Thinking Inside the box

At least once a year, I would set up several big boxes as a large muscle experience for the children.  I called it a Big box fort.  The big boxes were be taped together on the outside and on the inside so the children could navigate their way through from one end of the fort to the other---or exit in the middle.

I saw this primarily as a large muscle apparatus that made children get down on their hands and knees to crawl through.  Of course it was much more than that, but I set it up for children to find ways to inhabit a space inside the boxes

After the fort, I would move the big boxes over to the sensory table.  Again the idea was for children to crawl into the boxes and play in the sensory table from the space inside the boxes.

I always felt the big boxes around the table offered children a way to experience an enclosed space while playing at the sensory table.  Put another way, it was a chance for children to "think inside the box."

However, there have been several big box constructions that were not specifically made for children to go in.   An example was the Big box on top.  I set a large box over the top of the sensory table and embedded several cardboard tubes through it.

I am not sure why, but one child saw it as an invitation to actually crawl into the table under the box among all the tubes.  What was it about this apparatus that said to the child "come on in?"

 

Of course, if it was an invitation for one child to experience the enclosed space, surely it was an invitation for others to join her.

 

Eventually four children ended up in the table under the big box. It was so crowded that any movement set off a chain reaction of children squirming inside the box.  The box both contained and restricted their whole body play and offered the children an intimate experience in spatial and personal relations.

I eventually embedded another cardboard tube as an experiment to see if that would prevent children from crawling into the table under the box.  

It did not.  I suppose I could have added even more tubes through the box, but the children demonstrated their propensity to inhabit spaces like this.

I was not surprised then when children crawled into the box of another apparatus that was the sensory

table embedded in a box.

 

I actually partially embedded the sensory table into a large box.  One child (above) crawled into the box from the table.  He then crawled out of the table into the space next to the table that was still inside the box.  He was pleased with his little journey, a journey made possible by the very nature of the construction.

For others, it was not a journey, but an enclosed space in which to work.  In the picture below, two children crawled into the space in between the box and the table.  The space both constricted and defined their play.  For instance, these two children were older and bigger so they were forced to work from a kneeling position.

Below is one more example of an apparatus that beckoned children to experience it from the inside.  I called it Big box big windows

Two children crawled into the larger box through the large side windows.   These two sat comfortably inside pouring and filling their containers.

I have always said that children are masters at exploring space. What may be just as important is the idea that spaces themselves play an active part in those explorations.   Even though all three examples show children working inside a big box structure, each has a different energy and rhythm depending partly on the construction itself.  If I try to imagine the sensory table without these constructions, the play would necessarily be different; there would not be the beauty and creativity of  "thinking inside the box."

Repurposing

This past September/October I was in Australia for a speaking and workshop tour thanks to Niki Buchan and Brownyn Cron of Real World Learning.  I did 16 sessions in 26 days all around Australia.  I am pleased to report that all the Aussies I met were great players.

Most of my sessions were building sessions.  I introduced a framework for making constructions that go in and/or around sensory table.  (The framework can be found in the right-hand column of the blog under Dimensions and Elements for Building.)  Before any building session, I asked the participants to look at my blog, not to copy what I have already made, but to get them thinking about possibilities.  In addition, I asked them to gather their own materials for building.  That way, they would come to the session with ideas about what they wanted to build.

In this post, I would like to highlight a building project that happened in my last building session at Mittagong Preschool.  I could spend a year highlighting all the building projects in Australia because no two were the same and each emerged from the effort by the participants to realize their ideas with the materials they collected.

This project, however, was different in two ways.  The first way in which it was different was what they used as the base for their project.  I can't remember exactly the story, but the gist of it was that they had this piece of equipment in storage that had been lying around for some time.  They did not want to throw it out because they thought they could put it to use someday. 

The piece of equipment was a sturdy blue metal frame.  I do not remember what its original purpose was, but here was a piece of equipment taking up precious storage space that they felt was just waiting to be repurposed.  

The second way this project was a different was the fact that someone actually drew up a plan to be realized.  It was a simple plan that included the essential elements. 

