I was the only educator at a table full of founders. And I left wondering: what if educators could build too?
I'm Sher Lin. An early childhood educator. A lover of the Reggio Emilia approach. An advocator for inquiry-based learning. A curious soul. Ten years in classrooms: I can read a child's curiosity from across a room. Zero background in tech: I couldn't read a line of code. This is that story.
One very recent afternoon I had lunch with a group of friends — founders, coders, builders. Listening to them talk about turning ideas into reality made something shift in me. I wasn't part of that world. I'm a preschool teacher. But they never made me feel excluded. At one point, someone looked at me and said: "If you've been wanting to try AI — this is your sign."
I went home thinking about that. A lot.
"I know what a meaningful provocation feels like.
I know how long it takes.
And I know how hard it is
when you're already exhausted."
The knowledge was never the problem. The blank page on a Sunday night was.
Ten years of designing curriculum by hand. Of sitting with a child's question all week — turning it over, watching how it shifts, deciding what to introduce next. That part I love. That part I'm good at.
The hard part is Sunday evening. The observation is fresh. The idea is there. But translating it into a provocation, a material invitation, a question worth asking — that takes a specific kind of energy. And after a week of full presence in the classroom, that energy is often the first thing to go.
Generic lesson templates don't help. They're designed for a different kind of teaching — one that moves from objective to activity, not from observation to inquiry. What Reggio-inspired educators needed wasn't another planner. It was something that could think alongside them.
That gap is what Spark was built to close.
"What if I just try building something?" — and then I didn't stop.
I was about to wash up when the idea hit me. I opened my laptop.
I was Googling every few minutes — learning to code, breaking things, fixing things. Trying to decode error messages that looked alien to me. But I refused to stop. Because isn't that what learning is all about?
The first prototype of Spark existed at 3:33am. It wasn't perfect. But it existed. And from that rough first draft, I kept refining through testing, adjusting and user feedback — until it became the tool you can use today.
Tools I'd never heard of — until that night
Spark: Built on ten years of knowing what a good provocation actually feels like.
Type in something you observed. Or a topic the children keep returning to. Choose the age group. What Spark returns isn't generated from a database of lesson ideas — it's shaped by a decade of understanding how inquiry actually moves in a room:
Every output is built around inquiry-based pedagogy, open-ended learning, and child-led exploration — not worksheet-style planning. Spark is designed to amplify the educator's existing knowledge, not override it.
There's a 'Start With A Moment You Noticed' field for educators who type in their observation. Instead of typing "Insects", you might write: "Leo and Sarah spent 20 minutes watching an ant carry a leaf across the brick walkway." Spark takes that specific moment and builds from it — so what comes back grows from your child's actual curiosity, not a generic theme.
The teacher's eye remains the most important input. Spark just helps you trust what it's already seeing.
The pedagogy behind Spark isn't theoretical. Here's where it was built.
Spark didn't come from reading about Reggio Emilia. It came from ten years of learning to read children — noticing when a question was worth following, when a material was doing the teaching, when an inquiry had shifted and needed a new door. These are four of many projects that shaped what Spark understands.
What educators see when they open Spark — clean, focused, ready.
Twelve hours before I built it, I'd never written a line of code.
Something clicked that night — not just technically, but in how I understand learning itself. I've spent a decade watching children encounter things they don't know how to do yet. Watching them stay with the discomfort, find a way through, discover something about themselves in the process.
Building Spark felt like that. Every error message was a provocation. Every fix was a documentation moment. And somewhere around 3:33am, something existed that hadn't before.
That's what I want Spark to be for the educators who use it — not a shortcut, but a thinking companion. Something that meets you in the moment of wondering what to do next, and helps you find your way in.
A provocation isn't a lesson. It's an opening.
The observations were already happening. They just had nowhere to go.
Spark solved the blank-page problem. But there was still the other one.
I was the teacher opening one iPhone Note after another, trying to piece together what I'd written about a child — notes from the classroom, where so much is happening at the same time. Scrolling through voice memos at 9pm, not because I forgot what I meant, but because I needed to find what the child had actually said. That recording existed. I just had to find it. And when I was about to share an update with a parent, I'd realise I was mentally flipping through apps to pull it all together. With almost twenty children in a class, that's a lot of piecing together.
The Documentation Reflection Companion is what I built for that. One place for all of a child's observations — photos, voice memos, written notes — organised across time. So when the moment comes, the documentation is already there.
Every child's observations in one place — photos, voice memos, notes, gathered over time.
See what's here.
See all tools →One tool for when you need a provocation — or just more scaffolding for an idea you're already sitting with.
One tool for documenting on the go — and when there's enough, looking across it all to find the patterns, questions, and connections you couldn't see in a single entry.