At the Starting Line

It's official -- I made it to student teaching.

I passed the PLT with a 187, top 15% on the first try, after being paranoid for over a month that I would fail miserably. I didn't. Apparently I actually do know enough to become a teacher.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I've been paranoid about student teaching from that point forward. A little wistful for the days of methods where I'd only have to teach two lessons and a unit. The idea of having two solo weeks -- where you are in control of the class and the teacher is just there for backup -- coming up within the next four months is scary. The idea of teaching spelling in two weeks is mortifying. I feel like a gymnast who hasn't been practicing all summer and now I'm setting foot back in the gym, and I have my eyes on the uneven bars because I did so well on them last semester. I have to remember to stop and stretch and do a few tumbles first. This is not a competition; this is a chance to reflect on my mistakes for the big performances coming up.

It seemed to hit all of us on Sunday night -- we start this week. This Friday. But then we got a phone call -- we actually start Thursday night at open house where we meet our students and the parents of these precious little lives who will be, for what will seem like a blink of an eye, in our hands.

I move in tomorrow. Sort of. The girl whose room I'm supposed to be moving into hasn't moved out yet, so I'm shifting all my stuff in the empty suite next door until she heads out. And I have a whole hour and ten minutes to do this in before I need to be in the classroom meeting my kids.

I am scared to death... and I am so ready for this.