To be sure, other people have drawn up plans for what they wanted to build, but that has been the exception rather than the rule.  Most people gather materials and spontaneously start building and make adjustments as they go along.  Below is an example from the same session of a apparatus that emerged spontaneously: one piece led to another piece that led to another piece that led to another piece and so on until viola!

 

Once a groups had their plans either on paper or evolving in their head, there were a lot of similarities in the process of building like experimenting with different saws to make holes. 

 

Or experimenting with power tools like drills to make holes.  And if the holes were not big enough, how to use a tool to enlarge the hole to accommodate a tube to be embedded in the larger cardboard tube.

Another similarity no matter what was being built was how to securely attach the elements of the apparatus.  Most of that was done with duct tape, but in this case, there were also zip ties to attach the plastic tubes to a second, black metal coat rack.  Again, they took something from the classroom and repurposed it.

One final similarity in the building process was a desire to improvise.  This group found a piece of mesh that transformed the one large rectangular hole into many small square holes.  This was a spontaneous addition that they decided would add some play value to their apparatus.

At the end of the day, this group had built a novel construction from a piece of equipment that was just taking up precious space in the preschool.  They were quite pleased with their apparatus and were ready to offer it to the children for their explorations.  

How many of us have bought something great and then found little use for it other than taking up space in the classroom or storage area?  Maybe instead of looking to buy something new, we could take a tip from these teachers at Mittagong and try to repurpose something we already have. With a kernel of an idea and maybe a little help, we surely could build something that would invite children's exploration and enrich their play.

P.S.  Thank you Jeanne Vergeront from Museum Notes for helping flush out this post.

Every place has a soul

I am reading the book The Wonder of Learning: The Hundred Languages of Children published by Reggio Children.  One of the reasons I find it fascinating is the language they use when they talk about young children's learning encounters with the world.  For example, in the section called Dialogue with Places, they say at the very beginning that "Every place has a soul, an identity..."(p.19).  I can identify a place, but can I know its soul?

Since this blog is about sand and water tables, the place I choose to identify is the space that holds the sensory table. The space is approximately six feet by eight feet.  The space is partially enclosed on three sides: a cabinet that holds the smocks on the right, a wall in the back and a counter with a sink on the left. 

The sensory table itself is a blue plastic tub nine inches deep on metal legs.  It is 21 inches wide and 46 inches long and sits 19 inches off the ground.  Next to the table is a five-gallon bucket.

There are a few other features that help identify this space.  Under the counter, I have tubs with extra implements to be used in the table.  There are curtains that hide the tubs which means they are not available to the children but near enough for me to reach when I want to switch out objects from the table.  In one corner, there are brooms and a mop.  I place rubber mats under the table.  And I pull the table away from the wall so it is open to play from all sides.   On this particular day in the table itself, I have put water implements with a giant sponge sprinkled with dish soap in an inch of water.

Though I have identified the space, it does not feel like it has a soul as of yet.  However, there are some hints at its soul.  For instance, the brooms, mops and rubber mats hint that messes are welcome. The table is simple so it can be easily transformed by changing what is in the table.  The pail is empty asking to be filled.

To discover its soul, they say in the book that we must learn to recognize our own soul as we interact with the space.  Since this space is an invitation for children to play, in other words, to interact, maybe I can surmise its soul by looking at the children's interactions in this space. There are really so many interactions, that I need narrow it down to one type: playing with the suds.  My thought is that at least one of the essences (souls?) of the sponge is that the children can use it to make suds.

To make suds, they use the weight of their upper body to push their hands down into the giant sponge.  One intriguing aspect of making suds this way is that they can leave hand prints on the sponge that disappear momentarily.  Maybe the intersection of the children using the sponge to make suds and the ephemeral imprints in this space that allows/encourages such explorations is part of the soul of this space.

There are other actions that make suds.  In the following video, two children first punch the sponge before pushing down on the sponge to make suds.


Beating the giant sponge from Thomas Bedard on Vimeo.

These two children interact differently with the sponge .  Their actions are much more vigorous.  Maybe the intersection of the children beating the sponge and the sponge absorbing the punches in this space that allows/encourages such explorations is part of the soul of this space.

