The Best Laid Plans...

I slipped out of bed this morning with a song in my heart and coffee on my mind.  It was, after all, 4:45 a.m.  Yes, I know that’s an ungodly hour to be up but I detest feeling rushed and my early risings on school mornings allow me to get laundry going, eat a hearty breakfast, make sure my daughter is squared away before she gets on the bus, and just generally feel in control of my day. 

As I dressed and cooked my omelet I kept waiting for the nervousness over my first first day to kick in.  First cup of coffee poured and downed, and no nervousness.  Packing laptop, filling my lunch bag, and waving the hair spray can once over my head…. still no nerves.  “OK,” I wondered, “what’s wrong with me?”  I should be at least a shade fluttery.  Not happening.  I am one cool cucumber. 

I threw down the gauntlet in last night’s post.  I was READY, I had declared.  Ready to receive precious first graders into my care and classroom.  Ready to guide them through this first day of uncertainty.  Ready to teach them the first stepping stones of emergent readers’ instruction.   Ready, ready, ready.

I pulled up to the school at 7:06, nearly an hour-and-a-half before the opening bell.  I sailed into the main hallway the picture of sunny confidence.  “Good morning!” I greeted those early arrivees, like myself.

I flipped on the light switch in my room and just stood for a moment, grinning like the village idiot.  My room looked GREAT.  Each place at the work table had attractive first day activity mats and pencils that read, “First Graders are Great” and a sticker for each child declaring him or her “#1.”  There were lime green baskets lining the wall underneath the whiteboard, each basket bearing the name of its new owner, just waiting to be filled with leveled readers.  Everywhere I looked there were seven attractive, luring items just waiting to be claimed by each individual new owner.  Seven, seven, seven.  Such a great number, the number seven…

My first charge arrived promptly at ten minutes after eight.  Suddenly the room was filled with children and parents and guardians, all trying to find their place at the table and trying to hand me their year’s supplies at once.  The muffins and juice were a big hit (thank you Sam’s Club), and with the eventual settling in of the nervous children, the adults were now gravitating towards each other and talk of crops and weather.  The latest buzz was over the dire prediction in the Farmer’s Almanac that our state was doomed to receive two hundred inches of snow this winter.  Two hundred inches is apocalyptic around these parts and folks lay great faith in the ancient almanac.  It also gave the adults something to commiserate over and speculate about, offering their own prophecies based on such wizened practice as animal fur and moisture content in onions. 

I left the adults to down the last of their juice bottles and wipe the muffin crumbs from their laps while I floated and fluttered about my new charges.  It looked as though we were off to a marvelous start and I could not have been more pleased.  I glanced up in time to see a friend and foster mother standing in the doorway with a young girl’s hand loosely held in her own.  My friend was looking at me expectantly and I smiled and headed over to them.  “This is Mason,” my friend plunged in without preamble and stopped, waiting for me to respond.  Somewhere in the bowels of my nerve center there were soft alarm bells being switched on.  “Well, hello there, Mason.  How nice that you get to get to come to school here!  What grade are you in?”  The look of confusion on my friend’s face now had the Navy in my head on full alert.  There were depth charges being launched and evasive diving maneuvers being executed.  Mayday, mayday!  I knew what her next words would be before they were even uttered.  “Well…. she’s in first grade,” she said slowly, as if I had just lost all rational thought.  Without my permission, my head began to shake a “no” response before my mouth could form the word.  “This is FIRST GRADE,” I was saying too loudly, as if SHE were the confused one.  My friend is now trying to hand me Mason’s things and saying emphatically, “Yes, I know.  Mason is IN first grade.”  Wait…what??  How could this happen?  “I called the office a month ago,” she was continuing.  “The school knew she was coming.”  Well, that’s all well and good, but I DID NOT!  Was it just me, or was the room getting warm all of a sudden?

I suddenly caught the look on little Mason’s face.  She knew something was not right and her nervousness over a new school was now compounded by a quasi-hysterical teacher.  Breathe, Vonda!   It would be fine.  I would do whatever it took to make this child feel welcomed and part of the group.  Minor details, like personalized folders and coat hooks would be taken care of later.  I accepted Mason’s things and took her little hand in mine as I led her to the coat room to put her things away.

Mason is a lovely child and I fell completely under spell when she confided to me at lunch that her older sister, one of my student teaching charges, had told Mason all about me.  I raised an eyebrow and waited for the assessment.  “What did she say about me?” I asked carefully.  “She said you are nice and will always help us and do fun things with us.”  Big exhale.  Now I’m smiling…

The rest of the day was completely and utterly enjoyable for me.  I had waaaaaaaay over planned and didn’t nearly get through all the activities for the day, which is a good thing.  It never hurts to have something tucked away for later.  And my sweet darlings and I got to know one another just a wee bit today.  I know already that I have 2 dinosaur lovers, 2 horse enthusiasts, a Katy Perry fan, and a whole slew of hardcore John Deere believers.  These little bursts of personal information will help me plan instruction that will interest these kids. 

I decided twice today that a very short visit to the playground was in order.  I had so much information to share that I could see eyes glazing over and spirits sagging.  This first day of school here on the northern prairie was a picture perfect weather day (thankfully we haven’t got a jump on those 200 inches of snow yet).  As I sat on the teeter totter rail enjoying the warmth of the late summer sun on my shoulders, I marveled at the group dynamics already at play.  Little bands of friendships were forming and my new student was quickly assimilating into the group.   Very gratifying. 

I got the giggles as I watched one boy run around constantly tugging his too-large shorts back up over his hips.  At one point he didn’t react fast enough and he didn’t catch them until they were at his knees.  At least his new Superman boxers were fetching.  I toyed with idea of offering to cinch them up somehow, but decided if it bothered him enough, he would come to me for a solution.  Boys are funny and sensitive that way.

As instructed in my Classroom Management course, I asked my students during the afternoon to help me come up with our very own class rules.  I faithfully recorded on the board every suggestion, so as to validate all ideas and then helped guide them into consolidating and condensing until we had a short, workable list.  Some of the more entertaining suggestions that were left on the cutting room floor were unpardonable offenses such as breaking light bulbs and spitting in someone’s drink. 

Before any of us knew it, the day was over.  As I called names to gather their backpacks and papers, I asked them to tell me what they had enjoyed the most during the day.  You already know the answer, as did I before I asked the question. Recess!!  Recess and math.  Math time consisted of counting Honey Nut cheerios for me to informally assess for number sense, and then of course, they ate the testing materials. 

I walked out to the buses with the six that were to ride home and had no trouble getting everyone on to their respective carriage.  As I made my way back to the classroom, I heard the kindergarten teacher mutter to herself, “Well, I didn’t’ die…” Nor did I, my funny coworker.

It is now nearly midnight and I have only been home for 3 ½ hours, roughly.  I waited for my daughter to get back from volleyball practice and spent that time getting Mason integrated into the classroom.  Then I just couldn’t resist the urge to give my painted hallway tree a tire swing.  Again, I find it easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.

Now I think its time for Mrs. Dahl to end her day and renew for tomorrow.  As I close this diary entry here’s what I know.  Next year, I will assume there will be extra children on the first day of school.  I know that recess will forever be a child’s favorite part of school, as it was a hundred years ago, and will be one hundred years in the future.  I also know I didn’t die. 

It was a good day.