The Bearded Woman, Big Red, and Mum
I was afraid I'd have nothing to write about today. It's too soon to
poison the kids again. My Hillbilly Husband has been on good
behavior. He even cleaned one bathroom sink while I was at the
school board meeting on Monday night. I needn't have worried,
though. My students came through at crunch time.
Among things I learned today (that I did not ask to learn) was this:
"My brother used to have a girlfriend with a beard."
"How did he know?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, did she just let it grow, did he catch her shaving, or what?"
"You could see the stubble around her chin. And it felt rough."
"Eeeww! How did YOU feel it?"
"I didn't. She had it on her arms, too. I felt it when I rubbed on her."
"Eeeww! What were you doing rubbing on her?"
"No! Not like that! I went in the door and she went out, and our
arms rubbed."
"Did you say 'Eeeww!' or jump back?"
"No, I just shuddered. My brother didn't really like her. He just
used her for a ride and free beer. She worked at this little store,
and she had a car."
"There's a lady in Next Town that has a beard. She tried to give
me a popsicle, but I said no."
"I know her! She lives in those apartments."
"Yeah. She gave my little brother a popsicle, and he was going
to EAT it! I told him 'DON'T EAT THAT!'"
"What, did you think it would make him grow a beard?"
"No. It was just nasty."
The next class had a lot of work to do, and the seniors were
out taking a test. I figured I was safe here, they are my older
group, more refined. But no....
"Hey, give me a piece of that Big Red."
She tossed him the gum. He unwrapped it, put it in his mouth, held
up the silver wrapper.
"Anybody want the wrapper to stick on their head?"
"What are you talking about?"
"I'll take it!!!"
"Oh, nothing."
"I'll show you." He pulled his hair back off his forehead, licked
the wrapper, and stuck it to his forehead.
"What's the point of that?"
"You'll see." The other kids snickered.
"The cinnamon leaves a mark."
"Have you done it?"
"Yeah. I couldn't stand it after about a minute."
"It's starting to make my eyes water."
"Well, take it off."
"I can do it longer."
"Show me." The unveiling: a large rectangle of bright red forehead.
"Don't tell anybody you did that in MY class!"
"My hair will cover it."
A senior came in on a testing break to grab a tissue to blow his
nose. "MAN!"
"Have YOU ever done that?"
"Yeah, only I fell asleep. It left a big puffed-up red mark. It hurt
like a sunburn for two days."
So much for my mature class. I also learned today that Mr. K
has been assigning parts for the reading of Romeo and Juliet.
Two of my students, during different class periods, were given
the part of a mute. Go figure! One is very talkative. The other
rubs people the wrong way every time he opens his mouth.
Kind of like me. I guess that's why Mr. K calls him my 'son'.
In that case, I need to ask Mr. K for a parent conference. On
Monday, he came into my classroom to verify a statement by
the rubber-the-wrong-wayer. The kid, Mumbler, told me he
had finished 6 of 29 vocabulary words. He'd had a week to
do them. He said they had to turn them in, he couldn't do any
more. So I wrote a note to Mr. K. While I was writing, Mum
(Hey, I like that! MUM, because he's a mumbler, and because
he plays a mute! Haha! I crack myself up!) decided that maybe
he DIDN'T have to turn in that paper, that he COULD finish
it. Then he said they were all done, but he left the other 23 at
home. Oh, the bad luck!
Mr. K came in and said that yes, he had collected those papers.
Mum crowed that he was RIGHT, and I hadn't believed him. I
pointed out that last week he told me all were done and turned
in, but Mr. K said he turned in nothing. I also told him that I didn't
know which of the three stories he told me were correct. Then,
I had to preach that there comes a time when you have to grow up,
and take responsibility for your own actions, and not blame other
people. That the real issue was not that he couldn't finish because
he had to turn them in ON TIME, but that he should have used
all week to get them completely done by Friday.