Besides making suds, children use the suds in many different ways.  The child in the following video has dumped a pail full of suds on top of the giant sponge.  She uses her hand to spread the suds almost like frosting a cake.


Spredding the suds from Thomas Bedard on Vimeo.

The energy in this video is much different from that of the previous video.  As she glides her hand over the suds there seems to be a meditative aspect to her actions.  Maybe the intersection of the child gliding her hand over the sponge and the sponge acting as a platform on which to spread the suds in this space that allows/encourages such explorations is part of the soul of this space.

By adding implements, the children find other ways to use the suds.  In the video below, the children have filled a bucket halfway with suds.  The child hovering over the bucket grabs two small sponges from the table and drops them in the bucket.  He begins to use a long-handled spoon to stir the suds.  He chuckles and says that he is stirring the soup.


Stirring the soup from Thomas Bedard on Vimeo.

The children have appropriated the five-gallon pail to constructively transport the suds from the table to the pail.  In the process one child has also appropriated smaller sponges and a kitchen spoon to stir his soup.  Not only is there yet a different purpose (transporting the suds) to this episode, but the children have added role playing to their actions.  Maybe the intersection of the children transporting the suds out of the table into the pail and the appropriation of a couple of loose parts (small sponges and a big spoon) to stir the "soup" in this space that allows/encourages such explorations is part of the soul of this space.

Suds even have the power to change a child's identity.  When a child spreads suds on her arm with a little ladle, her arm is transformed into a...???  When a child puts suds on his face and head, is he still the same person?

Maybe the intersection of the children feeling the suds on their arm or seeing themselves in a mirror to check their identity in this space that allows/encourages such explorations is part of the soul of this space.

I know I have found my soul in this space.  It is my creative outlet; It is a place for me to play with ideas and offer them to the children.  Because each child brings something different to the this space, it becomes a reflection of their soul, their identity.  The space itself has no soul without the interactions.  Since there is no end to the possible explorations in this space, could that be its soul? Could its soul be a space that constantly allows/fosters new interactions that enrich our collective experiences? What do you think?

P.S.  If you are curious about the multitude of possibilities just with the giant sponge, you may want to look at the following posts:  Making cookies, Bubble cake,  Giant sponge with jewels, Giant sponge - 2014, Giant sponge - new axiom, Beyond the giant sponge, Giant sponge. 

Joy

Whenever I do workshops on constructing apparatus for the sensory table, I tell participants that one of the defining characteristics of play at the sensory table is pure joy. In conjunction with that statement, I show the following picture.

I always thought I knew what joy was and this picture was the essence of that joy.  I am currently reading a book of essays entitled The Philosophy of Play as Life edited by Wendy Russell, Emily Ryall and Malcolm MacLean.  One of the essays, "'Life as Play' from East to West" by Damla Donmez, has got me wondering if I really understand what joy is.  I jotted down some thoughts as I read the article and then looked for more instances of joy at the sensory table at just one apparatus, two cardboard chutes taped together and set on an incline.  

The reason I chose just one apparatus is because my reading made me think that joy is context specific.  And by controlling for the physical context, I should see joy manifested differently in different children because it is momentary and no two moments are the same.  And by seeing the different manifestations of joy, I would have a better understanding or joy and what it entails.

One way joy is manifested is through exuberance.  The video below is a good example of that.  The child in the blue pours pellets down the cardboard chute.  As he does that, he cannot contain himself; he squeals with delight and does a little happy dance.


Joyful pouring from Thomas Bedard on Vimeo.

I am not sure why he is so thrilled with his actions.  Is it the sound of the pellets as they tumble down the chute?  Is he mimicking the energy of the pellets as they tumble down?  In any case, this is joy, right?.

Another way joy is manifested is through creating precise moments of understanding how the world works.  The child in the video below explores how different objects roll down the cardboard chutes.  With each new object he tries, he shrieks with laughter. 


Down the Chute from Thomas Bedard on Vimeo.

