Profound Moments in the Life of a Teacher

Every day I spend 4 hours with large crowds of teenagers. To be able to do this without being institutionalized, suffering a brain hemorrhage, having my self-esteem completely decimated into a smoking heap at my feet, or weeping in despair hourly requires a sense of humor and a specialized type of patience. That way, when the wad of paper that was aimed at the trash can hits me in the head-again-I can laugh it off instead of blowing a gasket. That way, as half of the students incessantly text right through the class period, I am able to brush it off, and remind myself to petition for a school-wide cell-phone jammer.

Yes, I teach, but that is only one area of my interaction with these kids. I show up each day to an assortment of random and entertaining situations that never leave me wanting for amusement. Below, I have listed a few of the things that have come up, just in this week alone.

• 2 boys came to class completely covered in fiberglass, and spent almost the entire period picking tiny slivers of glass from their highly irritated skin. They said it was an auto-body project gone bad.
  
• I overheard an in-depth conversation where a kid was insisting that if everyone on the earth were to run really fast counter-clockwise, we could probably go back in time.
• I watched as a kid attempted to duck-tape his cell phone back together after it had been run over by a car.
• I spent a good part of 5 minutes convincing one boy that cutting out 25 mini-marijuana leaves to paste onto construction paper probably wasn't the best use of his time.
• A girl, tardy to class, attempted to ask me what she had missed; she was completely incoherent, and drooling as she talked. As she normally speaks quite well, it was a bit alarming. My concern must have showed because a friend piped up and told me she had just come back from the dentist, and was still numbed up.
• In the middle of quiet writing time, a boy farted, then proudly claimed it, stating, "Yes, it was me," which launched half the class to hysterical laughter, and the other half into a discussion on how farts get a bad rap (one argument was that they were a natural part of human functioning, so why not embrace it instead of being shamed by it?).
• A boy abashedly explained to me that he had shaved off his highly prized chops because his grandma had asked him to, but to keep that information on the down-low.
• I completely botched an attempt at a "high-five-fist-bump" greeting.
• I listened as 2 kids programmed their cell phones to say "You have a phone call" in 5 different languages. As they were moving on to more obscure languages like "Danish", I intervened, asking how this was relevant to their work. Their response: "Why are you so down on other languages, Campbell? Just because you're an English teacher doesn't mean you have to be racist." I responded with my infamous stink-eye, which set them to work right away.
• I discovered a huddle of chuckling students who confessed that they were busy sending repeated texts to a kid who had gone to the bathroom so that his phone would ring continually while he was in the stall.
• I confiscated a roll of masking tape that was being torn into strips, covered in statements such as "I eat kittens for breakfast" and "Hug me, and hug me lots", and then being discreetly taped onto a student's back.
• I distributed a band-aid after one student decided to answer the burning question of whether staples would penetrate flesh.
• I fielded questions on all of the following-and highly pertinent to education-topics: American Idol and whether I think it is kind-of lame that an Osmond tried out, what exactly is going wrong with my car and would I be willing to let a mechanically-inclined student take a look at the engine (I politely declined), how in the world am I able to type so fast, how I feel about Chuck Norris (I am completely against him; this launched a "defense of Chuck Norris" tirade, counter-launched by my list of all cheesy and stupid actors-Vin Diesel, Jean Claude Van Damme, Steven Seagal, Arnold Schwarzenegger, and that one dude in Sniper with the intense eyes), if there is a secret government agency made completely of lethal assassins and if so how does one apply, and if the new technology put up in the classroom was really a spying device that the administration was going to use against them in blackmailing schemes.
  

Why do I not find most of these things offensive, immature, rude, disrespectful, insensitive, childish, perverted, or immature? Well, I figure if I did, I would quickly become an angry, bitter old woman who rails against "those horrible teenagers" and slowly wrinkles from the inside out because of the acidity of her thoughts. Instead, as a survival tactic, I have decided to find humor in them all, increasing my overall health because of how much I laugh each day.

