Back to School

I realize he’s merely experimenting when he throws the empty pop tart box, the one he's carefully extricated from the recycling bin, into his pint-sized pool.  And when he throws in his half-eaten peach. And some mulch.  It floats, or it sinks, and I see the science.  It's evident in the way he sorts nature too, hickory nuts in his pocket, sticks in the brown box, rocks thrown over the fence.  There’s art in the form of “circles” pointed out on this paper and on that sign and on the other child’s shirt.  Math stands behind his "more," and is part of his stacking and nesting and building, it's clear in the way he yells “nine, ten!”  Music shines through his body as it moves and is in his “round and round” bus wheels.  Literacy abounds, letters on license plates and cereal boxes, in the way he repeats sounds and claims new words quickly.  There’s gym class every night in the crib, the springs creaking under his bedtime bouncing, and there’s exercise all day long, jumping down steps and climbing up chairs.  Every morning dawns Columbus Day at our house, so much to explore!  We find Social Studies scouting our neighborhood, visiting the library and the park and the bank, and it’s inherent in the way he's developing the ability to share. 

I won’t be reviewing Harry Wong this fall, or labeling textbooks and desks.  My classroom is broader now than it used to be, the student-teacher ratio smaller, but the discoveries still find me.
JEB