Colonial America Days: A leech by any other name would still be locked out in the rain

Ahhh...the innocence of Colonial Days. "I would have loved to live in this period," my friend Tyler remarked as we strolled through a cluster of 4th grade colonial village "businesses." "Go talk to the barber," I suggested, "I bet you'll change your mind real quick." Judging from his facial reaction later, I guessed that Tyler had learned how a colonial barber not only trimmed a few errant hairs but also yanked teeth without the use of anesthesia and would happily perform surgery without an accompanying degree or shot of laughing gas.

My apothecaries were also prepared to horrify customers. "Would you like to hold a leech," they asked visitors. The leeches. Hmmm....(fade to black for back-flash transition)...

Research and construction of our 4th grade Colonial America village trades were conducted over a grueling two and a half week period. At no other time in the school year would you ever hear a teacher yell, "So-and-So...stop stabbing What's-His-Face with your knife" or "Do not throw horseshoes at your friends" or "Please aim the whale harpoon at the target, not Lil' Suzie Q" or even "Put down the gun!" yet I found myself screaming these cute little catch-phrases thousands of times per day. Please note that all listed items were constructed out of cardboard. Speaking of screaming, I also found myself screaming for other reasons. "Mrs. Mosiman, can you hot-glue my anvil," one sweet little cherub asked as I was busy duct-taping a boat together. "Sure," I said, absent-mindedly reaching behind to grab it. Yeah...you guessed it. Room 24 froze as I sat there, wide-eyed, with a glue-gun stuck to my palm. "Freeze," the whaler yelled, a seasoned veteran of being on the receiving end of my pained wrath when a student tries to talk to me when I should instead be on my way to the hospital, "give her a minute!" I took a deep breath and peeled the glue gun off my developing blisters. Not missing a beat, the blacksmith said, "Right here" and pointed to the perfect spot for hot glue on his anvil.

The day before, my wigmaker and I were valiantly trying to balance a hair-piece in her window. "If you opened up the stapler, I think you'd have a better angle," she suggested. I was doubtful (and a little scarred...oops, I mean scared) but...okay. Yup...pieced right up under my thumbnail. Room 24 watched in silent wonder as their teacher began to hemorrhage before their very eyes. It occurs to me that a vital lesson before beginning Colonial America might be emergency first aid treatment. I trimmed windows, cut out Dutch doors, carved roof peaks, and yes...built a boat. And my blood christened every single structure. It wasn't a matter of IF Mrs. Mosiman would cut herself...it was a matter of WHEN Mrs. Mosiman would cut herself.

Following our dress rehearsal, we returned victoriously to Room 24. "You are going to free-write for fifteen minutes about how well your presentation went, what improvements can be made for tomorrow, and include your favorite/least favorite parts of our program," I instructed. I actually didn't care about ANY of that at the moment. I just needed them to be quiet for fifteen minutes so I could finish my nervous break-down in peace.

I really did enjoy reading them later, though. I learned that MOST of the students loved dancing the "Virginia Reel" and was shocked to learn that one of them secretly hated it but was a trooper and hid his negative feelings. Poor guy had to dance the thing over twenty times! Many students stated that their favorite part was working with others. Most wrote that the freedom to create was their favorite part. But one guy's favorite part was quite surprising. "I liked when we got to go outside," he wrote. Wait...WHAT!?!?

I had asked my husband to get a synthetic leech from his fishing tackle box but he had worked late the night before and I didn't want to trouble him again over something so relatively insignificant. I left for work the next morning...leech-less. An hour later, he called and said he'd left a bag on leeches on the windshield of my Titan. (Who needs flowers? Not this girl!)  "Field-trip," I announced. So fifteen 4th graders AND their teacher, dressed in Colonial America garb, walked around the bus loop, leaving one short-sleeved student to man the door...so we wouldn't be locked out...toward my truck. "Stay to the left," I directed, silently cursing my habit of parking so far away from the door. "Mrs. Mosiman...it's starting to rain," a budding meteorologist informed me. "Thank you, Captain Obvious," I muttered, veering into the grass to avoid a parking lot moat. Three boys thought that was an optional choice and sailed on through. "Is this your truck," they asked as I plucked the bait off my windshield. Kids were now kicking my tires like potential buyers. "What year is it," one client asked. "Mrs. Mosiman," another astute scholar inquired helpfully, squinting through the veil of rain, "wasn't She-Who-Mans-the-Door suppose to be waiting INSIDE?" We all stopped searching for rust on Mrs. Mosiman's truck and looked. Yup. There she was...in the middle of the sidewalk...shielding her eyes from the rain and looking at us. And yes...now we were locked out. THAT was one student's favorite part of the 4th grade Colonial days. A walking tour of the school's bus loop concluding with a visit to my truck. In the rain. So much for two and a half WEEKS of collaborative learning. Sigh.