Sleepovers and Spaghetti: A Peek Into the World of Four-Year-Olds

Julie Burness

Have you ever been witness to a typical college class, where you would think that students would act maturely, behave rationally and show respect to their teachers? If you haven’t, let me enlighten you. As a first-year college student, I notice daily the food that is consumed during class, the rustling of backpacks five minutes before class ends and the overall loudness of some students during lectures. These details sound a bit like the actions you’d expect from pre-school aged children. But I recently observed and interacted with a class of four year olds at Trinity Learning Center, and let me tell you the irony is almost laughable.

Peeking my head inside the room at the learning center, I have a vision of what appears to be six angels sitting with their hands folded neatly atop a table. Before them lie a cup of grape juice and two cookies each. The sight of those chocolate chips makes my mouth water. The thought briefly crosses my mind of overpowering one of the children, taking the cookies and making a run for it. Noticing the teacher beckoning me, I quickly compose myself and throw on a smile.

"Come on in. I’m Miss Heather." The teacher motioned. "The kids just woke up from nap and are about to have snack." The words nap and snack are never maintained in the adult world, I realized in frustration. Don’t we wish now that at 11 a.m. we could all take a rest from the day, pull out a cot, curl up with a soft blanket and snooze for a good hour? Then we’d be awakened by our boss, bringing us a plate full of goodies and some juice to wash it down with.

"You can have a seat over there." She pointed to a tiny blue chair across the room, with tennis balls attached to the bottom. As I made my way around, I noticed the children’s eyes wandering from their cookies, to my form. I wondered what was going through their curious minds. Their days must be so routine, and my being there a complete shock to their culture. I wondered why they hadn’t devoured the cookies in front of them, when every morsel seemed to taunt me. Could it be possible that these four-year-olds displayed more self restraint than an adult?

Sizing up the chair, I glanced at the seat again. Impossible. It reminded me of something you would sit your dolls on. There was no comfortable way that I could fit into this chair, yet I tried. Eyeing the room, I felt as though I were peering into a bug jar. The table the children sat at was so petite, the chairs mimicking those you would see in a dining room only four times as small. The cups pressed upon the pre-schoolers lips were made to be grasped by tiny hands. Even the cookies they nibbled on were bite sized.

As the children finished up snack, Miss Heather began to set up for circle time. A student aide left the room to go prepare an art activity for later. In a quiet and reformed line, the kids placed their empty cups into the trash one after the other and proceeded to make their way to the carpeted area. Each of them found a spot along the wall at which to sit. A row of five boys formed against the back left wall. The first two were quite attentive and alert, as if waiting for instructions. The middle boy had his finger grotesquely inserted up his nostril. I quickly averted my gaze to the last pair of boys, who were engaged in a battle of wits over who could make the best Spiderman sounds. A few feet away on the adjacent wall sat a curious young girl by the name of Caitlyn. It seemed as though anything in the near surroundings sparked her interest. She sat quietly, legs sprawled out in front of her, picking on a shoelace and running it back and forth between her fingers as if highly amused with this task.

"Criss cross apple sauce!" Miss Heather asserted. Immediately the four year olds straightened up their posture, sat Indian style and redirected their attention to the petite blonde teacher sitting in front of them. All of them except Caitlyn, of course. She was now fascinated, it seemed, with her belt, which contained the emblem of a butterfly on it. She whipped it off and peered at it with great intent.

"Today we have a friend with us who is going to help us learn about our letter of the week." Miss Heather smiled in my direction, stood up and motioned for me to take her chair. "And what is the letter for this week?" In unison the class responded with a dull and drawn-out "S." As I sat down, the inquisitive eyes of small children locked upon me. Taking a deep breath, I clutched my pen and began to speak. "My name is Julie, and I’m going to tell you one of my favorite things to do that start with the letter S." Luckily I had this part planned out a bit, because thinking of a pastime that started with the letter S off the top of my head, might not have been appropriate! "How many of you have ever been to a Slumber Party?" At first only a few hands flew into the air, yet after the other children observed their friends with a raised hand, then they began to raise theirs too. "I know when I have a slumber party, I love to watch scary movies, Scooby Doo and eventually go to sleep!" Not sure whether the kids would pick up on my list of activities starting with the letter S, I decided to ask around the circle about what the children did when having friends stay the night.

