Got Your Nose!

I suppose I got off easy, with only a single nose in my desk.

I warned the students as they entered my classroom: "I'd better not find a pile of eyes and noses on my floor!" Of course they agreed. No eyes or noses. Not from them! Whatever was I thinking? But you know how it is. You have to specify. It's not enough to simply assume kids understand that leaving behind eyes and noses is improper. A violation of Mrs. Thevictorian's Don't-Do-It List.

The dismembering began, and I tried to remain calm. They had promised, had they not? One lad did his part by scavenging all the eyeballs. In fact, he had a whole handful. "See, Mrs. Thevictorian? Eyes! I won't let any get left on the floor. I'll take them all. The other kids can give them to ME. I'll take care of them. You can never have too many eyeballs." I commend his effort. Not so sure how his mom will feel when he gets home.

Midway through fourth hour, I saw that I should have been more specific in my rules. No, it wasn't the question, "Can I stab my brother?" I'm used to that. It was the question, "Do you have any scissors? That I can borrow?" Hmm...now why would a student want scissors? Even the would-be brother-stabber did not ask for a weapon.

"Why do you need scissors?"

"To cut this in half."

"Um. No." Indeed. I should have specified: "No eyes, no noses, no antlers!"

At the 10:53 lunch shift, a generous scholastic club passed out candy canes to any student who wanted one. Candy canes decorated with googly eyes, hard plastic or puff-ball noses, and pipe-cleaner antlers. It would have been cruel to deny the kiddies the chance to eat their reindeers in my classroom during a showing of the fictional climate-themed movie, "The Day After Tomorrow." It's the day before Christmas break. Finals have been put off until the week after vacation, thanks to our seven snow days. Let it never be said that Mrs. Thevictorian is a grinch.

Have you ever observed a ninth-grader devouring a candy cane? It is not a sight for the squeamish. Some hone the end to a weapons-grade point. Others slam it on the desk until it becomes crumbs. A few peel back the cellophane a tiny bit while slurping at the end, then a tiny bit more, and a tiny bit more. When they are done, they look like a toddler dipped in Karo syrup. "Can I go wash my hands? They're sticky."

"No. The door will lock you out. We don't need people roaming the halls. Go use the Germ-X."

Yes. There's a method to my madness of forking over hard-earned cash for a couple of giant bottles of Germ-X each year.

A single reindeer nose. I think I got off easy.