Boring but Cute

There is nothing like moving to a new apartment to highlight the most un-fun features of being an adult.  My husband and I moved out of our apartment this week and are currently on a road trip across the country to our new pad.  This process has been chock full of those "being an adult" tasks like Cleaning the Oven (a task which we managed to put off for 7 years until this sparklingly clean oven would be enjoyed by not us), Vacuuming the Closets, and well, Cleaning the Everything.

The main up side to adulthood, of course, is that you get to use hot tubs.  At least, that seemed to be the one salient benefit of being a grown-up according to Hanna and Tyrica in their book, How to Be a Kid.  In addition to their list of pros and cons of being a kid, the girls also laid out a summary of life stages.  Essentially there is a fantastic period of work-free glory days sandwiched between long stretches of boring.

At least babies get to be cute and boring.  We adults just get strict and boring.  And oven cleaning.

The Purple Basket is Coming for You

I am rather surprised to report that classroom cleaning has gone too far.

The road to the current situation of over-cleaning began with the problem of too much being left out at the end of the day.  A dense layer of pencils, folders, papers, pencils, a plastic fork from lunch, pencils, a tissue, journals, a math game piece, books, a glue stick, plus a couple of pencils, spread evenly throughout the classroom is a typical scene after the kids have gone.  During dismissal, I send out troops to find 4 things that aren't where they belong and to return them to their rightful places.  The pencil sharpeners go hunting for far-flung pencils.  I steer kids in the direction of the folders they've left on their tables.  This seems to do miraculously little, though, to reduce the number of forgotten items strewn around the room.

Then came the advent of the purple basket.  Into this purple basket I toss everything that hasn't been shelved, foldered, cubbied, trashed, recycled, boxed, or tubbed where it should by the end of dismissal.  During morning meeting, we review the contents of the purple basket and try to beat the clock to hasten it all to a suitable home.

One afternoon, Tyrica asked if she could be on purple basket duty.  Clearly this was a far superior plan than me being on purple basket duty.  A new classroom job was born.

Each day at dismissal, Tyrica's haul has been growing larger.  She rounds up folders, papers, pencils, books, and has been lately prone to basketing items that are still actively in use.  Kids in the middle of putting their homework into their backpack have been finding an empty spot where they just set their folder down.

This afternoon Tyrica cast the net of "abandoned items" a bit too far.  "Sticky notes!" she announced and reached for the yellow pad of sticky notes on the table.  In my hand.  On which I was writing.

"These aren't left out, I'm writing on them!" I exclaimed.

"It looks like you're just holding the marker over the paper, stroking it on there" she observed.

"Yes.  That, in fact, is what I'm doing.  Holding the marker over the paper and 'stroking it on there' is called....writing."

Tyrica moved on to another corner of the room, rustling up her daily basketful.  I think it's time to clarify that this is not a contest for how big a collection she can amass....

If you are in our room at the end of the day and have any supplies you value, watch out for our over-eager cleaner!

Cleaning Frenzy

If it could be wiped, I wiped it.

If it could be disinfected, I disinfected it.

If it could be scrubbed, I scrubbed it to within an inch of its life.

If it could be squeezed out of a rodent's behind, I attacked it with no less than seven different exclamations of disgust and no less than five different cleaning products.  “Kills 99% of bacteria” read one label.  “Hmmm.”  I thought.  “That’s not going to do.  Better get another couple of products in here.”

Yes, today was my Major Classroom Cleaning Day.  I’m a week away from the first day of school and spent many hours today wielding Goo Gone, cleaning spray, nail polish remover, white board cleaner, sponges, rags, paper towels, and cleaning wipes.

Dust, stray tape, pencil marks, crayon streaks, label residue, mouse poop, sticky blobs—you name it, I conquered it.  When I had finished with all the hard surfaces, I rounded up all of the pillowcases, rag rugs, and fabric shelf covers in the classroom and headed home to hit the laundry room.  On the way out I stopped in to check in on another teacher who had spent the afternoon in a similar cleaning frenzy. 

“Wait—you’re washing your stuffed animals?” I asked, eyeing a bag of fur.  I guess I had thought that plush alligators were somehow immune to the layer of grime that accumulated everywhere else in the classroom.  As images of sneezes, nose-picking, jellied fingers, and pencil shavings flashed through my head, I calculated that I had never.  Actually.  Ever.  Washed those stuffed animals.  Ever.  And some of them I’ve had for 10 years.