"Dan, what do you like to do at a Slumber Party?" Eager to share his vast knowledge with the rest of the class, the mismatched blonde boy began to explain. "When I have people stay over, we eat cake because it’s my birthday. Then we play Octoblast Raceway in the playroom." With an enormous achieving grin painted across his face, he sat back down and folded his legs once more.

"How about you, Paul?" His gaze never left the floor as he spoke in a shy manner. "I-I bring a sleeping bag when I go to someone’s house." He stuttered. "I-I like to go in Scott's swimming pool sometimes." Another little boy interjected with a comment on how he has a swimming pool at his house.

"Andrew, it is not your turn." Miss Heather gently scolded in a monotonous tone. "You need to listen to Paul talk now." The next boy seemed a bit too introverted to share his stories with the rest of the class, so I moved on to a robust boy by the name of Scott. "What do you usually do at a Slumber Party?"

"Well when I go to someone’s house or they come over to my house or we go over to my Dad's house who lives in Jacksonville then sometimes we might go to the store and then sometimes we might not do that." His semi-coherent rambling went on for the better part of five minutes. Out of the corner of my eye I spied Caitlyn, chewing on a piece of her long, stringy brunette hair. She chomped down on each strand as if it were a rib eye steak. I snickered quietly to myself and decided it was time to move on.

"Caitlyn! What do you like to do at a Slumber Party?" She promptly removed the hair from her mouth and stated matter-of-factly, "I was bad, so my mommy said I couldn’t have one." Simple enough. Moving onto the next topic of S discussion I mentioned to the class my love for spaghetti and how if I had a sleep over, that would be my cuisine of choice for my guests, but I had a problem. I wasn’t quite sure how to prepare the meal, so I left it up to the minds of four-year-olds.

"Dan, how do you think you make spaghetti?"

He sat perplexed for a moment as if in deep thought. "Well, you take a bag of tomatoes and put them in a pot along with some noodles and cook it in the oven."

"How long do I put it in for?" I questioned.

"A zillion minutes." He nodded. "That makes it hot and gooey just like I like it."

Turning my attention towards Andrew, I repeated the question to him.

"You take pancakes, syrup and tomato, mix them in a bowl then heat it on the stove for twenty minutes." Immensely amused by this statement, I asked the boy to repeat himself which he did with exact detail. I suppose I shouldn’t knock it until I’ve tried it, yet the idea of pancaked spaghetti doesn’t really wet my palate.

"How about you?" I focused my eyes upon the easily entertained Caitlyn, who had now managed to turn her shirt completely inside out. Looking up she let out a deep sigh in obvious frustration.

"You put noodles in water," she said in a mocking tone, "and then put in a can of sauce from the store." Her attention on me disintegrated, and she went back to fiddling with her clothes.

I peered down at my pages of notes and found myself at a loss for words. Luckily I was saved by the bell as the student aide scurried into the room, arms full of yarn and cotton balls. She ushered the kids over to the arts and crafts table where they began to work on a project that consisted of using white yarn as noodles, red paint for sauce, and small brown cotton balls for meatballs. I thanked Miss Heather wholeheartedly for allowing me to come in observe her class. She chuckled a bit and actually thanked me. My stomach longed for a big bowl of spaghetti, grape juice and a hefty amount of chocolate chip cookies.

Getting into my car, I looked out through the right window, catching a glimpse of the children at play, covered in paint and finding so much joy in the small day-to-day tasks they encountered. I glanced to my left and saw the masses of adults zipping by in their Nissans and Chevys, talking on cell phones, oblivious to the simple life which they used to live as children. Every day we commute, interact and communicate in an adult setting. We easily lose sight of what it meant to be a child. The wondrous imagination it takes to create a pasta entree using fluffy pancakes as your main ingredient. The rationalization of a zillion minutes. So after sitting in a chair the size of a sheet of typing paper for an hour and absorbing all the information I could about four year olds, my advice to you is simple. Take some time out to think about the everyday things in life, using a child’s reasoning. Maybe even plan a Slumber Party with some of your friends. All in all, don’t lose sight of the inner child that lurks inside each and every one of us. It is there you will find the honesty, happiness and endless humor that enables us to live life to the fullest.