Painted Lady Panic: The Magic Tree House in Lockdown

It seemed like such a good idea at the time –- mail-order butterflies.  I had gauzy images of smiling children enthralled with the life cycle of the butterfly, learning, exploring, and asking well-thought questions that would lead them eventually to scientific greatness, and possible a Nobel Peace Prize or the cure for cancer.

Our tiny, translucent caterpillars arrived in self-contained cups.  I was assured by the shiny instruction brochure that I need do nothing except watch them eat and grow fat, like retirees on a Caribbean cruise.

My lads and lassies were enthralled!  Real class pets!  “Can we hold them?”  “Can I take the lid off, Mrs, Dahl?”  “Can we feed them?  I have an extra peanut butter and jelly sandwich…” 

We watched our little critters eat, poop out little yellow balls called frass (now don’t you just feel more intelligent knowing that little piece of trivia?), and we watched them shed their exoskeleton several times as their rapidly expanding bodies created a snug fit for their frames.  Good things humans don’t work that way, huh?  Stretchy skin is way better for yo-yo dieting!

We watched transfixed as the first chrysalis formed.  Incredible act of nature!  My goodness, you would have thought we ourselves were going to morph into some other creature.  It took about 24 hours for all 11 caterpillars to zip themselves into their snug sleeping bags.  Then we junior scientist laid out our predictions for how long it would be until we saw the first butterfly emerge.  Honestly, these kids just crack me up.  They all bow at the feet of the “smart one” in the class.  They’re convinced he’s got a brain the size of a coconut.  If he says something, well its just gospel.  Einstein predicted 5 days.  The boy standing next to him predicted 5 days (a mere coincidence?....I think not).  Then the next one predicted 5 days.  C’mon guys, somebody get brave here and offer an-out-of-the-ballpark prediction just for the fun of it!

Another five day prediction, and so on and so forth.  Then it was The Non-Conformist’s turn.  He gives a little tug to his chin and rolls his eyes to the ceiling while he cogitates on his profound hypothesis.  “Hmmmmmm,” he muses theatrically.  “I’m gonna’ say one million.”  One million days till we see a caterpillar?  “Yup.”  And that was that.  Wisdom had spoken.  There was no further discussion necessary.  I dutifully recorded six hypotheses of five days, and one that contained nine zeros.

When all chrysalises were fully formed, we waited a day, then my shiny instruction brochure said it would be safe to move them to their habitat.  Done.  Now we wait.  The Brochure says it will take 7-10 days.  That should be perfect.  They should start emerging right after Easter break.  Like expectant fathers, we settled in for the vigil.  We tried to just go about our daily business, but it was HARD….I mean, running over to watch every five minutes makes it happen faster…right?? 

We learned the body parts of the caterpillars and could label them with little help.  We journaled about our experience, complete with illustrations.  And we waited.  “Mrs. Dahl, I think it’s happening!  They’re wiggling!”  And sure enough, those little buggers would dance a jig every now and then.  Really funny to watch.  I’m pretty sure I was enjoying our venture into Marlin Perkins Wild Kingdom as much as the kids. 

We wound down the week before break and before we knew it, Thursday had arrived and we were running out the door for vacation (and the kids weren’t far behind the teachers).

I showed up Friday to get my lesson plans done for the next week and out of habit peeked at my tubular babies.  WHAT??? No, you can’t be emerging NOW!  We have three days until school starts again.  THE KIDS ARE SUPPOSED TO BE HERE FOR THIS.  I paid good money for you to hatch when it was convenient for ME!!  Doggonit anyway….

Within hours nearly all had broken free of their cocoons and were timidly trying out new wings.  And they were breathtaking!  You think I got work done?  Ha!!  I pulled my camera out and snapped like the new parent I was, from every angle imaginable.  Wow.  What a show they put on just for me.

My shiny brochure said to wait 24 hours to feed them.  But wait.... that would mean  coming back on Saturday.  I hadn’t planned to go to work on Saturday.  In fact, I had 25 relatives coming to my house for Easter dinner.  I really needed to get some work done at home.  Saturday was clean-like-a-maniac day.  Not feed-butterflies-who-don’t-have-the good-sense-to-hatch-while-the-kids-are-here day. 

Well, whatareya’ gonna’ do?  The ‘flys needed to be fed.  And so, Saturday night after supper I hauled my carcass back to a dark, empty building to feed butterflies.  Am I nuts?  Don’t answer that. 

Here’s where it got interesting.  Putting nectar (fancy name for sugar water) INTO the habitat required opening the top up.  The shiny brochure didn’t say anything about how to keep them from flying OUT of their enclosure.  Well, how hard can it be?  I never lost a child at the mall.  I should be able to keep tabs on eleven tiny insects.

I tapped the sides of the habitat to encourage the winged creatures to head to the basement for a moment, which seemed to work quite well.  But there was this one inmate that was watching and waiting for the prison gates to open a crack.  Waiting and watching.  Watching and waiting.  Casing the joint for a breach in security.  We have a runner!  Lock down, lock down!!  

As I helplessly watched Escape From Alcatraz happen before my eyes, I can hear the lyrics to Born Free flit through my mind.  Action, Vonda!  Go shut the door before he gets a whiff of the hallway and makes his escape complete.  Whew…I made it! I spot the little felon trying to blend in with the bulletin board.  Maybe I can capture him and get him back in the habitat.  Shiny Brochure, you are WORTHLESS right now!  I carefully approach him, get up on the computer table in order to reach him easier, but the sneaky critter flies away just as I reached him.  The poor thing hasn’t had a bite to eat yet.  Yes, I’ll admit it.  I was worried about its survival.  I looked for awhile longer, but I also knew I might never see the wily thing again, so I posted a sign on the outside of the door warning folks that there was a Painted Lady on the loose and please keep the door closed.

