Pulling the Blinds Open on a New Unit

Another “travel in time” slice.

I pull the new blinds to let the 8 AM light into the office. Once my body lands on the chair, the process is automatic: playlist, a sip of my iced coffee, check to see when my next meeting will be and set a timer to depart on time. Lately, I’ve been trying to block the first hour or so on my calendar to be at the desk—that way, I can sort through the tasks I have and avoid the 3:47 PM realization that I didn’t save time for things I promised.

The ice swirls in the cup as I play with the straw between sips. My fingers scroll through the “Done by Today” list and see one item that feels right for this early moment of focus: unpack a new unit for 4th grade: Literary Essay.

Focus is what’s needed to pull the gist of each bend and go over the basic information teachers will need to get to the heart of this [revised] unit. I’ve taught it before and embraced the joy of blending reading in writing for that purpose, but I’ve also met the challenges that come in various boxes—most of them labeled “comprehension,” “structure,” and “very high ceiling.” I’ve also read other teachers’ perspectives on that genre and form of writing for 4th graders—mixed opinions. I remain a believer.

Is it hard? Yes. Can it be adjusted to meet goals differently? Yes.

Teachers I work with know how I bend things when planning units and lessons. I barely ever leave a minilesson as is. I almost always have ideas for tweaking teaching moments, considering the group of students that will sit on the rug and [hopefully] walk over to their tables with an idea to get them started. Better yet, enough confidence to grab that idea by the hand, saying, “I’m not quite sure how we’ll do that, but I think we can give it a try.”

I shift in my seat as I read the unit’s overview, annotate, and cover the book’s edges with sticky notes. I sip my coffee, wishing I could join teachers when they teach. I hear myself whispering teaching points, rehearsing ideas for thesis statements, and engaging students with questions and concrete steps to paint that path they will find helpful when attempting to write. But I won’t be able to, and mostly, I want to share these ideas clearly enough for those teachers not to need me in the room. I tell them often, “You know you get the teaching point if you try to write by yourself and can follow along; if you can’t, go back and rethink it.”

Each time I unpack a new unit with teachers, I aim to name the purpose of each bend, explain what to expect from students through old writing samples, leave them with enough resources to do well without me as they teach and make a plan to support their conferring throughout the unit. Often, we only get to a few of those, but with this particular unit, I want to get to all of them.

When we return from break, I’ll pull the blinds open again, but I won’t settle in this time. I’ll be walking upstairs, carrying plans and possibilities, ready to hand them off to teachers who will make them real.