At home, I crammed heaping armfuls into the two industrial sized machines in my apartment’s laundry room.  Who knew that stuffed animals could just be…washed in the washing machine?  And who knew that the kangaroo’s belly was actually white and not a dull gray?                                                                                                                                  

Tomorrow everything in the room will be multiple shades lighter than it started off today, and closer to being ready for the first day of school.  I plan to request that the children refrain from sneezing, nose-picking, eating, and sharpening pencils until at least the second day.

Happy to Help.....

Image: debidrecksler.blogspot.com

After school programs are like gold mines for cleaning/stacking/sharpening helper elves.  You know what I'm talking about.  Dismissal hits and you release all of the children into the wild.  Then, you selectively recruit one or two particularly competent ones from the aftercare room for some afterschool jobs around the classroom.

They stack the chairs!

They sharpen the pencils!

They help pass out papers!

They might even offer a little unsolicited advice as they help clean for Back to School Night.  Abria, on loan from aftercare the afternoon before the evening's presentation, suggested that we put out a few of the beanbag chairs for the parents.  "Can't we just tell them to relax or something?"

And then....

Ahem.  AHEM!

That is the sound of a child with her hand outstretched, waiting for a little payment.  I'd like to think their donation of time is a labor of love.  Your payment?  A lovely, clean classroom!  How delightful!  Isn't it fun to put back the randomly scattered markers into their boxes?  What a treat!  Sharp pencils!  We can all appreciate that, eh?

Some children, though, ain't buyin' it.  Enough of this, "Helping is fun" nonsense.  Their time comes at a price.

During the Back to School Night preparations, Abria started dropping some "subtle" hints about her preferred form of compensation. 

"That's not fair that you get to chew gum and we don't!" she exclaimed.

"Mm hmm.  Now let's move these tables" I replied.

"You sure do smell minty fresh!' said Abria after she and Carson had helped rearrange the tables.

  For their 45 minutes of work, I thought that a piece of gum each was a very reasonable price.

  Today after school, there was some stacking, sharpening, and cleaning to be done, so I hit up my usual labor pool.  Abria and Ellie were happy to come help out.  When the jobs were done, the girls gathered up their bookbags to go.  "Bye!" Abria cheerfully called over her shoulder.  "We're happy to help!....even thought we didn't get no treats."

  Despite her hinting, today's payment was a lovely, clean classroom.  We can all appreciate that!

Unwrap a Treasure

I always expect the line between Trash and Not Trash to be much more clear than it turns out to be in third grade.  Today I was foiled again by the unclear distinction between the two.

In my book, Trash is something you don't want or need any more, that can't be reused or recycled or given away.  The category of Not Trash includes (but is not limited to) things you want to save for later, or things you might leave out on a shelf.

On my way to the stapler this afternoon after school, I happened to spot a folded up paper.  "Oh look!" I thought to myself.  "This must be a valuable item that someone wants to save for later, seeing as how it is left out on this shelf."  Upon closer inspection, I determined that this piece of Not Trash was actually a carefully folded index card.

"Ah--maybe a love note" I thought.  Those tend to come folded up in such packages.  Perhaps this wad contains reasons # 26-50 of the infamous Reasons Why I Am Nevery Leveing You.  Or maybe it's an interactive Circle Yes or No note.

"Or possibly a freshly lost tooth" I guessed as I opened the folds.  That would certainly be something to save and not throw out.  Well, except when those lost teeth and various other items get mistaken for trash and we have to stage heroic efforts to reclaim the Not Trash.

After several layers, the prized contents revealed themselves to be....pencil shavings.  Really?  That is what was so carefully wrapped and left on a shelf in a Save for Later bundle?  But--it's--[sigh].  I tossed the shavings and their origami-like container into the trash.  

Why would someone take all of that effort to package up some pencil shavings?  I did have some avid pencil lead collectors one year, so I guess there's a precedent for saving odd treasures and, in fact, starting a business by selling them. 

With a class full of eight year olds who, as a group, often save weird things and are also generally bad at cleaning, I guess I won't expect to Trash vs. Not Trash distinction to become any more clear in the near future.