When The Seven Wonders of the World showed up for school on Monday, they were greeted by the sight of their new pets.  What a priceless picture to see those excited little faces peering into the net enclosure ooohing and ahhhing over their life science experiment.  You would have thought they single-handedly brought forth life into this world.  There were fist pumps, and back thumps and congratulations all around.  The only thing missing was Cuban cigars.  They had succeeded in the metamorphosis of eleven butterflies and they were happy to entirely take credit for this miracle.  The best part for me, Mrs-Everything-Must-Have-An-Educational-Application, was the bombardment of questions that flew at me.  I have learned that when I must prompt question asking, it means they really are not all that engaged.  But when they suddenly think of a kajillion (spell check is luvin’ that word!) questions with little or no prompting from me, then they are in the zone and absorbing everything I say.  This was such a moment and ENORMOUSLY gratifying.  The Slick Brochure hadn’t prepared me for THIS. 

The entire day was a blur of Butterfly Inquiry.  I kept the habitat close by and at eye level so that they could visit the “nursery” and have a peek at their babies whenever they wanted.  We watched enthralled as they landed on the dish of nectar and unrolled their proboscis to drink the sweet stuff. 

Our moment of brilliance came during morning snack time.  One of my darlings (who is a very good eater.  I mean he eats anything, and keep it comin’!), was munching contentedly on watermelon chunks.  The Brochure had mentioned that Painted Ladies love to eat cantaloupe and watermelon.  I had mentioned this to the class previously. Someone suddenly realized that The Human Food Disposal had a baggie of the stuff clutched in his hands.  All eyes turned to him.  It took a moment before he realized what the collective intent was.  When understanding dawned, he froze mid-chew as he realized that one of his precious chunks was about to be requested for The Cause.  I could see the wheels turning as he pondered his options.  Hoard or share?  Be class hero or savor the melon to the very end?  To his credit, he did not hesitate for long.  With a solemn nod, like the President himself had asked for service to the country, he got up and laid a sticky red chunk in my hand.  He would do his part.  We could count on him.  Smiling I gratefully accepted his sacrifice and (barely) opened the top of the habitat.  Quickly dropping the watermelon in, I zipped the top shut and watched amazed as “nectar from the gods” drew all eleven beauties.  They were luvin it!

With our Painted Ladies gorging themselves, we turned our attention to math and were just conquering a word problem, when I shushed the group.  “Listen!” I commanded.  Talking stopped and surprised eyeballs stared at me.  You could have heard a pin drop.  “There.  Did you hear that?”  All ears strained to hear whatever it was I had just lost my mind over.  “What is it?”  someone courageously asked.  Without saying a word, I walked over to the window, shoved a desk underneath it, and climbed on top in order to get a better peek at my quarry.  Now I could hear and sense the confusion behind me. Six bodies clustered around my legs.  “Mrs. Dahl, what are you DOING?”  I looked down at my charges and grinned.  “She’s up here in the window.”  Six blank stares.   “Our missing butterfly is sitting in the warmth of the sunny window.”  Comprehension dawned and now they were excited and full of questions.  “Mrs, Dahl, how did you know?”  “I could hear her wings hitting the window when it was quiet.” I answered.  “She really wants to be outside and is trying hard to get there.”

When the janitor showed up later (who’s really more of a personal assistant than a custodian.  God bless that woman!), she was accosted by the tale of the Lady on the Loose and capably captured it under a cup and returned it to its buddies.  All safe.  Hurray!

Yesterday I thought it might be nice to share our fun with the second grade, and so for about an hour, our babies left the safe confines of the nursery and took a little road trip across the hall.  My children were bereft!  “Mrs. Dahl, when are they coming back?”  “Why does the second grade need to see them?”  “I miss them!”  And on and on it went.  Finally Miss Mother Hen couldn’t take the separation anxiety any more.  She threw down her pencil in frustration and shouted, “I want them back!”  She marched over to the door, opened it wide and yelled to the door of the second grade class, “Bring them back!”  I was in stitches!

Shiny Brochure claims they will live approximately two weeks (in a first grade class, probably less, I’m thinkin’).  So the plan is to observe them two more days and then have a Release Celebration out on the playground (weather permitting, of course).  I already know that it will be a very sad day for The Magic Tree House.  We are VERY attached.

But who knows? Maybe on some sultry summer day, we may catch a glimpse of silver and orange, and know that one of our own has propagated and left a legacy for us to enjoy.  At the very least, we have thrilled in the miracle of nature and seven inquisitive first graders have learned that there’s more to life than video games and Nickelodeon. 

I hope they never forget. 

I never will.

 

Love Easter - Hate the Day Before Easter Break

I felt the current of hyperactive electricity before the first bell had even rung.  These kids were WIRED with a capital dubya’.  Great.  It’s bad enough when the week is shortened, but to add a coming holiday, an afternoon party, and a pile of sugary sweets that I was idiotic enough to have brought for them, there was trouble a’brewin’.  I knew it, I knew it, I knew it. 

The first sign of the coming doom was when my assigned New Teacher Mentor came down to my room and let me know that he wanted to come observe me for the afternoon.  TODAY???  Are you for real?  Do you understand that this afternoon will be the Bermuda Triangle of educational learning?  Yes, he knew how preholiday school days go.  He needed to log some observation hours – he would take whatever this afternoon brought in stride.  Can I have that signed and notarized?

The first time The Question came was about 2.8 minutes after we said the pledge to the flag.  “Mrs. Dahl, when are we having our party?”  They came regular after that, like labor contractions near the transition phase.  “Mrs. Dahl, when are we having our party?” I just told you, we’ll have it this afternoon.”  Then as if I hadn’t said a word, “Mrs. Dahl, are we having our party next?”  So you think if you rephrase the question you’ll trick me into a different answer?  The same question must have arisen twenty times before lunch.  Am I sitting under a Cone of Silence?  The answer is AFTER LUNCH.  Don’t ask me again.  “Ok, but Mrs. Dahl, when are we having our party?” Sigh….I give up.

The next chime on the Learning Death Clock came after lunch recess.  They all filtered back into the room either in tears or gloomy-faced.  Yesterday had seen a fight that ended in blows, and I just knew that today had been more of the same.  WEF was obviously recruiting on our playground.  OK, somebody tell me what happened.  “Somebody farted and he blamed me for the stink!”  (suppressing a smile) “Is that a good reason to hit him?”  I could tell by the look on his face he thought it was.  I’m confused.  The men in my house consider that a badge of honor.  Maybe Stink Pride happens along with puberty.  Males are interesting creatures.  That’s all I can say. 

