Australia, anyone?

Tess started pre-school this fall in a wonderful Montessori school. How I wish I lived there, every child respectful and kind and engaged in wonderful learning with gorgeous wooden objects color-coordinated and all in their special place on wooden shelves, nothing out of order, nothing broken, nothing missing pieces or dusty or painted with lead paint.

Children sit quietly in a circle to start their day, lovingly singing a good morning song complete with sign language. As I listen, I think about how very unlikely that would be in my house at 8:30 in the morning with one child, much less 20-some.

Then they direct their own learning not by turning on Spongebob, but by locating an object they find interesting (objects so beautiful that they make me weep), getting a small rug and unrolling it on the immaculate floor, then getting the small pitcher full of beans and the tiny bowls that teach counting or the wooden puzzle that teaches fractions or the small drawing board from a shelf with no dust on it, playing with their choice until their curiosity is satisfied. Ah, what a joy to watch them quietly carry their work back to where it belongs, then roll up their rugs and move to another activity. Have they drugged these children? I ask myself.

I can promise you that every single parent who witnesses this feels a combination of simultaneous awe and envy and not an insignificant amount of unworthiness as a parent, each of us thinking to ourselves, "my little angel doesn’t do this at home," then imagining a universe in which it did happen, each of us pulling up a small cot and resting quietly in dimmed lights in those beautiful classrooms where cubbies hold shoes and blankies, to be awakened by teachers with angel voices. No, at home, we step on blocks strewn on a cheerio rug and rather than a tree of hearts on which we celebrate kind actions, we hear screaming and refusals to brush teeth and can’t find two shoes that match in the morning, much less socks. Inadequacy might describe the primary feeling I have in that classroom, but that gives way to worship quite quickly: I stand in awe of the Montessori teachers, the orderliness, those gorgeous, tactile objects, that way of being in the world.

For the next few months, Tess will study Australia. We’ve taken our didjeridoo in and other things from our travels to Australia to help the kids learn about this fabulous place, one of my favorites in the world, and it occurred to me last night as I fell asleep that it would be way cool for the class to get real letters in the mail from Australia, wouldn’t it? With cool Australian stamps on the outside and pictures, perhaps, or notes from other kids, or a letter about life in Australia? So, if anyone is reading this in Australia and would be willing to post a wee letter to a class of 4-year-olds to surprise them, would you send an email with "Australia" in the subject line?

I’m going to go build some cubbies now and vacuum up cheerio remnants and dream of orderliness and good morning songs.

Many thanks, my Aussie friends!