Montessori Schools

What is Montessori schooling? And how is it different from regular schooling?

Imagination

A raincoat, pair of boots and the vacuum hose, a towel tied around the neck and cries of "up, up and away"...

HOT CHOCOLATE FOR THE TEACHERS
By Paul R. May

Every parent knows the frustration of dealing with sleepy kids on school mornings. One winter morning my daughters and I decided to do something kind for their teachers, and I stood back and watched as my girls transformed into super-efficient turbo kids.
We are fortunate to have a wonderful elementary school in our neighborhood, with teachers who work really hard for our kids. Every morning, about a dozen teachers stand outside in the car line, opening car doors and guiding kids to their classes. We parents really appreciate this assistance in the mornings, and it makes for a safe and efficient drop-off routine.
In the warmer months, the mornings are beautiful, and the teachers enjoy being out in the Florida sunshine. But last winter the temperatures dipped into the thirties on some mornings, and our teachers were miserable. From the heated interior of our car, we saw them standing outside at the drop-off lane, bouncing up and down and holding their arms close to their bodies. Their breath froze in the morning chill as they greeted the children.
I heard my girls talking about how cold the teachers looked. We thought it would be a great idea to get up early one morning, make up a big pot of hot chocolate, and hand it out to all of the teachers in the car line. It would be a lot of fun to hand a hot cup of chocolate to a shivering teacher.
The temperature the next morning hovered just above freezing, cold enough to frost the girls’ bedroom windows. Shivering as she finished up her shower, my seven-year-old poked her head out of the bathroom door.
“Hey!” she said. “We should do the hot chocolate thing for the teachers!”
Already running late and flinging lunch bags and peanut butter around the kitchen, I looked at my watch.
“Sorry, kiddo,” I said. “We’re going to have to do it another time. We need to plan ahead and get up early, so we have plenty of time to get things ready. But we’ll do it one day this week. I promise.”
Then Caitlin, my ten-year-old, rushed into the kitchen.
“C’mon, Dad. We can do it. We’ll hurry. Let’s go for it!”
Again, I turned them down. We barely had half an hour left to get to school as it was. Caitlin dropped her head and walked out of the kitchen, and Maggie turned slowly away to start getting dressed. I looked again at my watch.
“Listen up,” I said. Both girls came running back into the kitchen. “I have an idea, but we’ll really have to hustle to make it happen. Here’s what I’m thinking. Maggie, you fly through getting dressed, brush your teeth, and grab both backpacks. Caitlin, you help me finish putting lunches together and make some toast for breakfast.” The girls grinned at each other as I continued. “If we can get out of here in five minutes, we’ll have just enough time to swing through a McDonald’s drive through and get hot chocolate to go.”
“Good idea!” Maggie shouted. Then she was gone, running for her toothbrush.
The thrill of doing something kind for my kids’ teachers was material enough on its own for writing this story. But it was how my girls jumped in to help – how much passion they had for this idea at six-thirty in the morning – that made it such a memorable experience.
If you ask any parent about getting their kids ready for school in the morning, I can guarantee you won’t get a cheerful response. My house is no exception. But this particular morning, once we had committed to doing this exciting act of kindness, my little girls turned into early morning super-heroes!
As I pulled the milk jug out of the fridge, Caitlin was already setting two glasses on the counter. She had a knife waiting in the margarine tub and the cinnamon sugar out on the counter when the toaster dinged.
When I was finished making sandwiches, she said, “I got the rest, Dad,” and started stuffing things into the lunch bags. I stopped for just a second to watch her. It was kitchen poetry.
Maggie appeared three seconds later, dressed, teeth brushed, shoes and socks in hand to put on in the car, gathering up backpacks.
I looked at my watch again.
“Well, shoot, girls! I think we’re going to make it!”
We raced out to the car and drove to a McDonald’s a couple of miles away. Pulling up to the drive-through window, I asked for twelve cups of hot chocolate.
“Sorry, ” the lady at the window replied. “Machine’s not working.”
I muttered an okay and looked in the rear-view mirror. Failed mission. The girls looked so defeated. Then I had another idea.
“How ‘bout 7-11?” I asked. “They sell hot chocolate, don’t they?” The girls’ faces sparked up immediately. “Let’s go!” Caitlin shouted.
We pulled into a 7-11 another mile down the road.
“Watch for cars!” I shouted as we pulled into a parking space, and the girls ran through the front door.
Again, the magic happened. Caitlin started pulling cups and stacking them in rows. Maggie was ready with the lids. I pushed the button on the hot chocolate machine and handed cups down the assembly line. As the cups started to multiply, Caitlin grabbed one of the cardboard cup holders and started folding it together. In less than five minutes, we were back in the car, with each girl holding two trays of hot chocolate cups. They giggled as we pulled into the drop-off lane at the school.
I held Maggie’s trays as she jumped into the front seat. Then we rolled down both windows on the right side of the car, and I let the girls hang out of the windows with the trays in their hands.
The first teacher wasn’t quite sure what was going on. She reached for the door before she saw what the girls had in their hands. Maggie held out one of the cups.
“Hot chocolate, for the teachers, to help you guys get warm,” she said.
The teacher’s eyes widened, and she reached for a cup.
“Aren’t you the sweetest thing,” she said. Maggie beamed.
Caitlin and Maggie traded off handing out the hot chocolate, and I looked in my mirror at the teachers in the beginning of the line. They were holding their cups in both hands and sipping carefully. We had two cups left over at the end of the teacher line, so I told the girls to take them in to the secretaries. The office got really cold in the mornings too.
As I pulled away from the school, I saw one of the teachers grab Caitlin and give her a hug. Maggie was skipping off to class with a great big grin on her face. Mission accomplished.
I’d love to say that this event turned my girls into regular models of early-morning efficiency, but of course that’s not the case. I still have to scream to get them out of the shower, and I still pull my hair out when they can’t find their shoes and suddenly realize they were supposed to bring four-dozen cupcakes with them to school. But every once in a while we think about the day we got hot chocolate for the teachers, and then our morning doesn’t seem quite so crazy.

Paul R. May (http://www.paulrmay.com) is a full-time writer and stay at home dad who lives with his wife and daughters in Lithia, Florida. He writes parenting articles and essays and is actively seeking agency representation for two children's novels. Before moving to Florida, Mr. May worked as an English teacher and technical trainer in Maryland."