Welcome to April! On this past Monday, the Parent/Caregiver Association read a passage from the book Scaffold Parenting by Harold S. Koplewicz of the Child Mind Institute. We read chapter 8, “Building Strength.” After sending recent communications to the FSS community, I found it ironic that we would be talking about resilience and grit. It was a timely subject! 

One of the quiet truths of childhood is that it is, in many ways, a long series of transitions. New classrooms, shifting friendships, growing expectations, small failures, and big feelings, all unfolding in rapid succession. From the outside, it can look like a steady march forward. From the inside, for a child, it often feels like constant change.

There is a word I've been sitting with lately: sanctuary.

At its root, sanctuary means a place set apart. Sacred, protected, consecrated to something greater than the pressures of the ordinary world. Historically, sanctuaries were spaces where people could enter and know, with certainty, that they were safe. That the chaos outside could not follow them through the door.

I believe that is exactly what a school is meant to be. And right now, in this particular moment, I believe it more urgently than ever. Children cannot learn when they are afraid. This is not a philosophical position; it is a neurological fact, backed by decades of research in child development and the science of learning. When a child's nervous system is in a state of threat or hypervigilance, the parts of the brain responsible for curiosity, memory, and meaning-making simply cannot do their work. Safety is not the soft part of education. It is the foundation upon which everything else rests.

As we approach Monday, February 9th, there is a palpable energy in the hallways. Just yesterday, I was speed-walking to a meeting when a Unit student intercepted me. "Kim," they asked with genuine enthusiasm, "Are you excited about the trip?" I paused. For a microsecond, my brain didn't go to tropical breezes. It went to my inbox, the logistical challenge of leaving the office for a week, and the weight of ensuring dozens of children are safe across the ocean. But I shoved my internal "To-Do" list into a mental drawer, smiled, and said, "Of course I am." And the funny thing is, as soon as I said it, I realized it was true. I am excited for our school and students to have this opportunity!

As my favorite season of the year comes to a close, I find myself grateful for moments of connection, such as long conversations with my grown-up daughter and time spent with friends, which remind me how restorative it can be to slow down and be present. I hope you and your children’s time away was similarly restful and rejuvenating. 

As we return to school and move deeper into enrollment season for the 2026–2027 school year, I’ve been reflecting on the language we use to describe who we are. One word in particular: progressive. We identify as a PreK–8 progressive school, and yet, in today’s cultural context, it’s worth asking what that word truly conveys, and whether it clearly communicates the educational experience we work so intentionally to provide.

December is the time of year when I can finally slow down just enough to take stock of how the year is unfolding, reflect on what the past few months have taught me, and consider how those lessons will shape the arc of the rest of the school year. Usually, these reflections arrive during winter break, when I’ve had at least one nap and a cup of tea that I actually finished. But this year, the thoughts seem determined to show up early, perhaps because there is simply so much that is on my mind.

adrienne maree brown writes in Emergent Strategy that “transformation doesn’t happen in a linear way. It happens in cycles, convergences, and explosions. If we release the framework of failure, we can realize the iterative cycles, and we can keep asking ourselves, How do I learn from this?”

If you’ve spent even ten minutes in our hallways recently, you know: Fayerweather is currently mid-convergence, mid-explosion, and mid-iteration, sometimes all before lunch!

As I prepare to rejoin Fayerweather after a few months of parental leave, I’m thinking about one of the most fulfilling parts of my work in Advancement at Fayerweather, which revolves around community engagement. I see community engagement not just as outreach, but as relationship-building, cultivating partnerships that extend the values of FSS beyond our doors while inviting the broader community into our school in meaningful ways. Working closely and with the leadership of Karina and Ann, I’m grateful to lead and help support some great projects geared towards community engagement.

There's a cyclical nature to the life of a school, and as we step into May, with the warming weather and greening trees, we're stepping into the season of culmination! Projects are wrapping up, families are starting to think about summer travels, camps and fun, and our 8th graders are finding the words to bring their Fayerweather journeys to a close at their graduation ceremony - now only six short weeks away. That wonderful ceremony, which I've been privileged to be part of as board chair, is something of a hinge moment, where reflection on the past and a vision for the future meet for our graduates.

As a board, we engage in that hinge moment as well, reflecting back on what we've worked toward in the last year and laying groundwork for what we want to accomplish in the next.

The end of a calendar year can be a strange time. To quote world-famous author (and relative of a Fayerweather alum) Roald Dahl, “For the last twelve months, we have all been living in one year and now all of a sudden it is another. It is extraordinary how this tremendous change takes place in the space of a fraction of a second. As the clock approaches midnight on the thirty-first of December you are still in the old year, but then all at once, one millionth of a second after midnight, you are in the new.” As a child, I often felt this feeling of wonder - how does the year change all of a sudden?

The beginning of a new calendar year can also be a strange time. Grownups spend time (and money) crafting new resolutions, intentions, or goals. We resolve to do an activity, break a habit, learn something new, repair a relationship. Kids may think: Why do we do all of this now, at this point in the summer (if you’re in the Southern Hemisphere) or the winter (if you’re in the Northern Hemisphere)?

As I prepare to rejoin Fayerweather after a few months of parental leave, I’m thinking about one of the most fulfilling parts of my work in Advancement at Fayerweather, which revolves around community engagement. I see community engagement not just as outreach, but as relationship-building, cultivating partnerships that extend the values of FSS beyond our doors while inviting the broader community into our school in meaningful ways. Working closely and with the leadership of Karina and Ann, I’m grateful to lead and help support some great projects geared towards community engagement.

For more than 50 years, the Fayerweather Regatta has been one of the most joyful and uniquely “Fayerweather” traditions of the school year. If you’ve stood in the recess yard on a sunny May morning — listening to nautical tunes from Rob and Kate, watching boats wobble and glide across the pool, and joining a crowd united in the chant of “GO BOATS!” — you know this is much more than a race.

Each spring, students have the option to design and build boats through our Shop program. They imagine, sketch, revise, problem-solve, collaborate, and ultimately launch their creations into the water. Some boats are engineered for speed. Others are whimsical works of art. This is project-based learning at its best.

Students are navigating real challenges, revising their work, and seeing how their ideas perform in the real world. The Regatta asks students to think creatively, explore intellectually, and engage meaningfully with their community;  exactly as our mission calls us to do.

The Regatta also embodies our belief that there is potential for joy in all learning. It is rigorous, yes, but it is also playful, musical, communal, and loud in the very best way.

When the entire crowd cheers “GO BOATS!” rather than rooting for a single winner, we are modeling something powerful: collective celebration. The joy is not reserved for one champion; it belongs to everyone who dared to build, test, and launch.

There is a word I've been sitting with lately: sanctuary.

At its root, sanctuary means a place set apart. Sacred, protected, consecrated to something greater than the pressures of the ordinary world. Historically, sanctuaries were spaces where people could enter and know, with certainty, that they were safe. That the chaos outside could not follow them through the door.

I believe that is exactly what a school is meant to be. And right now, in this particular moment, I believe it more urgently than ever. Children cannot learn when they are afraid. This is not a philosophical position; it is a neurological fact, backed by decades of research in child development and the science of learning. When a child's nervous system is in a state of threat or hypervigilance, the parts of the brain responsible for curiosity, memory, and meaning-making simply cannot do their work. Safety is not the soft part of education. It is the foundation upon which everything else rests.