I decided some group therapy might be in order and gathered my miniature Rocky Balboas into a circle and somberly discussed respect, kindness, and self-control.  Did it help?  Who knows?  At the very least, it quieted the restless natives for a few minutes and peace was restored momentarily.  The offending parties did volunteer apologies to each other.  Well, that’s a good sign anyway.

After dealing with recess troubles, I vainly tried to get some instruction in.  Got a spelling test in and then my mentor walked in for my Fish-In-A-Glass-Bowl experience.  Well, maybe something in our afternoon would be slightly impressive.  Turns out, not so much.  I did have a fairly calm reading intervention group, but then it was time for The Dreaded Party.  The kids were getting more and more hyper.  They needed warm milk intravenously, not SUGAR.  What was I thinking?

It WAS fun to watch them hunt for their hidden goodie bags in the classroom.  Still snow and mud outside, so we’ll make do indoors.  They were thrilled with their trinkets and candies, and munched appreciatively on their cupcakes.  And miracle of miracles, not one spilled punch cup! 

I bravely tried to forge ahead with my afternoon lesson plans, but it really was pointless.  They were not anywhere near the vicinity of Want To Learn.  The final straw came when I sent them up to the gym for PE.  They were so buzzed on sugar, carbs, and red dye #14 that they nearly floated up the stairs.  It seemed they had no sooner left when I heard that familiar clomping of feet coming back down the steps.  No PE today.  Gym’s being used by the high school.  If EVER they needed to do some running, it was this day.  Oh well.  I’ll scrape them off the ceiling in time to get on the bus.

Foolishly, I tried to get them to do some creative writing at the end of the day.  No go.  They were done.  I had toyed with the idea of an afternoon movie, but rejected it on principle.  I think I should have thrown principle out the window.  I don’t know if they learned anything or not.  I DO know they had fun.  Maybe they won’t suffer long-term damage after all.  Time will tell.

I do love Easter.  I love baskets, and pastel decorations, and dyed chicken eggs, and little girls in frilly dresses and white patent leather shoes.  And I love ham, and family dinners and watching sweet children run around trying to find hidden eggs.  And most of all,  I love the Easter story of Resurrection and Hope. 

But for the record, I do not like the day before break.  Not this year anyway.  Next year we’re having detoxifying steamed veggies for our party.  AND a movie…

One Nation Under God, Invisible....

That’s how kids think the pledge to our nation’s flag goes… “and to the Republic, for Richard Stands.  One nation, under God, invisible, with liberty and justice….

Our Word of the Day today was “invisible.”   So we were. 

As our day began, I drew attention to our vocabulary word, then I mysteriously went to the closet, pulled out an empty tub, and cradled it in my arm like it was heavy.  “Class, I’m going to give each of you a can of Invisibility Spray.  When you receive your spray can, I want you to start at the top of your head and spray all the way down to your feet. Then count backwards from ten.  By the time you get to zero, you will be invisible.”  The word invisible I pronounced with as much flair and mystery as I could muster.  My voice was a near whisper.

One very observant student said, "I don’t see any spray cans.”  I met his challenge with, “Of course you don’t.  They’re INVISIBLE.”  OK, they were game.   I could see it on their faces.  I had my hook.  Each one reached out small hands to receive his or her “can,” then commenced to start spraying themselves down.  I lead the way.  We of course had to make the “Shhhhhhh” spraying sound with our mouths, as the invisible cans are also silent (everybody knows THAT).  We somberly began counting down from ten, as if we were entering the unknown and couldn’t predict what the outcome might be.  Would our state of invisibility be permanent?  We just didn’t know….

“three….two…..one.”  I gave a slight shiver and then a quiver and then sighed, like I was relieved the transformation was over.  “There!”   I declared definitively.  “We’re invisible!”  Seven little heads turned to look at a neighbor.  “How come I can still see everybody?’’ Drat.  I knew that one was coming.   “Because we’re ALL invisible. Only those that are invisible can see other invisible people.”  Well, that makes perfect sense to a seven-year-old.  They were almost buying it….

All of a sudden, one jumped up from the table and ran pell-mell to the mirror by the door.  “Mrs. Dahl, why can I still see myself?”  a disappointed little voice wanted to know.  Six invisible bodies charged to the mirror to see for themselves.  “Yeah!” one demanded.  “We can see ourselves!”  Doubt was trying to turn them against me.  Think quick, Mrs. Dahl….

“Because I sprayed the entire room before you arrived this morning.  Everything in here is invisible to everyone but us. “ Seven clomping sets of feet headed back to the table.  Mister Realist says matter-of-factly (and a little disappointedly), “We’re not really invisible.   Are we?”    It was both a challenge and a question.  I’m sure the twinkle in my eye confirmed the truth, but I never let on.  For the rest of the day we would live the life of an invisible first grader. 

We made a sign for our door that warned the Non-Invisible, “Don’t be alarmed.  Today the first grade is invisible.”  That way, when the uninformed amongst us peeked in our door and saw pencils floating mysteriously in the air, they wouldn’t think that they were losing their minds or that the spirit world had taken over.

When the janitor came to claim our trash, she came in laughing about our sign and wanted to know where the kids were just then.  I told her the best way to find them was to shout out “Marco Polo” and just follow the sounds of their voices, which she gamely did.  It must have seemed odd to anyone passing by in the hall to hear an adult voice yelling, “Marco!”  And seven joyous children answering, “Polo!”  in the middle of a school day (then again, there are often odd sounds coming from the first grade room).

Our line at the hall water fountain produced warnings to students passing by not to bump into our unseen bodies.

When my second grade reading students came in for intervention time, they were accosted by the disembodied voices of their first grade chums.  I explained our adventure to them and then challenged them, “Well, can you see any of them?”  Completely serious faces shook their heads no.  “We’re a little crazy in first grade,” I apologetically explained.  “Tell me about it,” was the retort of one.  The classmate to her right exclaimed, “I want spray!” 

We carried our charade clear to the end of the day.  By the time it was Headin’ Home time, every first grader could give an adequate definition of the word invisible and half of them could spell it near perfect.

