application, and she told me why I hadn't been hired, I was immediately full of tears. Because, on the one hand, she may not have been right about one or two things, but on the other hand, the observations she shared from the interview committee were so dead on.

People, it's all about being authentic, and about living out in the classroom what I espouse in the faculty meeting. And in the moment, under the eye of other teachers, feeling like I am in a classroom with students that aren't mine, I fail. Over and over again, I fail. I have been making the wrong people my role models, again, because (and I wish I could get this through my head) they are not me! I have to stop using other people's tools. They don't work for me. The minute I put up a box for children to earn "points," the minute I take down names, the minute I threaten to call someone's mom, I HAVE LOST. I've lost it. I lose my cool, my resolve, my nerve, and all my fine talk about being a relational teacher and seeking to connect first? Like unto dust in the wind, dude.

I'm trying to see it as a gift: the gift of being the co-teacher again. Of not being in charge of planning. Of not having to be on the front lines of parent communications. Of getting to just be me. 

Have I been me in the classroom? No. I've been me in my small groups, mostly. I've been choosing books I know the children will love, having them practice with movement and art and games. Now to find the balance between teaching lessons I didn't write, and chucking it all out the window to dance and paint all day. 

I have four more days with this class as their leader. Four more days to turn it around, to give them my best. To actually dare to try something, instead of grinding -- GRINDING -- through the day, feeling nothing but regret and exhaustion at the end. Four more days to try to figure out why it is that the two African-American girls in the class are the two I am having the hardest time reaching; I have so much to unpack, so much to examine.

And it's hard. And it hurts. Every day hurts. I'm trying to trust that I am learning, and that I am in the right place, and that they want me to continue in this role, because they see potential. The school sees that I have something they need, and I need to find a way to let that shine out more.

Nothing feels easy with this job. I need to roll it all back in, and really figure it out, because if I don't it will eat me alive.

Sometimes, I really hate learning. Learning is HARD. Growth is HARD. And what happens again and again, is that I see that the path forward, is really a path back. It's a path that reminds me to be what I am, teach how I teach, and trust the children. 

I need that tattooed on my forehead. Or on a BIG poster paper in my classroom. (doing that tomorrow. yep.)

Fairy tales, not necessarily in their scholarly definition, but allowing for a few other folktales and the occasional legend or myth, are the life's blood of childhood. Fairy tales give us a map for the journey of life, and if parents can see through the time-bound elements of societal values and lessons, they can help children to navigate the treacherous waters of learning to live as a human being with wisdom and courage.

That's a bit of a weighty introduction.  Still with me? Of course you are. Here, then, are five of my favorite fairy tales to share with children who are stepping through the doorway from early childhood dreaminess into the open-eyed world of learning to know things for oneself. These stories are perfect for older five-year-olds right up to middle school, but six and seven might be the ultimate age for enjoyment.

1. Vasilisa the Beautiful. I love Vasilisa so much that I've made her image the header for this website. In this variant of a Cinderella tale, Vasilisa is given a magical doll by her mother, who then dies, leaving her with a blessing and instructions to feed the doll and ask it for whatever help she needs. The doll, and Vasilisa's own courage, resourcefulness, kindness, and industry help the girl to overcome evil stepsisters, outsmart force-of-nature Baba Yaga, and even find a worthy mate. While she is, indeed, beautiful, it is her inner nature that leads her to happiness.
2. Snow White and Rose Red These sisters are inseparable, even as we cannot put aside the various sides of our own nature. A bear (who has a secret!), a rude dwarf, a kind mother, and two rose trees all play a role in this story that has a lovely share of humor as well as magic within it. 
3. Great Joy, the Ox This is not a fairy tale. It's a Buddhist story, from the tradition of Jataka tales, which tell stories of the many incarnations of the Buddha. It's a wonderful story for adults and children alike, and especially nice for sixes and sevens. What happens when you let your fear cause you to treat others unkindly, and how can we help others to regain their own kindness while keeping our self-respect? This incredible ox knows the answer.
4. The Lindorm Warning! This story goes on and on and on and on and on... and it's awesome. Perfect for long car rides, but not great for when there's 5 minutes until bedtime. You think the story of the Lindorm, a terrible wyvern or dragon, is over when he's released from his enchantment, but the adventure is just beginning!
5. Three Golden Hairs There are a number of versions of this story of a child who is destined for greatness, the king who wishes he'd stopped the child, and an old woman who knows how to find the answers to impossible questions. This Czech version is beautifully retold. 

So, there you have it. Five of my favorites. The websites these links take you to are worth exploring -- so many great stories to share with the kids in your life! Read aloud, or learn to tell them yourself in my upcoming Be a Storyteller ecourse! (details coming soon!)

