Pre-school with a three and half bit year old intensifies when you throw a one year old who is almost two into the mix. Zana does fine during dancing and snack times. She gravitates towards story time if picture books are featured but during writing well........... she is the student every teacher knows is the tipping point.
I have found new crayons and cheap stickers are the answer to this difficulty. Zana will sit and peel a crayon meticulously for at least a quarter of an hour and stickers will keep her engaged almost as long. So for two cents here and there I gain a world of pre-school wonder time! What a gift.
Zana, two on the second, sings her ABCs, clearly states her birth date, her brother's birth date, her age, her brother's age, goodbye in two languages, hello in three and counts to ten in two languages. She also says the last word to every line of the 121st Psalm. What a feat! Last night if any of you could have been a fly on my wall you would have felt like you were the best mother ever. I stood over my two semi clean children lying in their beds with eyes as big as saucers, a fan beating steady above while I pounded on a ten cent drum (from a festival involving beating oneself in public) reciting Psalm 121. It was a coping mechanism. It silenced my two monkeys (till the end of each line when they yelled a word with me) and gave me satisfaction to be whacking something at the end of my day!
What is your coping mechanism? Stickers or drums?
I have found new crayons and cheap stickers are the answer to this difficulty. Zana will sit and peel a crayon meticulously for at least a quarter of an hour and stickers will keep her engaged almost as long. So for two cents here and there I gain a world of pre-school wonder time! What a gift.
Zana, two on the second, sings her ABCs, clearly states her birth date, her brother's birth date, her age, her brother's age, goodbye in two languages, hello in three and counts to ten in two languages. She also says the last word to every line of the 121st Psalm. What a feat! Last night if any of you could have been a fly on my wall you would have felt like you were the best mother ever. I stood over my two semi clean children lying in their beds with eyes as big as saucers, a fan beating steady above while I pounded on a ten cent drum (from a festival involving beating oneself in public) reciting Psalm 121. It was a coping mechanism. It silenced my two monkeys (till the end of each line when they yelled a word with me) and gave me satisfaction to be whacking something at the end of my day!
What is your coping mechanism? Stickers or drums?
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