And so it begins. . .

This time of year teachers are decorating classrooms, school supply sections of stores are all a buzz, and then there's me, in front of my computer surrounded with books, papers, half filled teacups, and illegible post-its. Every now and then, I will stand up and chant certain lines, practice beats, or practice teaching new games to my bearded dragon, Murray. (He is not amused)

Preparing for theatre classes is incredibly unglamorous, utterly ridiculous, and well totally freaking daunting.

The nature of the teacher is to prepare for every possible out come and be sure that the unexpected will slap you across the face in the exact moment that you say to yourself "Well, things can't get any worse." The nature of a theatre teacher is the same with the added element of energy--see, we encourage leaping, dancing, shouting, talking in strange voices, and complete mayhem. Therefore, when the unexpected does strike, we're in a sea of mayhem. Unexpected slaps us, and we drown in the laughter and tears of children.

Like I said, daunting.

In acting class they teach you a lot about breathing. Whole classes about breathing. I took one class, and all we did was breathe in through our nose and out through our mouth. For an hour. I still hear my father, "you're paying how much to learn to breathe?"

Some days, I think the purpose of these classes was solely to prepare me for my role as an educator.

You can breathe through any situation. Even through lesson planning.

So, I gather up all of my experience from the past year--all the studying and working with other artists throughout Charleston and in other parts of the U.S and all the education and inspiration from each of the kidlets I encountered over the past years--and I pour it all into my lesson planning. My lesson plans are an amalgamation of experience as well as a lot of "huh, I wonder if this will actually work?" Lots of improvisation, "Yes, Let's" is always a winner and "What are you doing?" After creating the ideal lesson plan, I create back up plans. Multitudes of back up plans. I have back up plans, and back up plans for my back up plans, and back up plans for when they all decide to cry, and back ups for when they all decide "nope, not doing it" and back up plans for "what the hell?". You get the idea.

Then the Lesson Planning is done, and the ritual of execution begins.

I get excited.

The anticipation builds.

A couple of days before classes, the nightmares begin.

Nightmare #1: Kid's gone wild. Something about curtains and swinging from them.

My heart beats faster.

Nightmare #2 - I am unable to communicate any of the games. The students don't understand.

Heart is beating out of my chest.

Nightmare #3 - I'm on stage, but don't know what play I'm in.

This is stupid. I'm stupid.

Doubts seep in.

What am I doing? Why am I doing this? I'm a failure. They're all gonna laugh at me.

Here we go.

Breathe - how do I breathe again? Oh yes, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Glad I practiced that for an hour one time. Take that Dad.

In, out, in, out.

I walk through the door.

I am flooded with hugs, stories, and knock knock jokes.

Ahhhh.

Life is simpler in a child's imagination. They bring more to the table than my empty teacups, books, and illegible post-its ever could. They take each game and each idea that I fretted over and turn it into something much more profound and exquisite. Every stress, nightmare and doubt is washed away in the simplest words. "I got an idea Ms. Teralyn, let's make talking sculptures who like to leap over lily pads!"

Yes, Let's.