And remember, when you come to something that makes you unsure about telling a particular story, whether it's a turn of phrase that rings false in your ear, or a character who meets an end that seems too harsh, take your time. If it's not the right story for you or for your listener, then just let it go, and find the story that's your Goldilocks moment -- Just Right!

As you may know, I left full time teaching around 2 years ago.  It was painful and hard, and in retrospect, the right thing at the time, but my God, it was awful.  My story now, is that I left being a class teacher, because I needed to spend more time with my family (true!) and wanted time to pursue storytelling (also true!) and to find my own direction again.  However, it is also that I was really, really struggling as a teacher.  Being in a lot of other classrooms over the past months as a substitute, I have learned so much about what I was missing.

I spent my first eleven years as a teacher working in one small, developing school.  I knew the families I was working with, and they knew me, and had watched me grow from a fresh-out-of-college girl to my full stature as a teacher and leader in the school.  My classroom style was tuned to working with small groups of students, 12 at the most, who came to me with a really strong early childhood foundation.  They could be left alone in the classroom for a few minutes while I stepped into the office to take a few deep breaths and check my mailbox. I had the freedom to throw out lesson plans and walk to the beach with my class when the weather was fine, and to construct my day-to-day curriculum as each year unfolded.  I am proud of my work at that school, and so very proud to have taught the amazing young people who came out of it -- if you know them, you know how fantastic they are. It was hard work, with many, many long meetings. The school brought out the best and worst in all of us, and it was like a big, noisy, argumentative family in many ways. 

I stepped into an established school, where I soon learned the school I came from was viewed by some as "not a real Waldorf school", and I tried to make it work.  Waldorf teacher training is focused mainly on understanding the development of human consciousness throughout childhood and adulthood; my training as a teacher was heavy on the "why" and intentionally sketchy on the "how."  I carried with me an assumption that any classroom issues stemmed from either a lack of proper inner attitude on my part, or on some constitutional characteristic of the child in question. The cultural differences led to a huge number of mistakes on my part, and the larger class and wider range of skills and temperament demanded a very different approach than I knew how to take. 

I lacked some key skills in classroom management, planning, and workplace etiquette.  On top of this, I had a child who was still nursing, and I slept around 5-6 hours a night.  This was a recipe for disaster.  My colleagues and I were not working from the same playbook; I was exhausted and ill; there was a disastrous "mentoring" visit from a master teacher.  In short, we all could have seen the writing on the wall from the beginning. I needed another 5 hours in my day -- three to sleep, two to plan. 

So, here is what I wish I had understood four years ago:

1. You need a plan for classroom management that stems from a goal that feels authentic and enlivening.  I tried a lot of classroom management strategies.  The problem with that?  They were strategies without a philosophy I could get behind.  It was like trying to base my presence in the classroom on the second story of a house without a ground floor.  Responsive Classroom would have been a really good choice, and I'd recommend working on a really clear picture of what a functioning classroom looks like, so you and your colleagues are on the same page. Very, very important.
2. It really, really helps to look at how the rest of the educational world works, and how other folks are teaching reading, math, writing, etc.  Waldorf has a rich, varied, and soul-deep curriculum.  So much is left up to the individual teacher, that it can be really, really overwhelming.  It helps to have some real understanding of the pace and scope of the schools around you, so you can speak with confidence with parents, and so that you can pick and choose best practices that address the needs of the children in front of you. That's the heart of Waldorf: the teacher needs to be free to address those needs and to teach well, and needs knowledge and resources to do so.
3. You need a lot of support.  A LOT.  I remember a fellow student at training who talked about a master teacher who started a talk about lesson preparation by saying, "So, friends, when you finish your dinner, and go into the study and close the door..." Get the support you need so that you feel like such a thing might be possible, even if it's before breakfast, or on Saturday, or whenever it is.  
4. Self.  Care.  I'm not just talking about your all-important Inner Work.  You'll hear all about that in teacher training.  What I didn't learn, was how to balance my life.  I didn't make good use of my prep periods, because that was the only time, most days, that I had any time to read, or write, or walk, or talk to adults other than my spouse.  So, then that meant trying to plan lessons at 9 or 10 at night after suffering through another marathon bedtime.  Did not work.  Please plan accordingly.
5. People are watching and judging all the time.  Everything you do and say, and they don't all want you to succeed, even if they say they do.  Assume you are being watched every single moment you are in the classroom, or the halls, or the office, or the teacher's lounge.  It sounds awful, but this was so much my downfall.  Waldorf teachers need a thick skin, and need to be good at seeming calm, cheerful, and serene.  I didn't do so well on this one, either.

I want to elaborate more on some of these, but I'm tired, and trying to get more than 5-6 hours of sleep a night.  My son finally started sleeping through the night 2 years ago, so I'm off to enjoy sleep interrupted only by cats, the dog, and my own ridiculous dreams...