I think tomorrow’s word of the day will be…….

Silence… :)

Cancelled Field Trip + No Plan B = A Maalox Moment

Yesterday was supposed the greatest and most brilliant field trip ever conceived by a kindergarten and a first grade teacher.  We tag teamed this baby.  I came up with the theme and she did everything else (thanks, Gayla!)  Our field trip was to be centered around the theme of transportation and it was going to be a life-changing event for our young charges (OK, maybe not LIFE CHANGING, but really cool at the very least). 

We were going to start off touring the Greyhound bus station, then get picked up from there by a limousine (yes, that’s right, I said LIMOUSINE) and taken to a city bus stop to ride the CAT bus across town (in Bismarck, North Dakota it’s not that long a ride).  From there we were going to the municipal airport for another tour and then to the air taxi hanger to get an up-close peek inside a small plane.  Does that just scream “educational fun“ or what?!?

That’s what was supposed to happen yesterday.  What happened was four inches of slushy, slippery snow by the time I awoke in the morning.  With heavy heart I looked out my bedroom window to a white covering on the same driveway that had just finally dried out from thawing snow and mud.  Well, how bad can the roads be?  BAD!!  I slipped, slid, and prayed my way to school.  OK, here’s my burning question.  If it’s a sunny, beautiful, dry winter day, I must pass 43 snowplows on my way to school in the mornings.  Yesterday?  Nary a one.  Huh?  Do they get stored in moth balls after the last day of March?  Don’t mean to be hyper critical here….I’m just sayin’…..

So I arrive at school about 7 a.m. and the two-way radio from the buses is already a cacophony of static MAYDAY calls from drivers.  One bus in the ditch already, all the rest throwing up Hail Mary’s hoping to stay OUT of the ditch.  It’s not looking good for the Field Trip Of The Year.  Another phone call comes through.  Freezing rain hitting the streets of Bismarck.  I’m hearing another nail being driven in the coffin of Gettin’ Out Of Dodge.  Mr. Superintendant declares it unsafe to try to go today.  Just not worth the risk.  Nooooooooooo!  So much planning!  Such disappointed children!  NO PLAN B!!!  Could we snowshoe into Bismarck?  Or hitchhike?  Yeah, hitchhiking could be worked into a lesson on transportation, couldn’t it??? 

Sigh….  I know he’s right. 

A quick call to the kindergarten teacher and she agrees.  Not to worry, she assures me.  We’ll just reschedule.  Turns out making the calls was the easy part.  Shifting the day into Plan B was killer, ‘cause NOW WHAT??  I didn’t plan anything for that day.  We were going to be gone for all of it.  Plus I was pretty sure the kids would be disappointed, hyper, and NOT in the mood for a regular school day. 

I just didn’t have the heart to make them go through a regular day.  This day was supposed to be a fun break from the usual grind of our normal schedule.  I had plenty for them to do, but how much could I expect from them given our disappointing turn of events?  These are the questions I asked my freshman self as seven first graders showed up for the day.  Oh my, they were fairly vibrating with excitement.  “Mrs. Dahl, we get to go on our field trip today!”  I felt like the parent who has to break the news to their child that they ran over the family pet (which I have in fact done).  Not fun.

“Children, I have some bad news.”  Seven heads swivel my way at the ominous tone in my voice.  “I don’t think we’re going to get to go on our field trip today.”  Silence.  Then chaos.  “Why?”  “Awwwwwww.”  “When do we get to go?”  Questions, questions, questions.  After the initial shock, they adjusted quite well, I felt.  There was no talk of mutiny or bodily harm concerning Mrs. Evil-Party-Pooper-Teacher, so I was relieved.

And then I learned something the hard way.  An unstructured day is way harder than a structured day.  Waaaaay harder.  Its not that we didn’t have enough to do.  We did.  I had plenty of activities and things to keep them busy and occupied.  But it was out their usual routine, and kids need routine.  They just do.  We got some schoolwork in, but we also watched a movie, spent a goodly amount of free center time (they always choose Legos.  They LOVE Legos), and we planted flowers for Easter (no, not a Spring Celebration----EASTER, thank you very much). 

I’m pretty sure the kids enjoyed themselves, but by the time the Go Home bell rang at 3:15, I was EXHAUSTED.  And truthfully, the time seemed to drag just a little.  It was the first day since I started teaching that I had experienced that.  Usually the days FLY by and when the last bell rings I think, “Already??  No, I’m not ready.  There’s so much more I wanted to do today!”  Not yesterday.  It was more like, “Time to go, kids.  Bye. Get going.  Hurry.  Put your coat on while you walk out the door.  I’ll mail your backpack to you, just GO!”  Not really, of course, but I WAS bone-weary.

We are planning to reschedule our big day, but we only have a month of school left, and those days are already consumed with end-of-year activities.  We’ll try to make it happen. 

I think my big lesson here is, never assume anything.  Always think about a school day from every angle, and don’t view routine as an enemy that the kids need a break from.  I think in a real way, it’s comforting for them, no matter how much they complain about it.

So next time, I WILL have a back-up plan, AND a full bottle of antacid.

Smile For The Camera

I have a confession to make here.  One of my greatest anxieties about going back to college was the fear that my technological ineptitude would be exposed, mocked, ridiculed and blared from Mount Kilimanjaro itself.  The babies of today are born with the genetic make-up to program a DVR machine and hack into the thickest firewall.  They are handed a cell phone along with their first solid foods.  But we old-timers find all this new-fangled gadgetry to be a tad overwhelming and more than a little intimidating.

So when I made the momentous decision to head back to the classroom and get that second degree, I had visions of spending three semesters with a perpetual deer-in-the-headlights look.  It truly was my greatest insecurity.  What if I’m helplessly lost from Day One?  What if I can’t keep up?  I wasn’t too worried about the heavy course load or keeping up with the reading and projects.  Raising four kids…now THAT’S work.  College-level academics?  No sweat.

Just to be clear, I wasn’t a complete techno idiot.  I know how to navigate the internet,  and I own a gadget or two.  But the classroom is so heavily endowed with technology now.  I just kept wondering if it WAS possible to teach an old dog new tricks (woof).

