After our lunch break one day, I walked into the orange room (as we call it) ready to teach the 3rd-6th grade science class. As usual, I gave them ten seconds to tidy up their desks, put a few books away, make a trip to the trash can, and to have only their science books open on their desks, ready to pay full attention to whatever lesson we were about to tackle that day.
Then I noticed a school supply box open on one student’s desk. A little perturbed, I instructed him to put it away.
“But it’s my snail’s playground,” he asserted.
“What?” I asked, half crazed, my frustration mounting.
“See; here is his ramp, and this is his island,” he excitedly replied.
I had to go over for a closer look; my intrigue was now mounting and the frustration was waning just a little.
Sure enough, there on his desk, was a snail playground. This privileged snail had two play areas --both filled with water--, a ramp, an island, as well as dinosaurs and pumpkins with which he could play, if snails do play, that is.
I complimented him on his creativity, and then reminded him that this was science class, and that he wasn’t supposed to have water at, or in reality, splashed all over his desk and the floor. At least this time the Turbo Snail didn’t have to pull a wagon and work; I suppose he had earned a little break.