We had a visitor yesterday.
The big wig.
The head honcho.
I was all prepared. I was going to be amazing. I had word family hunts planned and writing planned and read alouds planned and songs planned and all manner of engagement planned. It was going to be incredible. The superintendent was going to want to know who I was and where I'd been hiding and could I come to the district office and sign my autograph on a special wall that they were going to make just for me. I was probably even going to be awarded a trophy or a plaque of some kind.
My team was also prepped and ready to knock. Knock Knock, we said.
And then we waited and waited. And waited. And nothing.
We went to recess and that's when we saw the battalion of important people. Our superintendent, whoever he was with, our principal, and maybe someone else. I don't know. I lost count. They were walking around on the upper grade side of our campus.
Hmmm, we said. We wondered if we'd dodged a bullet.
After we picked our kids up from recess, we saw the brigade pass by our classrooms and head back up to the office. It was nearing 11 and we knew he had to leave by then.
Oh well, we said.
Phew, we said.
Thank goodness, we said.
Our shoulders relaxed. See ya at lunch, we called to one another.
My kids walked into the classroom to find cubes on their desk. I had passed out a cube train of nine to each student during their recess for our next subtraction lesson.
CUBES! Yay! Cheers! Applause!
I took a bow. I said, "Play with them until the timer goes off and then meet me on the carpet with a cube train!" I was all relaxed and jovial - no walk-through happening today! Let's cut loose!
The timer went off and the kids met me at the carpet. With their cube trains.
And then my door swung open and in walked the Head Honcho and his posse.
What the hello kitty!? I thought inside my head. Holy fertilizer! Shitake mushrooms! Nooooooo. This was not planned. This was not the plan!
But it was too late.
And, sure enough, four or five of my kids had to raise their hands to tell me that they didn't have nine cubes after all.
Because that looks good in front of the Big Wig. Doesn't it?
And then, since I wasn't teaching anything at this point, and we were all trying to find our cubes and count them correctly, and ward off tears because I gave him nine cubes but not her, I only gave her seven cubes . . . I decided to remind my kids of our subtraction lesson with the goldfish. Just to prep them for the upcoming lesson. You know. And to kind of drop a hint to the Big Wig that I had just done an amazing goldfish cracker lesson and it wasn't my fault he was a day late and a dollar short.
But instead of just gently reminding my class of the goldfish cracker lesson, I made a scene.
I possibly danced around. I think I rubbed my tummy to show how delicious goldfish are. And I might have bared my teeth to act like a shark. The words CHOMP CHOMP might have been said. And the word goldfish could have come out in a tiny squeak while the word shark was some scary guttural sound. I don't know. I can hardly remember. It was sort of out of body.
I'm just thinking surely this exact scene played out in other classrooms across the campus, right?
I'm sure there was a sixth grade lesson just like this, but instead of goldfish and sharks, it was some mythological Greek creature versus a mortal or something like that and the teacher acted it out with different sounds and a rubbing of one's tummy, too.
So, basically, the posse saw NOTHING. Except that I do not count cubes correctly. And I act like an idiot when grown ups are in the room.
As soon as they left, I knocked on the wall extremely hard which helped alleviate some of my pent up frustration as well as bring me back to my classroom and into my own body. Because, clearly, I was nowhere near reality.
One whole day has passed and they haven't called for my autograph. And they haven't announced when the Plaque Giving ceremony is . . .
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