Does he laugh because of the way the objects roll down?  Does he laugh because he is thrilled with the results of his experiment?  In any case, this is joy again, right?.

Another way joy is manifested is through an element of surprise.  The two children pictured below are engaged in a serious endeavor.  One child pours sand down the cardboard chute and the other catches the sand.  The child pouring keeps putting more and more sand in his pot and pours it faster and faster each time.

What eventually happens is that the child with the pot pours so fast and so hard that he knocks the bowl right out of the hands of the child catching the sand.  The result of that unexpected outcome is quite a good laugh.

This joint endeavor proceeds along with each child doing their part.  The surprise of the bowl getting knocked out of the girl's hand transforms that exact moment into joy, right?

What is common about all three of these episodes is that the feeling of joy bubbles up from their inner being in response to their own actions.  I contrast that with a quote from the above mentioned essay: "Every forcible act abolishes the inherent joy of play and makes it only a dull imitation." p. 47.

I am still left with many questions.  Joy is a state of being, but so is happiness.  What is the difference?  Is it the exuberance or the laughter that defines joy? Is there such a thing as a quiet, private joy? Does joy really have a purpose other than the affirmation of one's being?

In tossing around the idea of joy with a friend from Canada, she wrote the following: "Without genuine joy and joyful moments, a classroom doesn’t have the heartbeat it should."  That doesn't help define the essence of play, but it does help me understand the importance of joy.  (Thanks Gill.)

I don't know if I am really any closer to understanding what joy is.  I am left with the idea that sometimes words get in the way of understanding something as ephemeral as joy.  

The thing about sharing

Sharing is a good thing, right?  Don't we want a world in which children and adults share, especially when we are talking about finite resources?  However, the thing about sharing is that IT is not so simple.  That became abundantly clear to me in a recent discussion I had with three other teachers while recording an episode of the early childhood podcast Teaching with the Body in Mind.  (The sharing episode should come out on or about December 3rd.)

In an early childhood classroom, the problem with sharing begins with how we generally use the word.  When we ask a child to share something with another child, we are not really asking them to share.  In truth, we are asking the child to give the thing in question to the other child.  Children learn the code early.  They understand that you are asking them to give the toy they are playing with to the other child who wants it.  Is it any wonder children do not want to "share?"  That is especially true if a child who has the toy is totally engaged with the toy in question.

A child who wants a toy from another child, has also learned the code.  That child will say something like: "You should share."  If the child doesn't get the toy they want, they have learned to go to an adult to mediate the "sharing."  The child might say something like: "Johnny is not sharing with me."  To which the adult intervenes with a statement to the affect that we "share" with our friends.  And more often than not, the adult will manage the "sharing" by setting the stage for taking turns.

Taking turns may indeed be a form of sharing.  However, I would venture to guess that our idea of taking turns as a form of sharing would include the child voluntarily taking turns instead of simply acquiescing to the adult managing the turn-taking.  In fact, we probably think the ideal is for children to turns on their own. 

A teacher may ask: "Then how do I get children to share?"  Is the way to get children to share making them share?  Do we think that by practicing adult-mediated sharing, children will form a sharing habit?

I contend that children in an early childhood classroom are already sharing.  The problem is that we do not see it because we are too busy implementing our own idea of what sharing is.  In fact, because we are so focused on the above idea of sharing, we are blinded by all the real sharing that goes on in the classroom---or in life.  I further contend that if we start looking for true instances of sharing, we start a virtuous circle in which we recognize and encourage such sharing, which in turn leads to even more sharing.

If you are looking for concrete examples of what I am talking about, take a look at the following three posts.  The first post goes all the way back to December 11, 2011 where I write about acts of kindness, which include acts of sharing.   The second and third examples deal with conflict: conflict 1,  conflict 2.  Conflict is important in the classroom because resolving conflicts in a respectful manner lays the groundwork for real sharing.  How?  Conflict---and its resolution---is one way children begin to understand their own wants and needs in relation to that of others.  Is that not one of the prerequisites for true sharing?

In a way, this blog post is a way of sharing an idea.  Hopefully it is also a invitation for you to share your thoughts on the idea. 




