First it was like the bad dreams we have about going to school and finding out there's a test you had no idea you were going to have to take and so you haven't studied at all. I'm not sure why, but I was, at first, flooded with the feeling that I hadn't done as much of the background research I had wanted to do: reviewing my child development, extending my Responsive Classroom (R) reading, and other dorky eternal student desires. What followed was a rush of shame that I feel like I have been more worried about teaching "the right way" (as in, consistently with the style of my cooperating teacher) than about teaching genuinely within the development of my own style.
At some point, I got my act together, took out my unit plan, and started sketching out the day-to-day logistics of my first max week (Thank you, voice of my mother in the back of my head, reminding me "Take it one day at a time"). I scripted out some of the fire safety dialogue with Sparky the (puppet) fire dog for this morning's introduction to fire safety, which lightened my spirits. I wasn't, after all, going to get down on myself while practicing my puppet voices. My cooperating teacher and I went over my plans Sunday afternoon, and I remembered how much it helps me to talk through my thoughts and plans out loud. Not only did I feel more confident, I felt much more centered in what I had planned for today.
Sunday evening, sure, I'll admit it: I got the butterflies: "This is it!" I thought to myself, "Ready or not, here they come: the most honest, ruthless, and caring teachers there are in the world."
Following the emotional trip of the past 48 hours, I took it as a good sign those butterflies in my stomach were happy butterflies as I drifted off to sleep, ready to teach ... and ready to keep learning.
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