Dear Families,
“We all need help in bolstering our little boats. And we need help in gaining perspective on the largeness of the sea.”
~Edward M. Hallowell
When my son was three-and-a-half, as we were winding down from a hot afternoon of park play and summer sprinklers, we rounded a corner, about to head out of the park for the day, when he caught sight of a huge rock formation. He’s never been a particularly bold kid when it comes to physical risks, but for some reason--the high of the summer sunshine or the new found bravado of a “threenager”--in that moment these enormous, steep rocks called his name, and he dashed ahead and began to climb. I chased after him, reaching the base of the rocks with our dog in tow, and realized as I spotted him, already a third of the way up, that there was no way I could manage the dog and help him on the rocks at the same time. I also realized in this moment that, in his loose, wet water shoes, there was a very good chance he would slip, and if he did it would probably not just result in scrapes and bruises but in a more serious injury.
As an educator, I believe in allowing children to take risks. I know the importance of letting children fail and rebound. I know that the research says that children who have broken a bone on the playground are ultimately less anxious later in life, because they have experienced, not only injury, but healing. However, in that moment, I was just a scared, exhausted mom at the end of a long, hot day, trying to juggle a young child and a dog, and wanting nothing more than to be at home, making dinner, and bringing our day to a close.
I called out for him to stop climbing and come back down. “We can climb tomorrow. Now we need to go home.” He kept climbing, undeterred. I called out again in my most serious mom voice. He kept climbing. As he got higher and higher, well beyond his own usual comfort zone, my fear merged with my exhaustion, my frustration at being completely ignored, and my sense of helplessness as the dog tugged at her leash. I heard my voice then, louder than it had ever been before, wavering with a tone that gave away my loss of controlled authority and my fear. I caught a glimpse of two other adults, a little further down the path, turning back to look at us. And worst of all, I saw my son’s body startle and then freeze. I instantly realized that my own voice had scared him enough to nearly be the cause of the fall I’d been so worried about. I took a deep breath, regained as much calm as I could muster, and told him firmly to start slowly climbing back down. This time he did. And my eyes welled up with both relief and regret.
Image from Harriet You’ll Drive Me Wild by Mem Fox and Marla Frazee
Our feelings for our children are passionate. The work of caring for them can certainly be joyous and deeply gratifying, but at times it can also be exhausting and overwhelming. The support networks that once existed in close, extended families or tightly knit neighborhood communities are now often more spread out and spread thin. And at the same time the shelves of parenting books offering guaranteed (but frequently conflicting) advice can make us feel unsure and inept, just when we are at our most vulnerable. It is easy to feel that we must not only do it all on our own but do it perfectly.
We often say, “it takes a village,” and of all the parenting platitudes, this is perhaps the most honest and the most important. Raising children can be hard, and in most cultures, until very recently, it was not an isolated task but a communal one. As we increasingly live farther from our families, work longer hours, and make our homes in busier, less intimate environments, we have to carve out our own villages. We have to ask for help from one another and offer it to one another more proactively. And we have to give ourselves and others permission to be imperfect, so that we can all feel safer admitting when we are at the end of our rope and need a hand. We all have times when we find that we are not the parent we wish to be, and we need reassurance or guidance to regain our footing.
Within the Nursery School, we have a deep bench of professionals who are here to support families, not only because we recognize that it is natural for parents to need this help from time to time, but also because we know that none of us has all of the answers, and multiple buttresses always create more stability than one ever could alone. And, though each of us carries our own professional experience and expertise, we often check in with each other for an alternate perspective, as well as with mentors and consultants beyond the JCC walls, because, no matter how many years we spend working with children or degrees we hold between us, there is still always value in the support. knowledge, and ideas of others.
As a community of educators, some of our own behind the scenes professional supports, in addition to many individual mentors, include a host of wonderful psychologists, Jewish educators, speech therapists, physical therapists, and occupational therapists. A few examples include occupational therapist, Loren Norman, who recently shared her wisdom on handwriting development with our teachers; Mark Horowitz, who has helped significantly in shaping and deepening our approach to Jewish early childhood education; and Robin Aronow, who just presented her vast knowledge of New York public schools at a workshop this week. Additionally, a few important ongoing professional voices in our work include:
Roxana Reid of Smart City Kids, who supports our knowledge of the exmissions landscape and bolsters our work with ongoing schools.
Paola Trigari, an expert in the Reggio Emilia approach, who is an integral resource, working regularly with our teachers to deepen and hone their pedagogical work.
Rabbi Abby Treu, our own JCC expert in Jewish life, who supports us in enriching the Jewish educational experience for our children and families in and out of the classroom.
All of these people and more are critical to our ability to serve children and families, because we know that none of us has all the answers.
Within our school, we always want you to feel that you are supported similarly in your parenting by thoughtful, knowledgeable partners, who are in your corner. We hope that you will always feel comfortable reaching out to your child’s teachers as well as to me and Shari. And we invite you to connect with Jean Schreiber and Isabel Schein as well as with Rabbi Abby for support. We are all here for your family and we are always glad to partner with you in this journey with warmth and without judgement.
We encourage you to ask us for help, to ask each other for help, and to offer help to one another. In allowing ourselves to be vulnerable and imperfect people, who sometimes need a hand, we give permission to others to do the same. In asking for help, we prevent our vulnerabilities from overwhelming us. This is where the village takes root, and our children are better for our care of one another.
Shabbat Shalom,
Alicia