Coping with Apple Pie

So last Saturday night, at our big annual fundraiser, the Dodge Ball, we auctioned off three apple pies.  The pies were made by students representing each of the three classrooms here at the Preschool:  Willow, Oak and Spruce.  Dodge apples, some of them wild, were used exclusively in the pies.  Our pies did pretty well, yanking at some heart strings, setting some mouths to water and finally tugging loose purse strings to the tune of cold hard cash.  But, we were in such a hurry to get our pies out of the oven and on to the auction block that we didn't get a chance to make extra pies to enjoy in the classroom.  Kids had to practice the ultimate in delayed gratification.  Finally, today, here in the Spruce Room, we made a pie and ate it.  Most kids were pleased with the result, but some were not.  Love it or leave it on the plate, there is no getting around that eating food is one of the ultimate sensory experiences.

Kids peeled apples.  Some sampled raw apple.  Others declined due to vestiges of skin still on the slice.  We sniffed at spices.  Some kids were afraid to take a whiff, which always happens.  Some kids like to squeeze dough, others find it repulsive.  The making of pie, let alone the eating of it, is a full on party, or assault, for the senses.  I, the adult, anticipate the final product, and tolerate, even enjoy, the process because of the pay off.  I don't find dough threatening.  Most of my young chefs were not really able to conceive of the end result.  The idea of apples and nutmeg and dough did not set their mouths to watering.  They were living in the exciting, new moment of making something I fondly called, "pie."  They trusted me enough to push on, even when I waved nutmeg under their noses.

We recently enjoyed a staff development meeting with therapist Kathi Calouri of PACE Place.  Kathi works primarily with children and families who are adapting to ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder).  One of the big challenges for some people with ASD is sensitivity to food.  Kathi shared techniques and therapies for helping kids adjust and acclimate to doing things they find scary or abhorrent, from visiting Target without melting down, to getting a haircut, to flushing a toilet to eating a carrot.  Eating a carrot, or even a tiny sliver of one, can be a major triumph for someone who finds carrots challenging in the worst way.

Early childhood teachers know very well that many kids, ASD or not, find food challenging. A kid's sense of taste and smell is much more acute than an adult's (unless you grow up to become a "super taster").  I certainly don't find apple pie at all threatening (sort of wish I did), but some kids do.  Some kids have to overcome the fear of the unknown, or overcome an experience that is overwhelming their senses.  Calouri's methods (which are basically behaviorist in nature), include exposing kids to new or challenging foods (or experiences), in small manageable doses.  There is usually a reward involved for trying something tough and perhaps the biggest piece of her therapy involves revisiting the experience verbally and emotionally.  It becomes important to acknowledge the challenge and to remind the kid of the fact that they survived, that they didn't die at the end of the day:  "Wow!  You ate like half of that carrot!  Yesterday it was like a quarter, and today, you ate at least a half.  That was hard, but you did it.  Way to go!"  These observations are accompanied by reinforcing touch and eye contact.  This revisiting sets the stage for meeting the next challenge.  This is an effort to build flexibility and resilience.

ASD kids benefit from this sort of approach, but really, don't we all?  So maybe I'm not going to high-five my super taster eleven-year-old six times for touching her tongue to a pea, but I am going to put at least a few peas on her plate (and I'm going to stop making alternative meals for her, really, I am.), and I'm going to give her maybe one goofy fist pump if she eats something I didn't expect her to.  It is interesting to note that our twins' middle school principal recently advised parents to re-vamp our praise.  She pointed out that if a kid does well on a test, or gets a good grade and the parent says, "You're so smart!  Way to go!"  we might actually be setting them up for failure when they face a challenge or adversity in the future.  When they don't study and bomb a test, they might think, "I'm not smart after all," and then, potentially, a cycle of low self-esteem can set in.  If, instead, we say, "Dude!  You worked really hard.  You did a lot of research and it paid off:  you aced it," you are acknowledging hard work, flexibility and study skills and an approach to learning and succeeding.  In other words:  life is challenging and you have to work at it.  We've got to anticipate adversity and learn how to cope.  It is interesting that, as a forty something year-old teacher and parent I get this, professionally speaking.  For me, social and emotional flexibility in students and my own kids equals social and emotional strength, and growth.  It's that coping part we look for in a developing children.  And it's that coping part that kind of nails me, the adult, to the wall.  The word cope actually calls my bluff.  I'm the one who is likely to come home from yoga class, survey the kitchen, and go, "I can't cope with this mess!"  I can undo sixty minutes of deep breathing in two seconds flat with that word.  Boy do I love to help other people solve problems, but man do I hate solving my own!

Why the embarrassing admission?  Well, I think that watching our own students and children face challenges invites us to perform a bit of self-examination.  Watching kids work through the stuff that really drives them nuts, and holding their hands as they do so, is very humbling.  You cannot easily ask a child to do something you yourself are loathe to do.  Self-reflection when you are teaching is practically unavoidable (I say practically, because a busy teacher can always avoid some things!).  If you are humble, if you exercise humility and empathy around your students and your own kids, it seems likely that you'll earn their trust in the long run.  And if they trust you, they are more likely take risks at your urging, right?  Hopefully becoming more flexible, with more self-esteem.  Nice idea, but really hard to put in to practice day in and day out.

Originally, I thought I was going in a different direction with this post.  I was thinking about all the great learning opportunities and challenges that fall presents for people, young and old.  Autumn, in the Northeast, where I grew up, and here in the Midwest, is a time of tremendous sensory stimulation.  Every day the world seems to alter:  color, shape, scent, texture.  Trees turn.  Fruit ripens, falls, rots.  Wind rips leaves from trees and throws them across our path.  Light and shadow are suddenly big players on the stage again.  Flowers seed out and scatter to brittle dust.  Autumn is perhaps predictable in its final outcome:  winter.  But the day to day changes are often surprising.  One day is 85 and sunny and tomorrow the frost will kill my finally ripening tomatoes.  Change can be challenging.  My mom hates fall because of what it means to her:  inevitable death.  And I love, love, love it for the very same reason.  The apple is all the sweeter to me because it will rot tomorrow.  I think of my mom, or I watch kids spit out the apple pie I seasoned with too much nutmeg and I reflect that perhaps I myself am a stim freak, tending to love change a bit too much.  But I do love the challenge of this time of year.  I have a weird Puritan streak of really loving the coldest morning air, loving the way the sharpness of it demands my attention.  Maybe, having reached middle age, my senses are so dull that I require all the hooha of autumn to stay awake.  Autumn helps me practice being three again, when everything was new.

I guess, in the end, I'm saying that I do have a healthy respect for the fear and loathing stimulation and change can engender.  Each and every moment in the life of a three-year-old presents something brand new.  Even if they've already experienced it, they likely don't remember the experience in a way they can verbalize.  All this stimulation is exciting, and it is exhausting.  We adults have to remember how challenging the world is for children (it is, after all, a challenging place for us too, isn't it?).  We have to exercise patience, even as we encourage kids to face their fears or challenges again and again.  And we have to stay awake and alert, or else we'll miss those opportunities to find humility, earn trust and learn how learn how to cope.