The first day of classes at University of Mary found me lugging my laptop into the Great Abyss of Newest Technology.  These 20-year-olds would be running laps around me and I waited for that first “Uhhhhhhhh” moment when I would have to confess to my instructors that I had no clue what they were talking about.  I REALLY hate to feel stupid, don’t you?  It’s one of life’s greatest irritants.  So I waited to be shamed. 

Know what?  That moment never came.  To my great astonishment (and mighty joy), I kept up perfectly fine with those young’ uns.  IN FACT, there was a time or two that I had to explain something technological to a classmate.  Boy, did I relish THAT!

The great irony of it all is, I kinda’ became an advocate for updated technology in the classroom.  During student teaching, I submitted my school in the Pepsi Refresh Project to try to win money for document cameras and SMART boards.  We didn’t win the Pepsi money, but after a couple of local TV interviews about it, my school decided to just bite the bullet and purchase those items anyway.

OK, so that’s the long detour to get to the point of this story.  TODAY, for the very first time, I finally used my document camera during class (its been sitting on my desk for two months).  I feel like I have been reborn!  Remember the old projector-in-the-classroom days when your exhausted teacher would drag that lighted monstrosity out?  They worked best with the overhead lights out, which meant that the 7,0000 watt beacon sitting in the belly of The Beast shone like the Bat Signal in Gotham City.  If you ever made the mistake of looking directly into the lamp, you experienced instant blindness and possibly permanent retinal damage.  If you stood within 3 feet of the thing, you started to sweat profusely from the incredible heat it radiated.  Your teacher was exhausted because he or she had to lug around a machine with the roughly the same weight as a boulder.

Enter today’s version.  This little jewel is tiny, weighs less than a pound, and can be set anywhere I can take my laptop.  It doesn’t need transparencies, you simply use whatever document you wish, set it under the camera, and away you go.

Today we did math together using my newest toy.  I put a blank worksheet under the camera, plugged in my projector adapter that shines images from my computer to my whiteboard (no special screen needed), and my first grade darlings could follow along and see exactly what I wanted them to do.  Everyone can see a clear image.  No guessing.  There’s not one bad seat in the house.  It was revolutionary!!  The math lesson went smoothly and not one time did I hear, “I don’t get it!” Or “I can’t see what you’re doing!”

PLUS, they got to pretend they were on TV as they took turns smiling into the camera and seeing themselves projected onto the whiteboard.  It was teaching at its best. 

Well, I think I’m in love. …

The Root Tooter

This is too delicious to not share….

Yesterday’s writing assignment (we’ve been studying the life cycle of a plant):  

 “Write a first person account as if you are a seed”

One creative student came up with this gem…

I am a seed. 

I toot roots then my neck starts to grow. 

Then my arms start to grow.

Then my head pops out from my neck.

(I took the liberty of translating the spelling errors for ease of reading.  I speak fluent First Grader, you know).

I LOVE the way their brains work!!!

Down to One Layer

Today first grade played outside.  We played outside without coats.  Do you understand how significant that is in North Dakota?  It’s right up there with Independence Day, Christmas, the beginning of a new millennium, and other celebrations of epic proportions.  It is the end of a long winter and the beginning of a short summer.  And we will revel in each and every glorious moment.

Now I’ll back up.  The air temperature has very little to do with whether or not we spend our recess outside.  These are hardy North Dakotans.  WE PLAY OUTSIDE, doggonit!  We don’t care what the thermometer says.  Twenty below?  We laugh at such balmy temperatures.  The thickness of our life-giving blood could clog the Boston subway system.  We tally-ho and sally forth without a thought as to what the air feels like on our tender, freeze-dried skin. 

Our To Play or Not To Play Outdoors rule is, if its colder that -15 wind chill, we herd our lads and lasses into the gymnasium.  Here’s the part that just cracks me up.  On those days, the kids are desperately disappointed.  They WANT to be outside even in brutally cold winter temperatures.  I may have mentioned at some point in my rambling that I grew up in Missouri.  Missouri does not see below zero temperatures, or at least rarely does.  We always felt that anything below 20 was life threatening.  Better stock up on the essentials and stay inside until the mercury is flirting with thirty again.

But here on the steppes of the frozen north, it is a much different story.  When I took courses this last year, I would get out of my very uncool Soccer Mom minivan, and would find myself staring at the bare legs of my young and hardy classmates, complete with flip flops.  We’re talking on below zero days!!

My youngest son, Cody, is an exception to the Stay-Outside-Till-You-Drop rule.  He has humorously portrayed his elementary grade teachers as nothing less than unsympathetic when it came to finding shelter from the bitter cold on the playground.  With a humorous flair for hyperbole, he claims he would complain about being cold to the on-duty recess teacher, who would take a drag from her Marlboro cigarette, blow the smoke in his face, and grunt, “You think you’re cold, kid?  Here... take a swig of my whiskey…”

Obviously an over-the-top portrayal (but on the other hand, how DID they stay warm out there??  Hmmmmm....)  Here’s the best part about my recess tale.  This year for the very first time in our school’s history, the teachers DO NOT HAVE RECESS DUTY.  That job has been relegated to other ancillary staff (sorry ladies, I know you feel gyped.  The whole time I’m gloating in my good fortune, I’m feeling your pain.  OK, I lied.  Not really).  The hard, “cold” truth is, I really hate to be cold.  Yeah, I know, wrong state to live in for year-round comfort.  I manage it all fine if I don’t have to be outside for long.  If I work it right, the only time I have to actually feel outdoor temperatures is the short walk from my vehicle to the front doors of the school, and then back again at the end of the day.  THAT I can take (barely). 

So why do I live here?  Well….that is a really good question.  The big answer is because this is where family is.  Family is everything.  But the minor answer is, North Dakota is the absolute greatest place to live during our summer months.  Warm days, LOTS of sunshine, low humidity, and endless daylight hours.  No lie, you can still see light on the western horizon at 11 pm.  When my kids were small, I would realize with shock that they were still up and running around waaaay too late.  Those long summer days lull you into thinking it’s early yet.  I LOVE that. 

And so…..