 

The science of sloshing and the moon landing

I am always looking for real-life analogues for children's scientific inquiry at the sensory table.  In looking over my documentation lately, I found a video of a child walking with a pretty full tub of water around the sensory table.  As he walked around the table, the water sloshed from side-to-side in his tub so he was forced to change his gate to minimize the spillage. 


Water sloshing from Thomas Bedard on Vimeo.
  

So what does sloshing have to do with the moon landing?  As it turns out, quite a bit.  In 1969, Neil Armstrong set the lunar lander on the moon.  In the course of landing on the moon, he was forced to maneuver the lunar lander with the propellant sloshing around.  Because the propellant was dwindling, the sloshing was more pronounced and that made it more difficult to keep the lunar module steady.  We all know he landed on the moon.  However, because of all the sloshing, the space agency installed extra anti-sloshing baffles on subsequent missions.  Anti-sloshing baffles; I never knew such things existed.


The amount of sloshing was unexpected.   I would venture to guess that Neil Armstrong was able to handle the sloshing because as a child, he carried or transported water in containers that allowed for plenty of sloshing.  In other words, he had an embodied knowledge of the physics of sloshing.


I contend that the child carrying the sloshing water was building that very same knowledge.  I do not begin to presume to know how the child will use that knowledge.  However, can you imagine how the parent would feel about what the child is learning when I make the analogy of his operations to those of Neil Armstrong.  Instead of just seeing the child spilling water on the floor, the parent would appreciate how the child is learning about the physics of sloshing.

The extraordinary in the ordinary

There are some things that happen in an early childhood classroom that are quite extraordinary but at the same quite ordinary.    Does the one preclude the other?

In the videos below, a child used loose parts from around the sensory table to build his own construction.  It was not an expansive structure, nor was it an aesthetic marvel.  It was ordinary in every sense of the word. In fact, he only used a few ordinary elements.  Not only were the structure and elements ordinary, but so were the operations he employed in building the structure.

Next to the sensory table, there was an assortment of what I call Hodgepodge and Doohickies. Children chose from this variety loose parts for their play at the sensory table.

On this particular day, many of the implements had already been transported to the sensory table. However, one child found four things he could use to create a little building project on the floor next to the table. For more insight into this child's actions, I solicited the parent's reaction to the videos. Her reactions are in bold italics after each clip.

In the first video, the child took a clear plastic tube and dropped it inside a larger cardboard tube. With great facility, he put the tube combination into a measuring cup.  He seemed to have an ultimate plan: standing the tubes upright in the measuring cup.  His actions were extremely measured (no pun intended) because he seemed to realize the structure was not stable. With a leap of faith, he placed another measuring cup onto the structure and let go.  To his consternation, the structured toppled over.


engineering 1 from Thomas Bedard on Vimeo.


Mom's reaction: In the first video I noticed his uncertainty (which was really obvious when compared to video 2). I could tell the wheels were turning the whole time and I must say was impressed that he knew he had to hold the tubes at the bottom in order to keep the clear one in the cardboard one without trial and error.

Even though he did not succeed, he carried out his actions and intentions with great care and a budding aptitude for building/engineering.  He found out that balancing different objects in each other or on top of each other was not as easy as he had hoped.

After being unsuccessful and little frustrated at trying to get the tube to stand up in the measuring cup, he decided to insert the cardboard tube into an empty red coffee can.  Almost immediately, he uttered a positive and confident "Huh" that indicated he had realized his plan.  After dropping a couple of sticks inside the tube, he placed another measuring cup on top of the tube with a lot more confidence that the structure would not fall over.  He turned to the camera and gave another "Huh" and proudly declared: "It stays."


engineering 2 from Thomas Bedard on Vimeo.


Mom's reaction: In the second video, I noticed how much more sure of himself and his method he was. He said "Huh" right away in the beginning because he anticipated success with the smaller coffee can. He had no apprehension on his face the whole video and used "huh" again at the end (when he was actually successfully) as a kind of completion and "I've bested you" to the now standing tube. His smile at the end was priceless and showed how pleased he was with himself and his accomplishment.

