I'd rather be pissed off than pissed on...
...but this morning, I was both. First just lemme point out that at 7 months preggo, most of my work clothes have gone into the "maybe I will wear this again after I have the baby" closet, so getting dressed for work has become a challenge. I literally have just enough to make it through one week without repeating. Fridays are a bitch unless we have blue jean day, which we rarely do. Anyway, this morning I put on the ONLY pair of pre-preggo pants that I can still wear. I love these pants. Love 'em. They're comfortable, they're cute, they're professional, and they're going to be worn out soon enough. I put them on this morning, and before I even had the chance to put on a top... (I'll give you a moment to soak in the image of my 7 month pregnant ass topless) I detected the faint but unmistakable smell of cat piss.
If that bitch pissed on these pants, I'll f*ckin' kill her.
I pulled 'em off and held them up to my face. Sure enough, it was the pants. Two days ago I got dressed and then detected the smell on a certain shirt of mine. A couple of weeks ago, a load of laundry was pissed on, and I thought maybe that particular shirt had taken the brunt of the piss barrage and had not come clean in the wash. Now that I've detected it on my favorite pants, I think Pocket Satan has managed to carry out yet another terrorist attack, and I just didn't catch it before it dried and the clothes got put up. I sure hope that's it, and that the smell isn't refusing to come out. If the clothes are ruined, I'm about to be super hard up for work attire.
Pocket Satan is no longer allowed inside the house, and that's final. Pookie is normally the only one allowed in, because Millay (Pocket Satan) does have this tendency to piss on things. Lately we've been letting her in to eat, but not letting her come out of the kitchen/dining room/ laundry room area. Maybe this load of laundry was left in there for her to attack it. I don't know. I certainly hope that Pookie is not the culprit, because I'd hate to kick him out too. He's my pal. But Pocket Satan is banished for eternity. I don't give a damn if the sky above our yard is filled with cat eating vultures, her ass ain't comin' back inside.
In unrelated news, I had to write TWO kids up today in my 7th period. Those made office referrals number 2 and 3 for the year. It pained me to do it. I had only written up one, and she begged for it, and just this morning I was wondering how long I could go without doing any referrals. I was patting myself on the back for my much improved classroom management skills. (Yeah, that usually goes before a fall, doesn't it?) Anyway, they were sort of freak events, because neither kid is really bad. They just got wild hairs up their ass. One lost her damn mind and began screaming at me when I told her for the fourth time to put her belongings up and concentrate on what we were working on. The other was on his way out of the door at the end of the day when he decided to wipe his friend's name off the board in an effort to prevent him from getting the detention he so earned. When I saw him I told him to come to my desk. He turned around and ran away. That's open defiance. He's not a bad kid, but he ain't getting away with that shit.
They are the worst class I have. All but 1 of them failed the first test, and half the class hasn't even managed to put together the required English binder yet, despite the fact that I went to Wal Mart and bought a buggy full of binders and offered them up for free. I can't complain about the other 4 classes. But these wannabe outlaws have something coming tomorrow when they get to my class. I think we need to back track and rediscover who's running the show. I'm not sure what I'm going to do yet, but so far this year when I've felt a class slipping up a little, my strategy has been to slow down and reign them in. Have a slow, methodical, boring class, and remain eerily calm-- almost robotic, completely unfeeling-- throughout it. Dictate their every move to them. Clear your desk except for one sheet. Place your textbook on the left side of your desk. Write down these 10 words. Open the book to page 42. Copy the third paragraph from the top. Boring. Slow. No room for acting a damn fool. Hillbilly, you got any ideas?
If that bitch pissed on these pants, I'll f*ckin' kill her.
I pulled 'em off and held them up to my face. Sure enough, it was the pants. Two days ago I got dressed and then detected the smell on a certain shirt of mine. A couple of weeks ago, a load of laundry was pissed on, and I thought maybe that particular shirt had taken the brunt of the piss barrage and had not come clean in the wash. Now that I've detected it on my favorite pants, I think Pocket Satan has managed to carry out yet another terrorist attack, and I just didn't catch it before it dried and the clothes got put up. I sure hope that's it, and that the smell isn't refusing to come out. If the clothes are ruined, I'm about to be super hard up for work attire.