I joyously welcome the maiden arrival of spring with its temperate days, and the beginnings of my favorite time of the year.  And when we get that last blast of winter in May and I snap my annual photo of snow on ground when I should be putting in my garden, and clearing debris from my flower beds, I’ll stay brave and try not to complain (much).  I’ve lived here long enough now to not be knocked off-kilter by Jack Frost's last taunt.  The garden always gets planted in time, and my flowers will be breathtaking by some time in June.  And I will pretend that my summer will be an endless year-round mix of shorts and tank tops, iced tea, and unwinding at the end of the day in a porch rocking chair.

Today we played outside without coats.  Let the celebration begin….

Cinderella for a Day

Last week was an incredible affirmation of my hard work in reaching my teaching goals.  The university that was blind enough (OOPS, I meant to say, FORWARD THINKING enough) to award a diploma to this 49 year-old chick, has been generous in its praise of my accomplishments.  Last week I attended not one, but two awards dinners recognizing my efforts.  I didn’t make Who’s Who my first time around the college block, but I got ‘er done this time!  But the award that really punches my accelerator to the floor is my award as the Outstanding Elementary Education Student.  Each North Dakota teacher’s college picks one, and unbelievably, this middle-aged, mother of four got the nod.  I am so honored, proud, humbled and amazed simultaneously.

Those accolades are heady stuff, to be sure.  But I had a different sort of goal-reaching moment this week as well.  One that I think was even more rewarding than the first.  Thursday afternoon we were busy with the usual stuff – phonics, grammar, Daily 5 activities, etc., when I suddenly had a moment of brilliant clarity.  It was like I was standing back observing my classroom as a third party observer, and I nearly burst with happiness.  I became acutely aware of my classroom environment and the low hum of activity that buzzed and swirled around me.  My students were busy with their assigned tasks.  There was a certain amount of verbal exchange happening in small groups around the room, but it was controlled and centered around guided discovery.  I noticed the life that our classroom was host to.  Up on a shelf by my desk (set up high so that seven rambunctious first graders don’t send them into cardiac arrest) are ten Painted Lady caterpillars gorging themselves in preparation for The Magnificent Event. 

Just to the left of our class critters is a window shelf  with an assortment of containers housing a variety of plants.  In salvaged gallon milk jugs and pop bottles we are growing lettuce, radishes, and carrots for our coming Salad Celebration.  We also have a 2 liter bottle cut in half that is simply titled, “Mattie’s Orange Seed,” the seed scavenged from a lunch by its owner, begging if we could grow our own orange tree.  Well, why not?  There is definitely something growing in that container, whether it is an actual orange tree seedling, I have my doubts.  But we are junior scientist and we learn by doing.  So my young charges are convinced we will be picking fresh oranges right in our classroom within weeks.  Whenever we plant anything, we always hypothesize how long it will take for the seeds to sprout.  We have guessed anywhere from 2 days to 2000 days.  I never let on if they are on the mark or not.  They will learn by observing.  I LOVE it that they are interested enough to ask questions and try things in the name of science.  This morning’s snack of watermelon wedges left behind dozens of seeds for future planting.  They don’t ask if we can anymore.  They know I’m game.  I may have to find a grant for a school green house.  My little window shelf is getting crowded.

On the shelf below my window garden is a plastic container with holes punched in the lid.  It houses yet another caterpillar.  This poor sap was found in the yard of one of my darlings and stuck in her pocket to bring to me.  Unbelievably, the hardy soul was still alive!  We quickly created a home for it, stuck a leftover banana peel in there for nourishment (which it seemed to enjoy immensely), and very democratically voted on a name.  He is simply “junior” in honor of his rescuer.

After my watershed moment, I went back through my files and found my teaching philosophy that I had penned near the beginning of my education courses.  I read my own words with a satisfied smile:

Somewhere, in the course of my educational journey, I found a quote that said something like, “the classroom should be a place of discovery, where the air is filled with the hum of students in quiet discovery, and science experiments mix with art projects on every available surface.”  This is the type of classroom I want to foster.  I want my students to wake up on school mornings with a sense of expectancy and excitement for what their day will hold.  I want them to feel challenged and capable simultaneously. 

The plaque will grow dusty and the certificates will yellow with age, but knowing I am successfully creating the classroom environment I had envisioned will have farther-reaching consequences than anything else.  My kids care about my awards about as much as how much the school electric bill costs each month.  “You got an award???  No offense, but who really cares, Mrs. Dahl?  Oh, and by the way, we’re about out of potting soil…”

Our Gallon Garden

Boomerang

My private Facebook message was ominously titled, “Blackmail.”  That put a smile on my face.  Very intriguing.  I had just posted my latest blog entry about my missing report cards.  Eaten with curiosity, I eagerly clicked on my message box.  Its simple message confessed to being the recipient of seven freshly recorded first grade report cards.  They had come to be in this parent’s possession via a homework folder sent by me.  The parent thought maybe I had wanted them to see their child’s progress compared to the rest of the class. They never gave it a second thought until they read my post. Did I want them back? 

Images flashed through my memory of that fateful afternoon.  Yes, I was SURE I had remembered setting them on my desk.  Hallelujah, I’m not losing my mind after all! (Well, not entirely).  I must have also stacked a pile of send-home papers on top of them and inadvertently threw the whole kit and kaboodle into said folder.  Such an idiot!!  Sigh…..

In my defense, have you ever spent the last few minutes of a school day in a first grade classroom?  No? It is unparalleled mania spelled C-H-A-O-S.  “Mrs. Dahl, I can’t find my other sock!”  (Why aren’t you wearing socks)?  “Mrs. Dahl, Sammy is wearing my boots!”  (They don’t look anything like your boots and they’re two sizes to small).  “Mrs. Dahl, Johnny just wiped a booger on my homework!”  (Well, I guess its better than eating it).   “Mrs. Dahl, I THINK I’m supposed to ride to my friend’s house today.  Can you go call my mom to make sure?”   “Mrs. Dahl, I have to go to the bathroom!”  Mrs. Dahl, Steven just tripped me!  (Steven says) “He fell on my foot!  And now it really hurts!  Can you go get an ice pack for me?”  “Mrs. Dahl, I forgot to tell you that I’m going to be gone for the next week and my mom wants you to send all my homework with me tonight.  Oh, and I have to go the bathroom.”  It’s a bona fide miracle I didn’t throw half the contents of my desk and our new pet caterpillars in there as well. 