Toiletries

Before anyone becomes a parent, they receive all sorts of advice, warnings, parenting and disciplining tips, and good wishes. As great as this is, I wish someone would have told me how much of my life would involve cleaning up, being covered in, talking about, lamenting over, and being completely embarrassed by poop and pee. I wish there was a more graceful way to say it, so Jeffry-a man who grew upset when I told Wesley what farts were and insisted we use "toot" instead-has suggested euphemizing the words. For the rest of this blog entry, pee will be referred to as "tinkle" and poop as "squeegee". You're welcome, Jeffry. Moving on...from the newborn that noisily explodes its pants during the prayer in relief society to the messes involved with potty-training, tinkle and squeegee are a constant of every young parent's life. Here are just a few charming anecdotes from recent months.

We attempted-and failed miserably-to potty-train Evan over the Christmas break. Evan's stubbornness is monumental; I pray for strength to combat it the next time that I try. Because of our optimistic attempt, we had toilet-toppers in the bathrooms (little snap-on toilet seats that make it easier for the youngins to perch). One morning I heard Wesley screaming downstairs. As he tends to not have a "quiet voice" (a fact brought to my attention by the primary president), I took no notice until he came stumbling upstairs, with his head stuck in Evan's toilet seat. The look of misery on his face says it all.

During sacrament meeting last week, Evan set the hymnals on the seat, lifted up the covers to rest against the back of the pew, and proceeded to climb onto them and pretend to use those hymnals as "toilets". Because I was reverently pondering the sacrament, I took little notice until Evan climbed off and informed me that he was going squeegee.

As I was receiving a spiritual message from my visiting teachers a few months ago, unbeknownst to me, Wesley was downstairs with my visiting teacher's two little girls, tinkling into a Legos bucket. Traumatized, the girls came up and told their mom that "a little boy down there tinkled into a bucket in front of us." I disdainfully dismissed their claim, saying he had never done anything of the sort before. Later however, I discovered the freshly christened bucket, and Wesley's answer to why he had done such a thing was, "I wanted to show them." This proves that God has a sense of humor, because in my pre-child days, when my attitude towards mothering was both haughty and naive, I was horrified when one of Jeffry's advisor's little boys tinkled on a tree right in front of a group of us at a party. To Jeffry later, I chastised the kid's parents, labeling them as softies with no discipline of their children. And there you have it. My judgment day has come. Not surprisingly, my visiting teacher no longer brings her little girls over.

And, as I change one more dirty diaper that Evan kicks onto me, covering me with squeegee, I look forward to the day when I can wash my hands of this matter, once and for all.

"Mom-bot"

Japan has invented life-like robots, complete with facial expressions and human-esque behaviors. Way to go, Japan! I'd like to order one that looks like me, and program the following phrases into it, to be repeated 500 times a day, to my children:


1. Stop whining.

2. No, Christmas is not today, nor will it be tomorrow. And Halloween is a year away.

3. A year is a very, very long time.

4. That sign on the road means _________ . (insert a variety of logical responses)

5. Evan, no flushing paper cups/marbles/wad after wad of toilet paper down the toilet.

6. Get back at the table and finish your meal.

7. I know that you don't like it, but you need to try it anyway.

8. Evan, stop rubbing food in your hair.

9. The songs "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star", "Itsy Bitsy Spider", "Go To Sleep", and "In the Jungle"-complete with wee-oh-wee-oh-wee-um-um-away. (We have to sing these every night before they'll go to bed)

10. Evan, no touching _____________. (insert products--usually associated with candy or balls-- at a variety of regularly frequented stores)

11. No, you cannot have more _________. (insert candy, apples, television, popcorn, popsicles, snacks, chips, pop, or strawberries)

