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….