Well, mystery solved.  Too late, of course to do any good.  The “fake” report cards were mailed out last week.  Seven sets of parents asked the same question, probably simultaneously,  “Does this chick know what she’s doing???”  (Survey says……)

And so it ends.  I’m a little wiser and for sure a heap more humbled.  Word of advice to those considering teaching as a career….learn to laugh at yourself (and hire a personal assistant).

To Report a Lost or Stolen Card.....

 “Hello?  Yes, this is Vonda Dahl.  I’d like to report a lost card.  Well, seven of them to be exact.  No, not a credit card.  No, these are cards of a different sort.  These are REPORT cards.  Yes, you heard me correctly.  I LOST ALL OF MY STUDENTS’ REPORT CARDS.  Yes, ma’am.  That would be correct.  I am indeed, a LOSER teacher.  I mean, what kind of teacher loses report cards, for crying out loud!?!  I’m sorry, what?  Yes, as a matter of fact I am brushing up my resume.  Thanks for asking…”

Yeah, that’s right.  I really did lose all my student report cards.  Well, not really LOSE.  They are in the building somewhere.  I had them at lunch.  I set them in my mailbox so that I could hand them to the principle for perusal.  When I went to grab them later to carry to his office, I-COULD-NOT-FIND-THEM-ANYWHERE!  Can you sense the panic in my words????!!  I was frantic.  Well, not right at first.  I mean, I misplace things all the time.  I have left my car keys in every imaginable spot on earth.  I have tucked my credit card in my jacket pocket and forgot about it on many occasions.  I have found odd items in the freezer (you do this stuff too, right??).  But how could I have misplaced something so important as my precious lambs’ report cards my first time out of the gate??  Let me assure you, I felt like a complete idiot!

I didn’t really want to share my blond moment right away, so I just kept going back to the same places and looking vainly for the vanishing papers to pop out at me and yell BOO.  The science teacher finally said to me, “Why do I keep finding you here?”  Uhhhhh…… was my articulate answer.  When the bell rang at the end of the day, I kicked Operation Tear School Apart into high gear.  Shelves, piles of papers, and books were gone through 47 times (roughly).  Nothing.  I tried closing my eyes and relaxing (hard to do when your blood pressure in nearing stroke level).  I pleaded with the Lord Almighty to send Gabriel himself to give me a divine revelation.  Nothing. 

The janitor walked in to grab my trash and very perceptively asked, “Have you lost your mind?”  YES!!  OK, time to pull someone into my circle of trust.  “I can’t find my report cards,” I nearly sobbed.  She was instant take-charge.  “OK, do not panic!”  Too late.  She was at my side in an instant poking, moving, prodding, looking, looking, looking.  Nothing.  She disappeared and then reappeared like The Man of Steel during a wardrobe change.  “I just went through your garbage.  It’s not there.”  Sigh….

Time to face my colleagues.  This was bigger than the janitor and me.  With heavy heart and concrete legs I headed to the workroom.  There I confessed my first year teacher sins like the chastised newbie I was.  Sympathy and looks of understanding all around.  “We’ve all done it,” I was reassured over and over. I think they were just trying to be kind, but it helped (a little). Some even came immediately to my room to help search.  Nothing.

Now to face the real test of my embryonic career.  I had to tell the principle.  I had to really pep talk myself into that one.  “Well, I got hired once.  Maybe some other school will hire me as well.  No wait, you’re forgetting that schools check criminal backgrounds AND whether or not you can hold onto your report cards.  Well, teaching was fun while it lasted….”

He just stared at me.  “You lost your report cards?”  Gulp.  “Yes.”  More staring.  “Would it help to know that I lost only the top copies?  I still have the originals.”  Relief came like a melting glacier. “Well, that is no big deal then.  We’ll simply make photocopies and mail those out.  TRY to find your copies, but if you can’t, it’s not the end of the world.”  Really?  I shaved 2.4 years off my life and it’s not a big deal?  Such unspeakable relief!!!

I still haven’t found those crazy things.  I’m beginning to think one of my more enterprising students picked them up and is holding them for blackmailing purposes.  I just can’t believe I haven’t stumbled across them yet. 

In the course of one day I felt panic, humiliation, frustration, self-reproach, warmth from my coworker’s understanding, and blessed, blessed relief. It was quite a day.  I really hope I don’t experience another one of those for …… well, forever. But I will.  You and I both know that it won’t be the last time I do something stupid and have to face consequences of some sort.

But in the end, it will be OK, and I will have learned something valuable from it.  What I learned from this experience was, nothing is ever as terrible as it seems at the time.  Life goes on.  And I learned that during report card time I should staple them to my head.  It would be less painful than what I went through.

Maybe I should go check the freezer…..

Hope Comes V-Shaped

Saturday mornings are lovely, aren’t they?  The Dahl house has what we affectionately call Law and Order Saturdays.  One or the other of us gets up, makes coffee, whips up some pancake batter, and turns on Law and Order, which I’m pretty sure is on 24/7.

This morning was no different.  A little sleepin’ in, a cup of good strong coffee, waffles today with some of our real Vermont maple syrup stash (We lived in Vermont for 14 years and are absolutely addicted to the stuff).  Mmmmmmm…

After a leisurely breakfast and a favorable jury verdict, I was ready to start my day.  As I was getting dressed, I heard a vaguely familiar sound coming from outside.  Initially I wasn’t sure what it was, but I instinctively froze and listened carefully.  Still too muffled to be discerned, I waited, somehow knowing that I WANTED to discover its source.  It quickly grew in intensity until I could label it.  Geese!!  Beautiful honking, noisy geese.  I ran to the window.  They were coming in wave after wave of V-shaped platoons. 

Migration is a fascinating thing to me.  How DO they know when its time to leave and arrive?  I honestly believe that our house sits in the middle of a major flight path, because the spectacle is breathtaking twice every year without fail.  For days at a time, it will be a near constant sight of those awe inspiring V shapes casting shadows over my house and yard.