Mum mumbled that teachers had been writing hurtful things on
the papers his mother makes him have signed daily. I said, "Like
the TRUTH?" Mum, in his immature and passive-aggressive way,
mumbled was I saying that he was immature, because..."MUM,
CUT THE CRAP!" stated Mr. K. "JUST DO IT!" Mum mumbled
something that sounded like "You can't say that to me" but it was
hard to tell, because...well...he mumbled. Mr. K mumbled right
back at him. That went on for a couple of rounds. The class and
I enjoyed the comedy routine. Mr. K had mentioned at lunch one
day that he speaks to Mum the way he mumbles, so he can see
what it's like. No matter how many times we tell him, he won't
just talk. He mutters under his breath.
Now before you go getting all sorry for us making fun of Mum,
did I mention that Mum is the student who punched me last year?
Which I believe kind of levels the playing field, if he knows he
can punch me but I can't punch him back. So Mum won't be
catching a break from me any time soon. I will call him out every
time he lies, and I write it on his Mama papers, too. Boohoo, the
truth hurts sometimes. Payback is a b**** once you've hit a
teacher. But I DO draw the line at telling him to "Cut the crap."
Yeah. I'm a regular Mother Teresa.
poison the kids again. My Hillbilly Husband has been on good
behavior. He even cleaned one bathroom sink while I was at the
school board meeting on Monday night. I needn't have worried,
though. My students came through at crunch time.
Among things I learned today (that I did not ask to learn) was this:
"My brother used to have a girlfriend with a beard."
"How did he know?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, did she just let it grow, did he catch her shaving, or what?"
"You could see the stubble around her chin. And it felt rough."
"Eeeww! How did YOU feel it?"
"I didn't. She had it on her arms, too. I felt it when I rubbed on her."
"Eeeww! What were you doing rubbing on her?"
"No! Not like that! I went in the door and she went out, and our
arms rubbed."
"Did you say 'Eeeww!' or jump back?"
"No, I just shuddered. My brother didn't really like her. He just
used her for a ride and free beer. She worked at this little store,
and she had a car."
"There's a lady in Next Town that has a beard. She tried to give
me a popsicle, but I said no."
"I know her! She lives in those apartments."
"Yeah. She gave my little brother a popsicle, and he was going
to EAT it! I told him 'DON'T EAT THAT!'"
"What, did you think it would make him grow a beard?"
"No. It was just nasty."
The next class had a lot of work to do, and the seniors were
out taking a test. I figured I was safe here, they are my older
group, more refined. But no....
"Hey, give me a piece of that Big Red."
She tossed him the gum. He unwrapped it, put it in his mouth, held
up the silver wrapper.
"Anybody want the wrapper to stick on their head?"
"What are you talking about?"
"I'll take it!!!"
"Oh, nothing."
"I'll show you." He pulled his hair back off his forehead, licked
the wrapper, and stuck it to his forehead.
"What's the point of that?"
"You'll see." The other kids snickered.
"The cinnamon leaves a mark."
"Have you done it?"
"Yeah. I couldn't stand it after about a minute."
"It's starting to make my eyes water."
"Well, take it off."
"I can do it longer."
"Show me." The unveiling: a large rectangle of bright red forehead.
"Don't tell anybody you did that in MY class!"
"My hair will cover it."
A senior came in on a testing break to grab a tissue to blow his
nose. "MAN!"
"Have YOU ever done that?"
"Yeah, only I fell asleep. It left a big puffed-up red mark. It hurt
like a sunburn for two days."
So much for my mature class. I also learned today that Mr. K
has been assigning parts for the reading of Romeo and Juliet.
Two of my students, during different class periods, were given
the part of a mute. Go figure! One is very talkative. The other
rubs people the wrong way every time he opens his mouth.
Kind of like me. I guess that's why Mr. K calls him my 'son'.
In that case, I need to ask Mr. K for a parent conference. On
Monday, he came into my classroom to verify a statement by
the rubber-the-wrong-wayer. The kid, Mumbler, told me he
had finished 6 of 29 vocabulary words. He'd had a week to
do them. He said they had to turn them in, he couldn't do any
more. So I wrote a note to Mr. K. While I was writing, Mum
(Hey, I like that! MUM, because he's a mumbler, and because
he plays a mute! Haha! I crack myself up!) decided that maybe
he DIDN'T have to turn in that paper, that he COULD finish
it. Then he said they were all done, but he left the other 23 at
home. Oh, the bad luck!