12. No, we aren't there yet.

13. I don't know how that works, Wesley.

14. Go bug Daddy.

15. Don't _________ the cats! (insert bug, squish, chase, grab, carry, scare, and hit)

16. Evan, no kicking Mommy while she changes your diaper.

17. Evan, stop wiggling while I change your diaper.

18. Evan, come back here so I can get your diaper on.

19. No, Wesley, you can't wear your pajamas backwards.

20. Evan, take those marbles out of your mouth.

21. Wanting cars to crash just so you can see more police cars is not very nice.

22. Yes, Mommy is silly.

23. Please, please, please put your shoes on, right now!

24. One....two....two-and-a-half....THREE! That's it!

25. Yah, Uh-huh, I know, yep, neat, cool, and any other non-committal phrases that make it sound like I'm listening to every single word that Wesley says, because he requires validation of them all.

26. Evan, stop throwing _____ at Wesley. (insert projectiles here--and be creative)

27. Dumping toys is not playing.

28. Do you need to go poo-poo?

29. Yes, Daddy is a good fixer.

30. Share!
And finally,

31. Did you know that Mommy loves you?



Actually, now that I think of it, I'll save that last phrase for myself.

Wesley the Inquisitor

Wesley has hit the famous "why" stage of development, and as with everything that Wesley does, it is intense, it is incessant, it is demanding, and it is thorough. He is most fascinated with each and every road sign that we pass in the car. Not one goes unquestioned. On our recent trip to Montrose, Colorado to visit my sister, I estimate that about half of the 5 hour drive consisted of Wesley asking "What does that sign mean, Mommy?" If I don't respond immediately, he asks louder and louder, until he finally emits his last attention-getting tactic: a high-pitched squeal that sounds remarkably like a loud finger whistle people use to get attention at football games. On many occasions, I have had to resort to the infamous parental line: "Just because," and finally, "I just don't know, Wesley. Sometimes Mommies just don't know."

His new favorite bedtime story book is "How Things Work", a "simplified" diagram book that tells how many different complicated gizmos in the world function. As I understand none of it, nor care (how does a space rocket work? Who cares? It just does!), Jeff has taken over the reading of this book. Now, I am surprised to find Wesley exclaiming as I use the manual can opener, "Mommy, that's the gear, right there, that makes it go around, and that's the wedge," or give me a run-down on just exactly what makes the clock tick.

Wesley's proclivity for answering the hows and whys of life has been evident from the beginning; as soon as he could hold and twist, our household pens became victims to his curiosity. I still find pen body parts strewn about: an occasional spring here, a clicker there. His latest fascination is flashlights, and as a result, before camping, we have to do a search and rescue mission to reassemble the poor decapitated and gutted torches.

So, we figure that preparation is the key. As Wesley grows, we might have to do preemptive strikes, putting lawn mowers, television sets, and kitchen mixers under lock and key, in order to salvage lives before they are taken. In the meantime, each day I brace myself for the fresh assault of "whys" and try to be grateful that Wesley has such a curious mind.

The Chronicles of Evan's Giant Head

Evan has a large noggin. This is medically documented: Since birth, his head has consistently been in the 97th percentile of large heads. That means that only 3% of children out there have a cranium larger than his. Other than medical proof, the astounding amount of times that he has cracked his gargantuan melon on things around him is evidence of something a bit too large to handle.

Items and people that have had issues with Evan's head: Car doors, house doors, sidewalks, bunkbeds, futons, Mom's elbows, stairway railings, door handles, slides, swings, treadmills, desks, chairs, stools, refrigerators, walls, Dad's knees, neckholes of shirts (getting him dressed is a tug-of-war every day), doctors (with a not-so-tactful "Well, he's sure got a large head!" and "His head's almost off the charts!"), hats (as a newborn, the cute little newborn beanies were a joke, schlurrping right off that noggin' every time), bathtubs, buckets and bowls (they get stuck sometimes), Wesley ("Mom! Evan bonked me with his head again!"), random people attempting to dispense comfort ("That just means he's going to be super smart!"), and countertops, just to name a few.

It's a hard-knock life for Evan's head, but at least there's room for lots of kisses.