The sight is wonderful and the symbolism is just as powerful.  It means spring is really and truly here!  No more longing and wondering.  It is now confirmed by God’s creatures.  They KNOW. They wouldn’t leave warmer climates prematurely.  So it must be true.

I think my annual rite is a powerful symbol of hope.  Faith is trusting that everything will be alright, even when you have absolutely no evidence to support that belief.  It is clinging to hope when every instinct tells you to panic.  Today we are waiting for yet another winter storm.  Dire predictions have been forecast all week, and now it looks like the worst will pass north of us, but the day is dreary and overcast and you can feel and sense the moisture that will descend within hours.  And yet…

I heard geese today.  

My soul now scoffs at a last attempt by Mother Nature to dampen my spirit and cause dismay at winter’s refusal to leave quietly.  Even sitting here now I can hear them honking above me.  I went to school today to get some work done (you knew that teachers work six days a week, right?)  I stepped out of my vehicle and reveled in the sight of yet more geese.  They are coming in droves to their summer home.  Welcome, Beautiful Promise of balmy days and vibrant sunshine!

So when life just feels too big... and too hard...and darkly hopeless, remember that all of creation is cyclical.  Night comes before daybreak.  Winter after fall harvest.  Children grow up to have children of their own.  And spring comes after the long night of winter.  Do not despair.  Cling to hope and the promise of life sustaining rains and warming sunshine.  Then take your cue from those glorious geese and follow your heart to a new day.

Dungeons and Draggins'

A bit about my home away from home (I have actually spent the night in that classroom ‘cause of The Blizzard so that statement is more true than ever!).  It is a lovely space, blue sky and puffy clouds painted on the walls, 3-D tree in the corner, bright, cheery colors, and organized just the way I want it (well, the organized part is ITP – In The Process).  Its only drawback is, it is tucked away in the lower level of the old wing of the building (by old, I mean the inscription on the outside says 1938 – pretty darn old). 

Don’t get me wrong. I love old buildings.  I am a fanatic about beautiful older homes with their sturdy structures and beautiful interior hardwood touches.  But you and I know that with old comes drawbacks like outdated wiring and plumbing and roof and furnace issues. 

So when I was awarded the first grade room last December, I immediately began planning “my room” and all that I wanted to do in there.  I have completely enjoyed that process and truly feel as though the room reflects my personality.  But my hovel on the prairie has its shortcomings too.  

This is the dungeon part.  In terms of cell phone reception, its like the thing is wrapped in kryptonite.  I just can’t figure out what the deal is down there.  Sometimes a stray sound wave will lose its way and accidently wander into my room causing one bar to appear on my phone.  (Joy!  Quick…who can I call)?  But then that same signal will realize its has entered Forbidden Territory and will skeedaddle back to the neighboring town where it knows its supposed to be. 

If I want to shoot a text off to someone, I have to play tag with a signal until I find the sweet spot of reception.  I walk around the room holding my phone out in front of me like it’s a Geiger counter and I’m doing a sweep for radiation.  Oooh, I found a bar!  Don’t move, Vonda.  Don’t move…..don’t breathe, don’t even let your heart beat until this message gets sent…. doggonit, I lost the signal!  Sigh….. Ok, try again, drop your left shoulder a little, yeah, that’s it.  Now raise your right knee 3.2 inches off the floor and sing Yankee Doodle seven times….YES, I have a bar back!  Message sent.  Whew! It only took four minutes to find a signal this time.  OK, I’m plotting coordinates for the next time so that I can find the EXACT spot.  Maybe I can shave a few seconds off my best time and get it down to 3 ½ minutes.  Gotta’ love the “convenience” of cell phones!  Really, I sometimes think in my situation I should just keep carrier pigeons handy.

In case you think I am exaggerating, sadly, not really all that much.  Just ask the locals.  Our town really is the Death Valley of cell phone reception.  My husband and I recently went to our nearest Verizon store to update our plan and the nice salesman showed us a map of their cell reception in the state of North Dakota.  “The red areas are continuous coverage areas in the state,” he crowed proudly.   John and I obediently stared at the map.  Red all over the place.  “What’s that tiny spot in the middle?  Looks like a mustard drip.”  “THAT,” he declared dramatically, “is little or no reception.”  We both dropped our heads closer to the drip.  “That’s our town,” my husband said incredulously.  It was the only place on the map that didn’t get reception, and our town sits smack-dab in the middle.  The nice salesman nodded solemnly.  “Yes, I know,” he confirmed somberly, like he was at a wake for a favorite aunt.  He felt our pain.  Unbelievable hardship.

The draggin’ part of this rant is the set of stairs that I descend and ascend 738 times a day.  Up four steps to the first landing, then down ten to my room.  Back up ten to make a copy.  Down again with said copy.  What happens when I add a few years and rheumatism sets in?  Well, maybe it will keep me young and spry to run up and down steps all day. 

It only really gets interesting on the mornings when I have a bunch of stuff to haul in from the van (OK, that’s EVERY morning).  So now my 4 + 10 trek includes 16 pounds of “essential” gear for the day.  It’s not so bad going down, but coming back up with it at the end of the day takes a certain amount of endurance training.  I must have the biceps of a female body builder by now.

So that’s my space.  It’s my spot in an old building, in a prairie town, in a wind-swept state, in the greatest nation on Earth.  Our little school will never be famous or become a household word, but to those of us who live and work and show up for social gatherings and even funerals in that old building, it’s a piece of Americana that is precious and quickly fading from the American landscape.  Neighboring towns whose families move away and are not replaced with new blood, eventually shrivel up and die.  It’s more than a little heart wrenching to drive by a shuttered school that used to be the heartbeat of the community. 

We will fight to stay open and teach our children until there just are no other options.  Once the school closes, the heart of the community just seems to slowly stop beating.  The best nights in a small town include a basketball game with a rival town, or a spring concert complete with “lunch.”  It’s less about the activity du jour, and more about the gathering of people who need a break from field planting or calving.  Just sharing the commonality of life is refreshing and therapeutic.  When that is gone, it changes the unity that all small towns thrive on.  It causes a loss of identity that generations have taken pride in.

I love that old building.  It houses my heart.