Like all good builders/engineers, the time came to test his structure.  He exuded a high degree of confidence with his body language as he tested putting a couple of other loose elements on top of his structure.  It was not hard to see that he was smiling with his whole body.


engineering 3 from Thomas Bedard on Vimeo.

Mom's reaction: In the third video, I thought it was so cute how he could barely contain his excitement and couldn't sit still (It almost looked like he had to go to the bathroom!). He was willing to tempt fate by placing another container on top but wasn't too sure it wouldn't wreck his masterpiece so he ended up taking it off. He seemed a lot more relaxed after he took it off to know the tube would remain standing.

The videos really show his mechanical aptitude, which runs in the family. My husband is a 3rd generation elevator mechanic.

The parent watched the videos with her son.  This was what she said about his reaction to the videos:

He had a big smile on his face the whole time we were watching the videos and was so proud that a video of just him was commanding all of our attention. At one point he asked me, "Why did I go "ha, ha"?", I said I didn't know and asked him why he did it and he said "Because I liked it" which I interpreted as him being proud of himself.

The following week, the child was back in the sensory table area for more building.  He kept experimenting making several new balancing structures with the various ordinary loose parts..

The videos and the photo showed a child who, given the time, space and materials, used his agency to understand a little piece of his world.  And he did it while working with the most mundane elements: a plastic tube, a cardboard tube, two measuring cups, an empty coffee can, and a metal pail.  That was the extraordinary in the ordinary. 

Australia bound

Next week I, will travel to Australia through Real World Learning, a group that specializes in STEM professional development.  I will be doing a number of sessions around Australia emphasizing STEM at the sensory table.  For me, the sand and water table has always been a science table in which the children created their own experiments as they played and explored the various apparatus and materials.  They were masters of scientific inquiry and often taught me something new about the apparatus and/or the materials.

There will be a couple of sessions in Australia, however, that will be relatively new for me.  I will be holding a few sessions on children's STEM explorations around invitations that allow for loud/boisterous/adventurous play in other parts of an early childhood classroom.  Let me give you a couple of examples.

For the Science in STEM, two children pursued a spontaneous line of scientific inquiry of their own choosing.  They appropriated scarves from the housekeeping area to see what would happen when they put them over the room's blower.  To reach the blower, they climbed a set of steps and balanced on the top step as they directed their scarves over the blower.


Blower fun 2 from Thomas Bedard on Vimeo.


In fact, they each did their own experiment.  The child with the yellow/green scarf pressed his scarf over the blower while the child with the orange scarf launched his over the blower.  In one way the results were the same: squeals of delight.

For the Technology in STEM, a child draped a large scarf over the slide.  The scarf reduced the friction while sliding down, so she could go barreling down the slide to crash into the mat at the bottom.


Superslide from Thomas Bedard on Vimeo.


The scarf could be considered a form of technology because it was basically an instrument used to increase the child's speed down the slide.

For the Engineering in STEM, a group of children attempted to build a fort with a bunch of loose mats that were in the room.  

Were they able to build their fort?  Not quite, but they had a great time developing their nascent engineering skills.

For the Math in STEM, two children used loose mats to cover the top holes of the cubes.  They invented their own game of sinking into the cube.  To sink, they slowly shifted their weight into the middle until they and the mats dropped into the hole.

Sinking from Thomas Bedard on Vimeo.

There was certainly a lot of physics in this episode, but there was also a lot of math.  Math is not just numbers, but also all the positions that define the space---in/out, up/down, over/under and around/through---that both of the children experienced concretely.

STEM may sound intimidating, but when one steps back to observe, it is everywhere in the early childhood classroom.  Children do not "do" science.  Children "live" science.

If you are in Australia and curious about any of the sessions, please check out the events section of Real World Learning.

 

Horizontal tube with holes

In 2013 I built an apparatus that I called: horizontal tube with holes.  I placed a long cardboard tube lengthwise across two sensory tables.  I supported it above the tables with two brown planter trays.  For stability, I taped the tube to the the two edges of one of the brown trays and to the lip of the clear table.

