"Practical Life"

Mama and Dada have found themselves flung out over the precipice and SHOPPING FOR PRESCHOOLS.

How is that true? The wee, bobbly-headed thing that sprung from us, whom we snugged up in her swaddling like so much carnitas in a tortilla (she weighed as much) ... how is it that we'll be sending her off with a sack lunch and a kiss?

It's a year and a half away, still. Not so near that we're shopping for new sneakers. But near enough. It's in the airwaves. Our parenting antennae are tuned -- we hear the first soft, panicky buzzing of the masses, looking to Secure a Spot. Somewhere nearby, with wooden toys, and windows, and teachers who wear aprons.

Maria Montessori has seduced us with her exhortations to Follow the Child, the careful progression, the utmost respect for play as the "work" of childhood. There is a sense of being grounded and imaginative, both. More than the woolen wonderland of Waldorf, we think we could sustain the Montessori method at home. (If we're honest, we're probably hoping to learn a thing or two about tidiness and order.)

So the rest of the story is, Nora has been en fuego when it comes to what Montessori calls "practical life." She sweeps, she washes, she transfers things neatly from one container to another, she wants to undress herself**. She puts the pasta into the pot, and pours the water in. She brushes and brushes her hair. She brings us to the dust bunnies, and points -- "Gucky!"

(Yes, dear. Gucky dust bunnies. They're like a ... a ... housepet! Who needs a puppy with a dust bunny that size?)





**Updated 2/12/08: For the first time, Nora succeeded in fully unsnapping her pajamas and extracting herself from them, limb by limb. She was very proud, and cavorted through the living room to show us so.