I'm gonna keep on searching for the Pink Pony Purse...down at Old Fort Niagara

 As many of you might already suspect, teaching is a great deal more than the intentional weaving of state learning standards onto the loom of daily lesson planning. Many threads comprise this complicated tapestry including relationship building, attention span, interests, motivation, manners, respect, and accountability. I considered this idea as I watched my friend and fellow 4th grade teacher, Marissa, respond to the enthusiastic encouragement of her students to take on the slip-n-slide. As Marissa glided by me gracefully on her knees, her black dress tucked securely between her legs, I brainstormed some other examples of "teaching" that my grade level team executed this year that didn't quite fit into the conventional model. Katriel face-painted fifty kids. Allison limbo-ed. I was chased down a hallway outfitted in an over-sized toilet paper roll costume.

Our's is a job that extends well beyond the description of relaying information and strategies related to academic skill building. I have lost nails untying shoe laces and wrestled stubborn backpack zippers while simultaneously presenting slides on how to subtract mixed numbers with like denominators that required re-grouping. I wipe tears, braid hair, and mediate arguments while sending my attendance in late (and usually, wrong).

As a teacher, you have no idea of what heights you'll go for your students.

This year's field trip could NOT have been better. Fantastic weather. Polite, respectful, appreciative students. Amazingly patient and generous parent chaperones.

The highlight was our annual picnic lunch on the shore of scenic Lake Ontario. 

Try to keep a Wyoming County kid from the water.

"As long as you don't get wet."

Try to keep a Wyoming County kid from getting wet.

Skipping stones. Searching for shells. Balancing on washed up logs. Giggling. Splashing. 

My friend Ken and I stood on the vertical four foot sand embankment and admired the sweet scene below
us. His son called for us to join him and we laughed. "Are you tackling this?" I asked my friend. "Not without a rope," he answered. We both optimistically believed that we could successfully scootle down this minuscule mountain but it would take a minor miracle to tow us back up. A very mature decision. Wise.

Soon, we arrived at the next leg of our journey:  Old Fort Niagara. I was putting my game face on as I knew that I would have to endure a twenty minute dissertation on dirt before being allowed to enter the fort. Proud of their earthenworks, they are. A decade of decoding the defensive-capabilities of dirt, I now happily digress. 

I had just adjusted my facial expression to reflect profound interest and, if necessary, surprise, over acquiring newfound knowledge pertaining to the delightful pile of dirt before me when I discovered that one of my students had neglectfully left a personal item behind at the picnic site. Sadly, this was one of those necessary life lessons that kids must learn to help bolster responsibility. It happens to all of us. "But Mrs. Mosiman," the chaperone whispered discreetly in my ear, "It contained twenty dollars." Ouch. That's one painful lesson.

"We are now going to be heading toward the fort's first line of defense," the tour guide announced, "If you would just follow me to our earthenworks." Like lambs to the slaughter, my group accompanied him while I heroically headed back to the picnic area in search of the lost item.

Any hope was dashed as soon as I pulled into the parking lot filled with three huge tour buses. Crowds of city kids blanketed the grass where we once stood. It couldn't hurt to look, I thought to myself, glancing at my watch, trying to estimate the dirt discussion that I was, regrettably, missing because of this selfless mission of mercy.

As I walked to the pavilion, I noticed a surprising thing.

The shoreline was empty...vacant of shrieking students skipping stones and seeking shells. 

No...instead, the playground was filled-to-capacity. The slides were saddled with students. The teeter-totters teemed with tykes.

Try to keep a city kid off the swings.

Was it possible?

I headed down the grassy slope toward the shoreline.

There it was.

The pink pony purse. ("It was white, Mrs. Mosiman," my irresponsible and, apparently, unappreciative student would correct me each of the million times I shared the story of my heroic quest. I  didn't know if I should be grateful or appalled that this child had no working knowledge of Chappell Roan but I am in debt to the singer because it was her nifty little tune that saw me through the remainder of this difficult mission.)

Yes. I was going to have to scale the embankment to retrieve the Pink Pony Purse (Please tell me that you sang that phrase.).

Fortunately, no one was there to watch me slowly  scootch ungracefully down the treacherous terrain.

Securing the Pink Pony Purse over my shoulder, I perused the steep wall before me, seeking the safest route. Channeling my best inner-mountain goat, I began my climb...digging in my heels, hoisting myself up this hill from hell. No Everest-attainer could even begin to feel the level of pride and accomplishment that I experienced as I summited.

I returned to the fort with the Pink Pony Purse in hand...eager to re-join my party and recount my exploits. 

Turns out that they were even easier to find than the Pink Pony Purse.

They were right by the dirt pile.

Feline fine: 4th grade team's group costume was a roaring success

Halloween is not considered "child's play" in the 4th grade. 

A great deal of brain-storming and discussion is involved in costume planning along with the annual student flash mob theme and music.

