Or: Thoughts for a Non-Snow Day
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
-- Robert Frost, "Fire and Ice"
This week in PD, which is an acronym I always expect people to know but is apparently just teacher jargon, so this week in Professional Development, we have been focusing on emotional constancy. It means keeping a sense of calm no matter what happens in your classroom. This morning in our weekly meeting, we talked about how you can create emotional constancy by establishing consistent routines and by planning your lessons and procedures in a way that anticipates the unexpected.
Then I almost burned the school down.
Let's back-track. Today was a school day in name only. Our fine city got a good 4-6 inches of snow last night. It would have been alright if they didn't cancel school but did plow the roads. It would have been sort of alright if they didn't plow the roads but did cancel school. You can probably figure out what combination of road-plowing and school-cancelling occurred. We ended up with less than half our students in the building at any point today, with most coming late, leaving early, or both.
Since I couldn't teach the lesson I'd prepared to only half the kids, I decided science class should just be crazy experiment day. I was so excited about having 15-child classes (Montessori School! Summer Camp! A dream!) that I decided to be ambitious. The two projects I thought of that I could scrounge up materials for during the morning were: 1) wood-and-spork catapults, to tie into our simple machines unit, and 2) boiling down soda to see how much sugar is in it, to tie into our phase change unit and my own agenda about making my kids not get diabetes. NB that I came up with all of this in about an hour and did not pre-test anything. (Also NB that the soda I used was Orange Sunkist, which I feel like makes the rest of this story that much worse.) In retrospect, my reasoning seems to have gone along the lines of: What should I have the kids do while I monitor this boiling liquid on a hot plate? I should let them -- no, require them to propel things around the room. I should also give them push pins!!
I teach two science classes in a row. In the first group, we set up our soda and watched it start to boil, and then had a nice time with our catapults and my friend Bill Nye (who most of the children had not heard of, but would probably now equate with Einstein based on the shock I expressed at their ignorance). I checked on the soda every few minutes and it didn't seem to be evaporating noticeably. Anticipating their disappointment at the failure of our experiment, I redoubled my efforts with the catapult activity. I built my own catapult and challenged them to a contest. Erasers flew. Children laughed. Everyone learned about levers. It was a great day in my 15-child Montessori class.
And then we saw the smoke.
It went from normal steam to crazy billowing sugar-smoke in about three seconds. The room filled with the smell of roasted marshmallows and emergencies, and the smoke seemed to be moving deliberately toward the smoke detector, as if out of defiance. I rushed over to unplug the hot plate, move the pot, and open all the windows, while my little fifth grade volunteer fire fighters started using the plastic bins on their tables to disperse the smoke. I prayed that I would not be the one responsible for sending the entire school (well, half the school, but still) out onto the un-shoveled sidewalks without their snow boots.
By some miracle, the alarm did not go off. I lined the kids up and let them look at the burnt corn syrup sludge as they filed out the smoke-filled room. They may or may not be less apt to drink soda now. They may or may not have a better understanding of evaporation. I may or may not have maintained emotional constancy. In my second class, I had to release all the kids with asthma, and we did not boil any soda.
My hair still smells like burning Sunkist.
Post Script: This does not fit anywhere in the above narrative, but I just have to document that we ended our day with a school-wide dance party, and I saw an 8th grader who is approximately seven feet tall dancing with a kindergartner who is approximately seven inches tall, and now I can only experience positive emotions for the rest of my life.
Since I couldn't teach the lesson I'd prepared to only half the kids, I decided science class should just be crazy experiment day. I was so excited about having 15-child classes (Montessori School! Summer Camp! A dream!) that I decided to be ambitious. The two projects I thought of that I could scrounge up materials for during the morning were: 1) wood-and-spork catapults, to tie into our simple machines unit, and 2) boiling down soda to see how much sugar is in it, to tie into our phase change unit and my own agenda about making my kids not get diabetes. NB that I came up with all of this in about an hour and did not pre-test anything. (Also NB that the soda I used was Orange Sunkist, which I feel like makes the rest of this story that much worse.) In retrospect, my reasoning seems to have gone along the lines of: What should I have the kids do while I monitor this boiling liquid on a hot plate? I should let them -- no, require them to propel things around the room. I should also give them push pins!!
I teach two science classes in a row. In the first group, we set up our soda and watched it start to boil, and then had a nice time with our catapults and my friend Bill Nye (who most of the children had not heard of, but would probably now equate with Einstein based on the shock I expressed at their ignorance). I checked on the soda every few minutes and it didn't seem to be evaporating noticeably. Anticipating their disappointment at the failure of our experiment, I redoubled my efforts with the catapult activity. I built my own catapult and challenged them to a contest. Erasers flew. Children laughed. Everyone learned about levers. It was a great day in my 15-child Montessori class.
And then we saw the smoke.
It went from normal steam to crazy billowing sugar-smoke in about three seconds. The room filled with the smell of roasted marshmallows and emergencies, and the smoke seemed to be moving deliberately toward the smoke detector, as if out of defiance. I rushed over to unplug the hot plate, move the pot, and open all the windows, while my little fifth grade volunteer fire fighters started using the plastic bins on their tables to disperse the smoke. I prayed that I would not be the one responsible for sending the entire school (well, half the school, but still) out onto the un-shoveled sidewalks without their snow boots.
By some miracle, the alarm did not go off. I lined the kids up and let them look at the burnt corn syrup sludge as they filed out the smoke-filled room. They may or may not be less apt to drink soda now. They may or may not have a better understanding of evaporation. I may or may not have maintained emotional constancy. In my second class, I had to release all the kids with asthma, and we did not boil any soda.
My hair still smells like burning Sunkist.
Post Script: This does not fit anywhere in the above narrative, but I just have to document that we ended our day with a school-wide dance party, and I saw an 8th grader who is approximately seven feet tall dancing with a kindergartner who is approximately seven inches tall, and now I can only experience positive emotions for the rest of my life.