Mr. K came in and said that yes, he had collected those papers.
Mum crowed that he was RIGHT, and I hadn't believed him. I
pointed out that last week he told me all were done and turned
in, but Mr. K said he turned in nothing. I also told him that I didn't
know which of the three stories he told me were correct. Then,
I had to preach that there comes a time when you have to grow up,
and take responsibility for your own actions, and not blame other
people. That the real issue was not that he couldn't finish because
he had to turn them in ON TIME, but that he should have used
all week to get them completely done by Friday.
Mum mumbled that teachers had been writing hurtful things on
the papers his mother makes him have signed daily. I said, "Like
the TRUTH?" Mum, in his immature and passive-aggressive way,
mumbled was I saying that he was immature, because..."MUM,
CUT THE CRAP!" stated Mr. K. "JUST DO IT!" Mum mumbled
something that sounded like "You can't say that to me" but it was
hard to tell, because...well...he mumbled. Mr. K mumbled right
back at him. That went on for a couple of rounds. The class and
I enjoyed the comedy routine. Mr. K had mentioned at lunch one
day that he speaks to Mum the way he mumbles, so he can see
what it's like. No matter how many times we tell him, he won't
just talk. He mutters under his breath.
Now before you go getting all sorry for us making fun of Mum,
did I mention that Mum is the student who punched me last year?
Which I believe kind of levels the playing field, if he knows he
can punch me but I can't punch him back. So Mum won't be
catching a break from me any time soon. I will call him out every
time he lies, and I write it on his Mama papers, too. Boohoo, the
truth hurts sometimes. Payback is a b**** once you've hit a
teacher. But I DO draw the line at telling him to "Cut the crap."
Yeah. I'm a regular Mother Teresa.
posted by Hillbilly Mom at 6:30 PM
7 Comments:
Sadly, I can just about bet that if we had known about Big Red wrappers when I was in high school we'd have done it as well. Teenagers are just plain dumb.
Remind me to blog about my hairy arms sometime. It's a crackup. In a sad sort of way.
He hit you? I had those kids last year and wouldn't work with that crap again for any amount of money!
Diva,
Now I need to hear about the hairy arms. NOW! Are you really Bigfoot?
Jules,
If I could move around again, I would. But now I have kids and a Hillbilly Husband and a house and tenure. I'm pretty much stuck here. Except for Mum, I like my job. Most of the time.
Hi Hillbilly Mom,
There was a television show on here a while back, all about women with facial hair, who are proud of it.
I could do nothing but yell at the television "Get some electrolysis". It was stomach churning stuff.
They had that Big Red stuff on sale here a few years ago, but it went over like a lead balloon. It was last seen being left behind in the free samples crate, in Milk Bars across the nation.
As for Mum (and here I was thinking you had decided to start using the correct spelling for Mom), any student who hits a teacher, gives that teacher the right to hold a personal vendetta against that student for the rest of their life.
OK, so that might be a bit overboard. How about you get to leave a Big Red wrapper on their forehead for the whole of detention?
HooRoo
Rebecca
Bec,
I like that idea of detention with a Big Red wrapper. I think that might fall under the code of "cruel and unusual punishment," though.
I can chew Big Red gum twice. Then the inside of my mouth is raw for a week. I stay away from the stuff.
Mr. Coach came home last night and told me he needed 3 balloons, a straw, some rock salt and a couple of other items. I asked him what lab they were doing, he looked at me funny and said "oh we aren't doing a lab, we are gonna scare the shit out of "insert name here" because he's a cocky little jerk and the whole class is sick of him! That folks, is science at work! If anyone notices smoke from that direction, just pretend it's another brush fire.........
Mrs.,
Is Mr. Coach also Mr. Wizard? What's he up to with those ingredients? Has he tried the Big Red experiment on this cocky little jerk?
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