One Halloween is barely over before planning for the next Halloween begins...

It's supposed to be a group effort but lately...it's been three-against-me.

I began tossing out ideas over the summer...biding my time for when inspiration truly struck. My team-mates dismissed each suggestion with casual indifference...like they had anything better to do in July than to think about which ridiculous costume they would be donning in October. 

But when our first official team meeting was scheduled in September, I was ready with an idea so iconic...so trendy...so original...that we would make Halloween history. 

"Caitlyn Clark," I announced, mentally prepared to be picked up and placed on the youthful shoulders of my team-mates and paraded around for my utter brilliance and creativity. 

Instead...I was greeted with dead silence and...I must have been mistaken...did they side-eye one another as though I were a daft idiot?

I must have been selling this wrong. They weren't getting it. "One person will be Caitlyn," I explained, "while another one of us will be a giant inflatable basketball. Another person can be the posted basketball net (I showed a helpful picture to help them visualize this amazing scene) while the last person could be a ref." 

"No, we get it, Amy," I was told just before I heard the 4th quarter buzzer go off, signaling my loss.

Before I knew it, I was re-routed off the road to the Final Four and detoured over to some new construction where they were laying some yellow bricks.

Speaking of paving stones...

I sighed. I was effortlessly tossing 3-pointers and my team was launching bricks.

But you know me...always trying to make the best of things...a true team player. So, I pivoted.

Naturally...I would be the witch. My disposition alone guaranteed it. My extensive theater background began in grade school as a flying monkey before I was bestowed the broom in my high school play. My laugh was legendary.

But before I could boast of my witchy resume, Allison shared how she was related to the original Wicked Witch of the West, the legendary Margaret Hamilton...dashing my dreams of petrifying my pupils. 

"I'll be the Swearcrow," I volunteered, again...trying to be a team player.

"You already have a lion costume," I was told, "You can be the Cowardly Lion."

It was getting harder and harder to keep a paws-itive attitude here.

So what if I simmer in that suit like a slow-roasting stew? So what if children relentlessly pull my tail and confuse me with a bear? So what if I am seen in that stupid suit every March as I prance around the bus loop with Erin to commemorate the fickle weather related to the third month of the year? I'm happy to be sweaty, bullied and redundant for the good of my team.

The big day arrived. I reluctantly stuffed myself into that suit, grabbed my mini-fan, and pranced my way along the parade route...paw-sing for high-fives, pouncing on preschoolers, posing for pictures. 

It was time for the Grande Finale:  The Annual 4th Grade Flash Mob.

We had been practicing for weeks and had all our moves down cold.

The toss the leaves into the air.

The pound your chest like a gorilla.

The door/door, floor floor move.

I slid into place and glanced around. I spotted the slew of inflatable costumes including Room 14's very own trio of dinosaurs. While I was a saturated sponge at the moment, I realized that I could be attempting the invisible arrow launch bound within the confines of an inflated basketball. Say what you will, at least the lion costume has give. And give it did...when my velcro-back blew out when the Atlas: Weight-of-the-world-on-your-shoulders move cued up. I was grateful that I hadn't followed through with my threat of going commando under the sauna suit.

So much for mane-taining my dignity.

I wish I was lion.

 

Where in the world is the 4th grade team?

After a lovely lunch overlooking the scenic Erie Canal, the 4th grade team requisitioned a vessel to row scull along the historic waterway. Well, that's halfway right. While we may not have been involved in coordinated crew maneuvers, we still had an afternoon filled with adventure.

Lunch lacked controversy but we made up for it during dessert as we mulled over the handwritten list of tempting treats and pretended to be familiar with tortes. Coyingly polite rather than cut-throat, we tried to mutually decide on a shared dessert via process of elimination. Geri and I immediately kicked out the

peanut-butter based selections which may have caused some pain among the group. Game on. It was now every girl for herself as I manipulated my way towards the chocolate raspberry ganache cake and Rachel tried to subtly guilt-trip her way to a  torte without even knowing what a torte actually is. Clearly the list wasn't cutting it so I grabbed the camera to take some undercover surveillance photos which only made us expand our shared dessert of one to two...so Rachel and I both won.

After lunch, we took a little walk where Kelly regaled us with her bird-song identification prowess. When I demonstrated doubt about her skills (by making fun of her behind her back), Geri pointed out that Kelly had read the Common Core-recommended literature to accompany ELA Module One, Eagle Song, which clearly made her the expert and I should just shut up. Then Kelly squealed with delight as we passed a bead shop so I felt justified in my opinion, raising an eyebrow at Geri to say, "See?"

Be sure to stay tuned for the next exciting installment of "Where in the world is the 4th grade team." Rumor has it that some members might be getting coffee on Main Street in Perry this Saturday morning and pretending they're in Paris as they watch people buy fruit at the Farm Market.