Do you want cheese with that?

I grow weary of the self-centered attitudes of so many people today. I deal with some of the worst since I teach junior high kids. They, as a generation, are some of the most lazy, self-serving, egotistical people ever. What a generation of "MeMe's." Not that one gender is more or less self-centered than the other, but I see it so often in the girls. I feel more like Jerry Springer than Mrs. Hopkins some days! "She said this..." "She did that..." Quit it! Grow up a little and realize that I DON'T REALLY CARE who started it... END IT! I don't believe that I was ever as bad as so many of my kids. I have a lot of really great kids, so please, don't think that I hate teenagers or whatever. I actually really love my students, even the selfish ones. They are a lot of fun. But I grow weary of the drama.

I have two groups of girls right now who are warring and have been trying to use my room as a battleground. They recruit "troops" and plant "bombs" in my room. They are in my 4th and 7th period classes, and I like all of the girls who are involved. I wish I could simply tell them to grow up and get over themselves and that would be enough, but... this whole attitude of "I am the center of the universe" that they seem to have gets in the way. One girl ratted out her friend today over some gum on another girl's artwork, but the one who got in trouble because SHE DID IT is convinced that another student told on her, so now she is plotting against them as well. Am I in the movie "Heathers" or "Mean Girls" or something?? This is out of control. Mr. Heath, my principal, is convinced it is that the girls have their periods. I wish it were that simple. Then it would go away in 4-7 days!

People need to quit behaving like they are the only ones out there that should get preferential treatment and GET OVER THEMSELVES!

The boys are just as bad, but they tend to act alone. One kid got mad at me today because I got onto him for mooching money from students during my class to buy a soda (I allow students who are working hard to buy drinks on Fridays). I told him that he shouldn't waste his time since he wasn't going to be getting a drink as he was not working on art, but only working the class for money. So, in his angst he decided he would "punish" me by not doing his work. LOL Like I care if he does his work or not. It is not like I need the credit; he does. He can fail my class if he wants to. Be my guest.

I love my job. Most days it is really great. I just wish that the kids I teach could see the world through my eyes every once in a while. I am not perfect. I get emotional and crazy, too, but it usually ends in 4-7 days.

Snake in My Toilet

Snakes are not good when they are stuck in your toilet. Any kind of snake. Rattle snakes, pythons, garter snakes, big snakes, small snakes, dead snakes, live snakes... none are pleasant toilet residents. Know what other kind of snake is bad when in a toilet? Plumbing snakes. I know this now, but I didn't know this at 4:30 when I decided that I was a plumber and that what my clogged pipes needed was a good snaking. And where did I start? Not in the nicely open and straight shower pipe. Nope. Not me! I went for the wicked toilet drain! Yep. And so now we have to take the toilet off of the pipe and "un-jam" the very jammed in there snake.

Oh yeah. That is exactly what Mike wanted to come home to after a long and stressful day taking mad tests in way difficult classes.

I feel like a schmuck.

But... now I know, and so do you... Snakes are not for toilets.

Freeze, Bobo's!

So, last night while Mike and I were in bed, Gabe turns to us, holds up his hand, and states, "Freeze, Bobo's!"

You gotta love "Go, Diego, Go!!"

I guess, to Gabe, Mike and I are a couple of monkeys.

Funeral for a Mouse, or, Rosco, the Mighty

So, I came home to a mouse caught in a glue trap, my pitbull poised over it, triumphantly. It was still alive, barely caught, and squirming a bit. Nasty little thing. Anyway, after attempting to dispose of it, it got free of the trap and so I screamed, tossing my dustpan over it, catching it (kinda) between a plastic Target bag, a very sticky glue trap, and my now non-existant dustpan. You see, I didn't want the trap to become a "toddler trap," and my son was closing in.

I attended to my son, who was very set on getting his Diego stickers off of the sheet and onto his body, when the mouse broke completely free. In an instant, Rosco, my fearless and mighty pitbull terrier, pounced upon the ferocious mouse, pinning it to the ground with his gi-normous mouth. It was over in a matter of a fraction of a second. Pitbull 1: mouse 0

I love my dog!

House of Mouse

So I come home today from work to find Rosco, our pitbull terrier, with his head crammed into the corner of our livingroom. First thing I thought was, "There must be a mouse in the corner." I hoped to be proven wrong, but...

I was right. So we now have mice. It sucks. I hate the creepy little buggers! And the worse thing is that it ran across my foot as I shook my yoga mat (I kinda thought it ran into there by how Rosco was acting)! Freaked me right out.

So, I suppose traps are in order. I hate traps. I hate having rodents running all over my house more, though, so...

I guess Mike and I will have to start setting out traps again. We went through this last winter. At least it has not been a problem this winter... until now. But the little nasty thing is in my living room! And after it ran off I have NO idea wher it went. I am thinking it may have gotten into my laundry, but I am too freaked out to check.

Why is that such a small and almost cute animal can cause me to wig out like this? Crazy.

For some reason, the picture I uploaded didn't appear in the previous post. I shall try again. Remember, I am new to this whole blog-thing!

"Think, think, think..."

"If you have a problem, THINK! When you have a problem... THINK! THINK! THINK!" Or, at least that is what Pooh says on "My Friends Tigger and Pooh, " a show my son, Gabe, LOVES!

Saturday we went to have breakfast with Diego at a local bookstore (what a waste of money!) and Gabe got a balloon. He loves balloons. Anyway, he decided that his balloon should not be tied to his wrist, but that he should hold the string.

We headed to Target after Diego and Gabe brought the balloon in with him, grasping the string tightly in his little fist. Of course it was not long before he let go of his balloon. He's two. I was so proud of him, though, because he did not cry. He did not whine. He stood up in the cart and tried to reach his beloved balloon. No luck. He jumped. An inch or two perhaps. No luck. He then sat back down in the cart, put his finger to his head and said, "Think, think, think." He gestured that I should help, saying, "Need help!" I showed him that I, too, was not tall enough to reach his balloon. So he sat down in the cart and was fine!
He is TWO!

So, am I proud that my son is a thinker? You better believe it! Perhaps I am making too much of this, but I teach junior high kids, and many of them wouldn't handle such a situation in a similar manner. I hope that Gabe is always more of a thinker than an emotional reacter (is that a word?). You know what I mean.