I cut and drilled multiple holes in the tube.  Those holes provided multiple points of entry for the children's operations.

This may look fairly simple, but it turned out to be a multidimensional space.  It had length: the cardboard tube spanned the two tables.  It had width: the width of the table perfectly holding the planter trays.  And it had vertical depth with three levels of play: the table, the trays and the tube, all on different levels.

There was actually a fourth level of play, namely the floor.  The level of the floor is represented by the bottom of the tub next to the table.  The following video shows how one child incorporated the bottom of the tub---a.k.a. the floor---in her operations.


Covering the bottom of the tub from Thomas Bedard on Vimeo.

She used her pail to methodically distribute the pellets to cover the bottom of the tub.  Was she cooking, gardening, ... ?

In addition to vertical depth, this apparatus provided horizontal depth, too.  The child pictured below explored that horizontal depth as he reached well into the tube to scoop out pellets.

 

Of course, depth also had another meaning with this apparatus.  Whether the children filled pails, the tube or the trays, the depth they experienced was volume.


The fact that this apparatus was multidimensional encouraged all kinds of operations in and around the tables.  I especially appreciated those operations that involved a certain amount of vigor.  In the video below, the child used both hands to propel the pellets out of the tube into the tub next to the table.


Horizontal blast of pellets from Thomas Bedard on Vimeo.

The child basically shot the pellets out of the tube by pushing them to the end of the tube with her right hand and thrusting them out toward the tub with her left hand.  So what if not all the pellets landed in the tub.  She created her own experiment with force and trajectory

Children are masters at exploring all the dimensions of any given apparatus.  They do it spontaneously; they do it methodically.   Sometimes they even do it with zest, and for me, that is always a bonus.

Unique loose parts

In my last post, I wrote about children making meaningful choices around an apparatus I called the vertical tube and rope apparatus.

When I looked through my documentation on how children explored this apparatus, I noticed a couple of unique loose parts that played an integral role in their explorations.  Those loose parts were S hooks and carabiners.  In the picture above, the pail floats in midair above the table because the handle of the pail was suspended by a S hook attached to a carabiner attached to the rope strung over the table.

Here is a better view of the carabiner and S hook holding the pail in the air over the table.  That configuration allowed the child to pour hands-free.  

Contrast that operation with the child trying to hold the bucket up with one hand and pour with the other.  Of course, she could have set the pail in the bottom of the table and poured hands-free, but pouring pellets in the bucket hanging in the air was more intriguing for sure.

Not only was it intriguing to fill the bucket floating in midair, but with a little push or two, the pail easily became an experiment in pendular motion.

Pail pendulum from Thomas Bedard on Vimeo.

The child in the video above first used his left hand to push the pail four different ways.  He then used the metal bowl in his right hand to push the pail in four more different ways. 

Part of the definition of a loose parts is that they can be rearranged and combined in novel ways.  Below are some of the ways the children arranged, rearranged and combined the carabiners and S hooks.

Besides hanging pails, this child also used the carabiner to hang a metal measuring cup on the rope for easy access.

Below, the child on the left collected the carabiners and clipped them all together into a big clump.  On the right, a different child collected the carabiners and used them as a manipulative by hanging them end-to-end vertically.

 

Below, the child on the left combined a S hook with carabiners to carry the pail with a chain-like piece of equipment of her own making.  The child on the right took several carabiners to tie together all the ropes on one side of the apparatus.                                                                                                                                                                 

The child in the video below set a challenge for herself to connect two sets of S hooks, one set of hooks hanging from above and another set hanging lower.   To do that she had to make sure the lower hanging set stayed together as she lifted it up to meet the set hanging from above. 

Connecting the S hooks from Thomas Bedard on Vimeo.

Her actions were deliberate and cautious because she was not sure the two sets would hang together. As she stepped back to view her completed challenge, I saw a sense of accomplishment both in her face and gestures.

