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Show OTJUUIUUUU.W.'c., ''Wivis.Vtt-'thvIlIMil-J-.C'i.ii., ' """:r:::::ViY--i-T-.agzaEii i Math in the Sandbox... continued until the task was completed, and . said to her, "Now it's full." Laura reached over and picked up a smaller, one-pound coffee can, and digging her spoon into the sand, began to copy her brother. "Full," she said, while working industriously. Cory took his larger can and poured out all of the sand, announcing to her, "Now it's empty." A true mimic all the way, she parroted him, "Empty." 1 sat down on the back step and put the bird book aside, fascinated at the concepts being learned and expanded without my realizing it. I couldn't control the urge to join them, and for the next 30 minutes we filled and emptied everything in - sight. We lined the cans all in a row, the bright pictures on the labels displaying peas, corn, string beans and tomatoes. Short cans with pictures of pineapple and tall cans with pictures of grapefruit and orange juice were placed next to a large, red can with letters clearly printed on the side, and next to that a smaller green can with the larger letters MJB standing out for all to read. Then we filled the bottles, and one by one Cory stood on tiptoe to reach the inside crossboard of the - fence which made a perfect shelf on which to set the bottles in a line. When there was nothing left to fill, we pointed our fingers and counted: first the cans, then the bottles, and then starting all over again, we counted the cans and the bottles together. I had never before equated a coffee can full of sand to the concept of numbers, but it became more and more exciting to recognize how many math concepts as well as those of color, size and shape, letters and so on were being experienced during the sand play. Not only the counting, but the addition, the quantitative concept, even fractions as we poured out half of the sand, or added a half a gla- of water from the nearby hose. During the next few week, the sandbox took on new meaning, new priority. It was a classroom in itself. I became more selective of what I threw out the back door, and a I became more aware of what a stimulating environment had developed, I tried to think of other ways to enhance the sand play. One day I noticed how many different food containers we had in the sandbox; it looked like a grocery store. Well, why not, I thought, and went to the cupboard and got several paper sacks some large, some small and we plaved store! We filled up all the containers with sand and lined them along the fence, with Cory learning to clarify in the process. The grocery store became a neighborhood game, and soon our backyard looked like a supermarket, as the neighborhood children added their empty food containers to ours and carried them around in the paper sacks. The only rule was, all cans and bottles had to be washed out and clean before they could be put in the sand or "sold" at the store. I'll always remember one child's mother coming to see for herself where all the milk cartons and cereal boxes were being carted off to each day. She was appalled at the sight. "They're ruining your yard," she said, with a look of surprise and dismay. I didn't know whether to feel sorry for her or for her child. The only time 1 ever agreed with my neighbor was one morning after it had rained all night. The sight from our kitchen window was a real mess. The wet cardboard boxes and the brown paper sacks were soggy and torn and had been blown all over the yard. The tin cans were full of water. The once colorful, inviting labels hung in shreds, the pictures not even recognizable. It did look rather trashy that day, and we felt a little sad as we busied ourselves at the table with crayons and paste. It rained for three days, and when Cory said for at least the fiftieth time, "I wish it would stop raining, so we could play in the sand," I reacted with, "Well, why don't we make some cookies instead?" He brightened a bit, and even Laura perked up and repeated, "Cookie." We made a big production of getting out the cookie sheet and the mixing bowls, and just about the time Cory pulled up a chair to the countertop to help me stir and mix, I had another idea. Why not! The kitchen floor needed washing anv wav ! I opened the cupboard doors wiJe and surveved the shelves. Cornmca!, oatmeal, a I'ive-pounJ b.ig of Hour, and about half a bag of suar. Perfect! I reached up for the Jrv staple goods and carried them over to the table. While I quickly put all the crayons in a box and cleared the table of the bits of colored p.iper and paste. I asked Cory to pull two of the chairs out of the way and to leave two chairs by the table, explaining that he could kneel on one chair and I aura on the other. I got out a variety ot measuring spoons and cups, a lew tablespoons and teaspoons, plus niy favorite wooden spoons and the spatula. A small strainer anj a funnel added a new dimension, and some bowis and plastic juice glasses were ju st the right sic to use indoors. A large roasting pan and a sheet cake pan completed the stage. "Now," 1 instructed as I opened the bag of flour and emptied it into the pan usually reserved for the Thanksgiving turkey, "you can fill and measure all you want, but please try to keep most of it in the pan." Cory held the pan as 1 poured, and we all laughed as puffs of white drifted up into our faces. Laura took the sheet cake pan and had one of the wooden spoons poised all ready, anxiously wailing as I opened the large cylinder of oatmeal and poured the oatmeal flakes into the pan. I filled one mixing bowl with the cornmeal and another wilh the sugar, then anticipating and expecting some spillage, I look ihc broom and dustpan out of the close! and propped them in the corner close by the table. Spoons filled and emptied, stirred and mixed, and as I observed the judgments being made, spatial concepts and motor coordination being developed, 1 ignored what was getting on the floor. The blue table became white, and the only sounds I heard during the next hour were the slightly out-of-sequence numbers as Cory told Laura he was going to leach her how to count. These events took place 20 years ago. The cost of sugar and flour has probably tripled since then, but even at that, the cost of the rainy -day activity at today's prices wouldn'l be any more than S?. I '-ss than most toys. 1 saved what didn't end up on the floor that day in a couple ol shoe boxes, and wrote in hold, black crayon across one side, "Math lor a rainy day ," then put the boxes on the top shell in the cupboard. Cory is now 25 and 1 aura is 2L Doth are still measuring and calculating. Cory is an inj.i. trial electrician and studying lor his contractor's license. When he talks about voltage and amps, and how much line or power he ran on a job. I think back to the yard lull of trash. I aura is a pharmacy technician at the hospital near our home. She calculates and measures the correct dosage to dispense, c on v er '.n:g liquids to metric' measures as she fills and pours and stirs to her heart's content . Sometimes, c pecia'.iv when she talks of a career in ruulear pharmacology, she gets that same intent look on her Luc lh.it I lir t noticed in Ihc sandbox I can't help but s:r,:'c with pnde as I remember them pl.r.ir.g in that sandbox or sweeping up cornmej! and sugar and wa.hmg the lichen floor on rainy dav s |