In short, I feel devoted to what I do. It's not just a job, but a passion, and I enjoy it. Thoroughly. I go home at night, happily exhausted from, what I hope, is a job well done.
The other day, a preschooler who comes regularly to my preschool story time visited the branch on a day that wasn't a story time day. He and his mother browsed the picture books and DVDs, and since I was in the stacks shelving, I told him hello. He said to me: "I'm not here to sing and dance."
I laughed, because there are often days in story time when he doesn't participate. I teasingly replied it wasn't story time day and that it's fun to come in to the library and take the time to look at all the books, to which he responded: "I just want to talk."
Another recent day, I had an older sibling at an event; after all it is summer. Though I had planned in advance that there may be older ones in the audience and chosen a few books appropriate for older listeners, this sibling kept telling their mother over and over, "Mom, I hate this. Mom, I want to go home now." I inwardly cringed, but tried to empathize. I wouldn't have wanted to be a big girl stuck in a group of toddlers.
Every week, I carefully and patiently tell children they don't have to join in during group activities. (I'll never forget a toddler who years ago told me, "But, I wanna keep my sillies IN!" during a boisterous rendition of Shake Our Sillies Out.) Sure, it makes my job easier, and more enjoyable, when many are participating, and I especially encourage parents to join in and model for their little ones.
These two incidents have made me wonder if I spend too much time programming. Do I use too many songs? Do I perform too much--expect children to move too much? Am I relying on flash without substance? Are we too stimulated, too overwhelmed, to enjoy a serene story time?
I'm imagining quiet readings of picture books, hushed voices, and whispers. Am I asking too much when expecting involvement in my story time groups?
I've been mulling this over for several days. This morning for my preschool story time, I'd planned a more sedate program. Not completely sedentary, mind you I had a couple of action songs, but more sitting than we're used to around here. Wouldn't you know it, a story timer asked for an additional verse to If You're Happy & You Know It, and then two story timers asked if we could sing one of our favorite dance songs. This was not in my plan at all! (Big giant notice: when you work with children, you learn to roll with it.) So, it ended up being a rowdier story time than I'd envisioned.
Most surprisingly, a new story time mom approached me at the end and heartily thanked me for the program. She said it was great and that she and her daughter especially loved the dancing. She even asked to borrow a copy of the CD we'd danced to!
So there you have it: two very different ideals of story time.
It's all about balance. And that's me crossing my mid-line: finding the balance.
I've been mulling this over for several days. This morning for my preschool story time, I'd planned a more sedate program. Not completely sedentary, mind you I had a couple of action songs, but more sitting than we're used to around here. Wouldn't you know it, a story timer asked for an additional verse to If You're Happy & You Know It, and then two story timers asked if we could sing one of our favorite dance songs. This was not in my plan at all! (Big giant notice: when you work with children, you learn to roll with it.) So, it ended up being a rowdier story time than I'd envisioned.
Most surprisingly, a new story time mom approached me at the end and heartily thanked me for the program. She said it was great and that she and her daughter especially loved the dancing. She even asked to borrow a copy of the CD we'd danced to!
So there you have it: two very different ideals of story time.
It's all about balance. And that's me crossing my mid-line: finding the balance.
No comments:
Post a Comment