Number One in the Fourth Grade

I've spent the last few days nervously settling in with my new grade level team.  What if they don't like me?  What if they think my ideas are stupid?  What if they find me as annoying as my former grade level team did?  While not great, I'm at least off to a memorable start.

 We've been busy developing Common Core modules (thick reams of clipart-less paper dictating lessons, word by word.  Example:  Teacher says: From one to five, please raise a finger indicating your level of understanding regarding this New York State instructional experience.  Teacher observes and takes note of student responses to address future needs.  Teacher says:  In the future, to avoid confusion, please refrain from folding down your pinkie, ring and index fingers to signify a "one" rating).

Each member of my 4th grade team has been typing furiously for days, transcribing, re-interpreting, and enriching module content into interactive SMARTboard presentations.  I was born for this activity.  I can spend hours scouring the internet for an accompanying game, semi-relevant Youtube video, and an accentuating clipart picture designed to boost student interest and encourage actively enthusiastic involvement.  This ability is both my blessing and my curse.  After several hours of tirelessly typing learning objectives, I realized that what my fascinating module topic of "The Iroquois Confederacy:  Growing Food" needed was an animated illustration.  Twenty minutes later, I was rewarded with a German Shepherd sporting human arms gnawing on an ear of corn.  Perfect!  I proudly called my team over to witness this helpful illustration.  As you can imagine, they stared in silent awe at my screen.  Admiration?  Jealousy?  It was hard to tell.  I choose to inspire them even more with the additions of a spectacled kitten reading a book and a bouncy kangaroo. My friend, Geri, making a "thumbs up or down" page, accepted my help and we soon had a small animated Fonzie with his trademark "ayyyyy" smiling on the SMARTboard.

My extensive clipart research eventually led me to my first BIG 4th grade idea.  My original plan way to lay low for the first year but that plan was obliterated when I spotted the world's biggest living wampum belt on the computer!  My team listened in stunned silence again as I shared this impressive class project.  Overwhelmed?  Overjoyed?  (Outraged?).

I've also been busy mapping out the new geography of my new digs.  As my assigned classroom isn't quite ready for habitation, I am currently sharing with Geri.  I watched her exit "our" room and turn left.  Curious, I subtly trailed her.  Her excuse of "needing to use the restroom" didn't really hold water as the spacious faculty bathroom was a mere few feet away from her class, immediately to the right.  Was she looking to escape my company?  Meeting with an administrator to arrange my re-location to another team...was I a free agent?  Was she maligning my good name up and down the corridors like a warped version of Paul Revere?  To my surprise, she simply visited a restroom in a more out-of-the-way location.  "It's not out-of-the-way," Geri snapped peevishly, after I questioned her motives, "both bathrooms are equidistant."  How dare she use such highfalutin' language with me!  I metaphorically slapped her right and then left cheek with a silken white glove and declared a duel.  "What happened to laying low?" my husband asked wearily, tired of the drama that, for some inexplicable reason, surrounds me.  With a timer in hand, Geri and I set off, our syncopated steps echoing in the deserted hallway.  We made it to the out-of-the-way location in 17.84 seconds.  We returned to the classroom for trial two.  "You have to factor in distractibility," Geri explained, as we moved forward toward our goal.  "As you enter the faculty lounge, first you look to see if there's any snacks on the tables.  Then you make sure that your favorite brand of soda isn't sold out and finally you peek to see if the vending machine still has potato chips.  These factors can really slow you down."  I ignored her, watching for the timer to declare me as the victor of this combative war of wills.  Hitting "stop," we crossed the toilet paper finish line at 22.13.  What?  Impossible!  Inconceivable!  Is this incident a precursor for my life in the 4th grade?  Was this event symbolic that the relief associated with victory will always be out-of-reach; beyond my grasp?  Or should I continue to view this situation positively?  That, no matter how bad things may get, I will always have somewhere "to go."