So often I see loose part displays that would be considered art that are aesthetically pleasing using all manner of materials both natural and man-made.  In addition to using loose parts to make art, they are also used to represent things such as flowers or buildings.  The children have helped me expand my idea of what is a loose part.   I now think there needs to be another category of loose parts, namely, functional loose parts that the children use to complete an enterprise of their own making.  Ramps, tubes and tires are common loose parts that fit into this category and are well known in ECE.  After watching the children play and explore with carabiners and S hooks, let me add those to the list of functional loose parts.

Meaningful choices - part 2

In my last post, I wrote about children making choices.  I wondered if the choices they were making were meaningful choices or did those choices become meaningful once they made them.  Maybe it is not a question of one or the other.  Rather, it may be a combination of both.

To make some sense of this question, I looked at the choices children made in their play around an apparatus I built in 2013 that I called tall cardboard tubes and ropes.  I taped four tall cardboard tubes to each corner of the sensory table.  I drilled multiple holes in each of the tubes and strung ropes through the holes. 

 

I cut holes on the bottom of each tube and also placed a plastic tub under each to catch the pellets that the children poured down the tubes.  I also added a 1"x2" boards between the cardboard tubes at the top for stability.

Because there were so many holes on so many levels, the children could make meaningful choices as to which holes they wanted to work with.   Below, the child reached as high as he possible to pour pellets into the hole at the top of the tube.  Because the hole was so high and he had to reach with his full extension, his pour yielded many pellets in the hole, but also some in his face.

In a way, that choice became meaningful for him because he gained some physical knowledge about what his body could do.

The child in the following two pictures made a meaningful choice to pour pellets into one of the middle holes.   He found out the pouring directly from the pink cup did not work so well, so he found a better way to pour into the middle hole by pouring pellets from the pink cup into a small scoop that fit nicely into the middle hole. 

 

His choice took on more meaning when he encountered and solved a problem around pouring pellets into the middle hole.

The child below made a meaningful choice to bring the dinosaurs from the block area to the sensory table to combine them with the tub and pail on the floor. 

He created more meaning as he used the bottom hole, the tub and the green pail to establish a world in which the dinosaurs could climb, eat and fight.

Believe it or not, one of the meaningful choices the children made was to climb on this apparatus.  In the following video, two children climbed up onto the lip of the table so they could pour pellets down the top opening of the tubes.  In the process, they used and created a lot of embodied knowledge, especially in their efforts to keep their balance as they climbed onto the narrow lip of the table.  In fact, the child in the stripped shirt lost his balance on the first try and had to step back down onto the ground.  On the second try, as he stepped onto the lip of the table, he shifted his weight over the table so he would not loose his balance.  And both children knew to use their left hand to hold onto holes in the tubes for stability.


Climbing the apparatus from Thomas Bedard on Vimeo.

Up until this point, I have only talked about the children making meaningful choices.  When the children started to climb the apparatus, I had to make more conscious choices: Should I let the children climb the apparatus?  Was it safe?  Did the children have the requisite physical ability---strength, balance, etc.---to climb?  Did the children demonstrate they could assess their own risk?  Those were all moment-by-moment decisions that I was making for each child.  And those were meaningful choices because they were giving me information about myself: How do I feel about the children climbing?  What am I learning about the children's need to physically challenge themselves?  What are the children learning about themselves and their capabilities?

Even though it looked like the children had unfettered choices to explore this apparatus, there were limits.  With this apparatus, I chose not to allow the children to climb into the table.  Why?  I am not sure, but I think it had to do with the children stepping on the pellets and grinding them to sawdust.

The children honored that boundary.  One or two children did step into the table, but it was an accident and they immediately stepped out.  That said, children are great limit testers.  In the video below, the child arranged stools so she could traverse the corner of the sensory table without stepping into the table.


Making a path from Thomas Bedard on Vimeo.

He body posture at the end told me that she was quite proud of herself because she was able to define the boundary with her path over and around the corner of the table without stepping into the table.

In all these examples, both the children and I were making meaningful choices because they were were not prescribed.  We operated together in an flexible environment of rich possibilities.  And because the choices were not prescribed, they were authentic.  Those authentic choices opened up a myriad of other authentic choices that, in turn, created more meaning for all of us.