The 4th grade team was all shook up this October

 There have been some changes to my grade level team this year. My friend, Rachel, moved onto an administrative post and my friend, Geri, retired. They had very clearly defined roles on the team. Rachel acted as a gentle, diplomatic braking system for my  outrageous, unreasonable, impossible, and labor-intensive ideas. Geri was the punch-to-the-face mechanism that would stop any "Bigger than Broadway" suggestions in their tracks. But they're gone now and let's just say that the train has left the station. Katriel courageously donned her engineer's cap and, as co-team representative, has her hand firmly on the throttle, battling to avoid an inevitable wreck while veteran member, Kelly, is conducting the caboose, shouting directions when she sees we're getting too far off course. Marissa, Alison, Paula, and Roxanne are busy clearing the tracks so no one gets run over and we don't get derailed. 

Halloween Week, of course, was the perfect storm. Coordinated costumes. Choreographed dance. An assembly. No problem. Easy-breezy-lemon-squeezy. But while I may strike you as an impulsive, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants type of gal, I abhor walking into a situation where I (or the people I'm grouped with) appear unintentionally ridiculous or unprofessional. I prefer to plan my ridiculousness and unprofessionalism to the T. 

This will probably be the only year that I will get away with this...I struck while the iron was hot. At our very first meeting in AUGUST, I presented my brand new team with my idea of the Evolution of Elvis for Halloween. "Does anyone else have some suggestions for Halloween?" I asked, knowing full-well that NO ONE comes to the first team meeting of the year planning for October. Before they knew what hit them, I had ordered enough Elvis wigs to accommodate a soccer team. 

Our fourth grade Halloween "flash-mob" tradition had begun, over the past few years, to reflect our costume theme so it was easy ("Easy," I can hear Geri snorting now.) to plan the choreography from there. 

Whoever (cough...Rachel) schedules a character-building assembly the week of Halloween AND assigns the 4th grade (and those poor honeys on the 1st grade team) to planning it, should be tied to the train tracks, Snidely Whiplash-style. But what's done is done so, with murderous plots aside, we had to organize an entertaining and meaningful assembly for an auditorium full of kids coming out of a candy-coma. Naturally, it included a magic trick, a full-cast costume change, a rousing game of invisible frisbee, and a "Bigger-Than-Broadway" video. Inspiration had stuck in the wee hours of the morning and, four hours later, I met my tech-friend Eric at his classroom door. Explaining my plan, I said the words I ALWAYS say to Eric, "Is it possible to...?" and he gently but truthfully replied, "It IS possible...for those with video-editing know-how." And then we smile awkwardly at one another until one of us reluctantly agrees with my unreasonable plan to film a 24-second segment that will take 18 hours to edit. 

The kids, of course, were delighted. My idea was to film a side-by-side re-enactment of Forrest Gump boarding the school bus for the first time and encountering Jenny. Left split-screen, the actual movie. Right split-screen, our moment-by-moment, perfectly captured simulation. We diligently studied the scene, taking note of costumes, body movement, facial expressions, and background. I ordered a bus. "What...like a McDonald's Happy Meal?" a 4th grader asked, incredulous that one could make such a request. My students began planning our next movie to include a hot air balloon and camels. We boarded our rented movie set and, like promised, I screamed at my kids for 45 minutes as we tried to imitate the 22 camera angle shifts that occurred in the 24-second shot. "Cherub #14!" I yelled, "You are supposed to be chewing your cuticles!" "I've about chewed them all off," he yelled back, "I'm down to bloody stumps!" 

My 9-year-old bus driver kept trying to interrupt my directorial genius by talking about the radio chatter. "Ignore it," I kept snapping at her, "It doesn't concern us." "But they're talking about YOU, Mrs. Mosiman!" she persisted, "They want to know why you've hijacked a field trip bus." Startled, I looked around. There was another bus parked ahead of us. With a certified driver. CLEARLY, that was the field trip bus. I snatched up the radio speaker-thingie and pushed the button, suddenly grateful for all those years invested in watching "BJ and the Bear" (Sigh...Greg Evigan)..."Breaker, 1-9," I shouted, "This here is Amy Mosiman, aboard a preapproved blinkin' winkin', bring it back. Over." There was a long pause before a confused voice from the bus garage (obviously impressed by my CB lingo) confirmed my presence, followed by the voice of my exasperated secretary telling me to stop pretending that I'm on "Smokey and the Bandit" (Sigh...Burt Reynolds) and get off the radio. "That's a big 10-4," I answered. "Amy, out."

At long last...the 4th grade team made it, staggering, over the October finish line. "Thank goodness, THAT'S over," we sighed, exhausted. 

"Wait. What?" Rachel signed the Elvises (Elvi?) up for a Christmas program performance? Katriel walked determinedly into my classroom the next day. "Tell me we are just lip-syncing Blue Christmas," she said firmly. I rolled my chair towards her, "Hear me out..."