Pocket Satan is no longer allowed inside the house, and that's final. Pookie is normally the only one allowed in, because Millay (Pocket Satan) does have this tendency to piss on things. Lately we've been letting her in to eat, but not letting her come out of the kitchen/dining room/ laundry room area. Maybe this load of laundry was left in there for her to attack it. I don't know. I certainly hope that Pookie is not the culprit, because I'd hate to kick him out too. He's my pal. But Pocket Satan is banished for eternity. I don't give a damn if the sky above our yard is filled with cat eating vultures, her ass ain't comin' back inside.
In unrelated news, I had to write TWO kids up today in my 7th period. Those made office referrals number 2 and 3 for the year. It pained me to do it. I had only written up one, and she begged for it, and just this morning I was wondering how long I could go without doing any referrals. I was patting myself on the back for my much improved classroom management skills. (Yeah, that usually goes before a fall, doesn't it?) Anyway, they were sort of freak events, because neither kid is really bad. They just got wild hairs up their ass. One lost her damn mind and began screaming at me when I told her for the fourth time to put her belongings up and concentrate on what we were working on. The other was on his way out of the door at the end of the day when he decided to wipe his friend's name off the board in an effort to prevent him from getting the detention he so earned. When I saw him I told him to come to my desk. He turned around and ran away. That's open defiance. He's not a bad kid, but he ain't getting away with that shit.
They are the worst class I have. All but 1 of them failed the first test, and half the class hasn't even managed to put together the required English binder yet, despite the fact that I went to Wal Mart and bought a buggy full of binders and offered them up for free. I can't complain about the other 4 classes. But these wannabe outlaws have something coming tomorrow when they get to my class. I think we need to back track and rediscover who's running the show. I'm not sure what I'm going to do yet, but so far this year when I've felt a class slipping up a little, my strategy has been to slow down and reign them in. Have a slow, methodical, boring class, and remain eerily calm-- almost robotic, completely unfeeling-- throughout it. Dictate their every move to them. Clear your desk except for one sheet. Place your textbook on the left side of your desk. Write down these 10 words. Open the book to page 42. Copy the third paragraph from the top. Boring. Slow. No room for acting a damn fool. Hillbilly, you got any ideas?
No ideas. I like your style. The ol' Simple. Step. By. Step. With busywork. I've done that with 4 classes already. These ain't my last year's kids, who were quite tractable.
Let me introduce you to my class from Hell. 27 juniors from tech school. Yep, they're all mine. They go to tech school across town all morning, then are bused back here for lunch, and then I get them. Right after lunch. Their first of the day encounter with the real world. Lucky me. Oh, and there are two bonuses involved. I also have them an EXTRA 30 MINUTES each Friday for Sustained Silent Reading. And if there's one thing tech students live for, it's Sustained Silent Reading. My room is cram-packed with these kids. I even had to sit three of them around the wall, due to lack of desks. The second bonus? This class takes the state End-of-Course Test in the spring. I'm gonna be settin' the world on fire with those scores, by cracky. I can see them balancing a photosynthesis equation now.
Here's my theory on this class. They need the credit. They have ZERO interest in Biology. I give them an assignment EVERY day. I give them time to work on it and ask questions. I collect it. I grade it and give it back to shock them into actually doing the next day's work.
Any day that they stay in their seats, are civil to me, and do as I say is a BONUS. I don't sweat the constant talking. We can peacefully co-exist, as long as I am the recognized leader of the pack, no school rules are broken, work is turned in. I dare anybody else to control this group. They are a herd of horses of different colors. They march to 27 different drum beats. I am thinking of slipping homework passes to the few downtrodden quiet kids who have done my bidding since Day One.
My favorite principal of all time, now our superintendent, once told me: "Mrs. Hillbilly Mom, some classes are easy, and some classes are hard. But every now and then, you come across a class that REALLY MAKES YOU EARN YOUR MONEY. This is one of them, but they don't hold a candle to 3 other groups I've had in my career.
Sounds like you are on the right track. A lot can be forgiven, and a lot can be diffused with humor, but open defiance is one thing that can NOT be tolerated. Kudos on your classroom management tactics.
Posted by
Hillbilly Mom |
7:34 PM