As I’ve shared before, there are many reasons why my teaching partner, Paula, and I choose to use social media as part of our workflow. While we take numerous photographs and short video clips as part of documenting learning and reflecting for future learning, sometimes these recordings capture the unexpected. This happened to me this week. I was then reminded of another reason that we videotape conversations with kids: to recognize when we’re wrong.

This blog post is a story, and in an effort to protect the privacy of the child involved, I’m not going to indicate if it was a boy or a girl. It doesn’t matter. What matters is my response. For the purpose of this story, I’m going to call the child, Sam. Here’s the story.

Earlier this week, Paula and I thought about extending the tire weaving with the addition of some natural items. We picked up a few bunches of flowers to use for an art provocation in class, and it didn’t take long for them to begin to wither. What if we brought them outside for some mud kitchen and weaving use? As anticipated, a small group of children began to weave with the flowers. When a child then found a lone snail — even in the midst of the freezing cold temperatures — some children thought that this weaving space could become a natural home for the snail. A few students came and went from this space, especially when they saw the brightly coloured flowers sticking out of the weaving net.

As the habitat continued to evolve, another child (*Sam) came by. Sam couldn’t help but touch the flowers. Just look at them. They’re almost begging to be touched. Touching soon morphed into picking up the flowers and holding onto them. As the habitat creators continued to work at arranging the flowers, Sam worked just as hard at removing them. Soon, one of the children at the tire asked Sam for a flower back. The request was kind: “Can I please have the flower?” Sam’s response: “No.” Now I happened to be standing by this space documenting the evolution of the tire art/habitat creation, and when I heard the request for the flower and the reply, I jumped in. I also kept the video going.

I’m going to admit that I kept recording because I thought that I would be able to coach Sam into giving back the flower. My hope — at the time — was to capture the sharing that could take place with support. But this is not what happened. Sam was insistent on not giving back the flower, and I was invested in the dispute. When Sam screamed, “No,” I bent down and took the flower. Sam wasn’t expecting this, so the removal of the flower was an easy one, but the decision to do so, escalated the behaviour. Soon we were dealing with a full blown temper tantrum.

Paula and I let Sam cry, scream, and kick. We just made sure to give Sam the space to do so safely. We moved the tire over a bit on the pavement, but Sam was still focused on it and the flower. After about 10 minutes of this, with no reduction in upset, Paula ended up taking a group of children to the field space (as we often do each day), and I moved the tire into the shed. Out of sight, out of mind. Sam still cried for a bit, but when Sam ended up dumping over a container of blocks, this provided enough of a distraction to calm down. Then Sam cleaned up the blocks and re-joined the play.

There are elements of what happened here that I believe Paula and I handled well.

1. We were consistent.
2. We gave Sam the time and space to calm down independently.
3. We removed the item of focus to also help reduce the stress.
4. We moved past the problem. It happened. Sam cleaned up. The day went on as normal.

There was one big problem though. (Without capturing it on video, I’m not sure that I would have ever figured it out.) This experience escalated as it did because I chose to intervene in the first place. Did I need to say or do anything at all? Looking back on this story and listening back to the video even days later, I wonder if I had to get involved. One of the weavers asked for the flower back. If I didn’t say anything, but just observed, what might have happened?

1. Would the child have requested the flower again?
2. Would the child have taken it?
3. Would the child have waited for Sam to drop the flower and then added it to the snail habitat design?
4. Would the child have found something else to use instead?

At the point when I intervened, nobody was hurt and nobody was particularly upset. I felt as though the child’s kind request for the flower back should be granted, and I thought that Sam should know that ruining work is not okay. But seeing the situation through this lens has me making two big assumptions:

1. That the child was not competent enough to solve the problem independently … especially if given the time to do so.
2. That Sam’s intention was to “ruin the work,” when maybe it was just to touch the beautiful flower.

When I chose to get involved and everything unravelled as it did, I also chose to stay the course. Next time though, I hope that when I review our recordings, I see myself stopping and observing instead of jumping in and problem solving. I wonder how things might work out differently. This week, I’m going to attempt to “count to 10” before saying or doing anything (unless there is an immediate safety concern). I wonder what the impact of this decision might be. I’m definitely going to do some videotaping, re-watching, and reflecting. What might I view differently? How might problems resolve themselves differently? I’d love any interested educators, administrators, and/or parents to join me in this challenge. I know that time is always of the essence, and I’m not sure how I’m always going to get this additional wait time to work, but I’m curious to see what might be possible.

Aviva