Tuesday, January 16, 2007

Careful, She Might Hear You

Some days, you just don't wanna hear it. The logic of the young.

Hey, Cousin-With-More-Sense-Than-Me, wanna ride bikes
down to my girlfriend's town? (FYI: It's about 30 miles away)
When?
Saturday if the weather's OK.
Yeah. It'll take us all day to get there.
Don't tell your girlfriend we're coming.
Why not?
Because I'm not supposed to see my girlfriend. Her mom
says I'm too old for her. And his girlfriend will tell them.
How old are you?
15.
How old is she?
11!
NO SHE ISN'T! She's 13.
Well, it's the age you're at.
My girlfriend calls me every morning before school.
Yeah. Mine used to do that. At 6:15 IN THE MORNING!
I told her "I'll call YOU!" I'd rather sleep.
Yours tried to call me and say she was my girlfriend, which
was stupid because I was already talking to my girlfriend when
I took her call.
Hey! Is that who you were talking to in the bathroom?
Yeah.
Nahhh! That's GROSS! I hope you never talk to me while
you're on the toilet.
Well I do. All the time.
EEWWW! That ain't right!

And another thing. I don't hear it, but I see it. My classroom
desks are part of a large migration. They creep closer and
closer to my desk and the whiteboard every day. It's so
subtle that you don't notice it until they are right on top of
you. The two desks in front of my teacher desk are about
12 inches away now. There's barely enough room for kids
to squeeze in there to turn in papers, borrow pencils, use
the stapler, grab a tissue, or read the announcements. The
ones by the windows are so close to the whiteboard that I
can hardly write on it without being afraid my butt is laying
on somebody's work area.

I do not like the enemy--I mean students--being so close
to me. They are practically sitting in my lap, which is not a
good thing for a secondary teacher, male OR female,
because it just provides grist for the mill, and gives the kids
something new to complain about. "Hey! Screech already
sat on your lap today. It's MY turn, Mrs. Hillbilly Mom!"

The desks in Basementia are migrating toward the door.
No Hillbilly Mom love in that place. They are moving
sideways, parallel to the blackboard, and parallel to my
teacher desk. Go figure.

And while we're pondering this mystery the universe, here's
something I heard today that shocked me. "Mrs. Hillbilly Mom,
can I get a baby-wipe out of the cabinet to clean off this desk?
My pencil made a big mess." Yeah. The shocking part was
the request to clean up after himself...not the incontinent pencil.

Now I must leave you with one other thing I did not really want
to hear.

"Ohh! The planes can only land on the runway!"

That was from my 8-year-old pilot during Flight Simulator.
He and his brother had been discussing how they were both
going to get their pilot's license, and fly me around the country.
Umm...NO! It does not help that this child's new computer is
in my office, and I've been hearing mysterious crashes for the
last hour. Not exactly a confidence-builder for one who would
need to be shot with a tranquilizer gun, crated, and stored in
the cargo hold to be flown anywhere.

Good thing I'm not going to Disney World, huh, Diva?

3 comments:

deadpanann said...

If the desks are migrating towards you, maybe they're paying attention to you. I had to move mine at the end of each day anyway just to keep it looking like a classroom. It sucks when the front row is that close to the whiteboard-- it makes it way too easy for them to land spitwads on my butt.

The Unrepentant Gallivanter said...

Sooo, I guess you won't be coming to Italy to visit me anytime soon, eh?

Hillbilly Mom said...

Miss Ann,
Paying attention to ME? You flatter me. They are probably thinking up a way to cut me open and count the rings. Or they have a pool for what day I will drop dead.

To shoot spitwads at me would require paper. So I'm safe. They DO NOT bring educational aids such as that to my classroom.


UnGal,
Not unless I take the train to catch a boat, which is unlikely, because I also don't like water. I'm rooted inland.