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Spills and Sticky Blobs

We're still close enough to the beginning of the year that I can at least vaguely recall the feeling of stocked shelves.  When the kids arrived for the new year with fresh haircuts, new shoes, and toting bags full of supplies, I stacked all of the paper towels on top of the cubbies and thought to myself,  "Finally!  This will be the year that we'll make it at least halfway through December without running out of paper towels!" 

To the untrained eye, our mountains of paper towels must have looked like a year's stash if not more, but as I gazed upon our bounty of Bounty, Viva, and Brawny, I pictured the leaking water bottles, the hemorrhaging juice boxes, the dripping glue, and the smeared chocolate pudding that would surely make quick work of these rolls in our near future.  I revised my estimate to put our restock date closer to the middle of October.

Eating both snack and lunch in our classroom ensures that we have a steady stream of containers trotting around the room, waiting to be spilled, knocked, squirted, punctured, or tipped.  And when the school lunches come with oranges, well, pretty much everything ends up sticky.

Today Dewan managed to wind up with a lap full of water while trying to assemble his do-it-yourself Lunchable Kool-Aid.  Yes, whoever decided that it was a good idea to give kids a packet of powder to pour through the tiny opening of a bottle of water was perhaps an investor in paper towel stock.  I came over to survey the damage (and to make sure this was actually water all over his pants....) and found not only a puddle on the ground but splash marks reaching two feet in any direction, and a not-insignificant amount of water on the table as well.  Not to let his drink-fixing endeavor be waylaid by the spill, Dewan poured the pink powder into what was left of his bottle of water, turning it bright red and "frooty" before dashing off to fetch the paper towels.  "Well," I thought as I watched half of the powder end up on the table, "We're due for a thorough wiping down anyway, what's a little more mess?"

Anyone who noticed Dewan's dripping pants could have easily guessed who was the party responsible for the spill today.  Last week, however, we encountered a mysterious blob of sticky gooeyness with no clear origin.  "Clean that up," I told the kids sitting nearby.  No luck.  Even after enlisting the help of the entire group, the blob remained unmoved.  There seemed to be no explanation for this curious, dark purple blob.  "Did anyone over here have blueberries today?"  No such luck.  Two kids still valiantly continued attacking the sticky mess with the cleaning spray.

"It's probably cake" piped up Ciara.  Never mind the fact that there had been exactly no cake on the menu that day, the fact that we actually never have cake in class, or the fact that the purple, gummy mystery mess in no way resembled cake.  We never did figure out what the blob was, but I'm sure we'll have plenty of opportunities in the near future to play another thrilling round of, "Guess That Mess."

What was YOUR biggest classroom spill?

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The Day We've Been Waiting For!

Wanna know how to make a day incredibly special?  Clean.

I knew preparing for our dinner party tonight would involve some cleaning.  Then....my husband woke up yesterday with ENORMOUS welts.  In a panic about what creature was living in our room and feasting on Nate, we launched into a cleaning spree, washing, spraying, vacuuming, wiping everything around.  Still on a roll from the spider (?) bite scare, we turned to the kitchen that was also overdue for some thorough cleaning.  After two solid days of cleaning, I hope there will be no more bites, and that we're finally all ready to have people over tonight.

The flurry of cleaning in anticipation of an event definitely heightens the seeming importance of that event.  I woke up this morning, ready to start cleaning, and thought of Jasmine's exclamation as we prepared one year for a publishing party in our classroom.  Parents were invited and we were working extra hard to get the room ready for the special event.  Cleaning mode is like no other time in the classroom--I don't really pay attention to kids' behavior, but just trust that the excitement of moving tables and chairs and sweeping will get everyone hyped enough that they won't have time to poke or tease anyone.  It takes all hands on deck to get the furniture where it needs to go--but if all hands are on deck, there aren't any hands free for mischief.  That's the hope.....

We were cleaning, lifting tables, arranging chairs, sweeping the floor, and straightening the marker boxes to get ready for the publishing party when Jasmine exclaimed, "I can't believe today's finally the day we've been waiting for!"  Tyler, too, was caught up in the moment.  "This is a really big deal!" 

Now, not that our publishing party wasn't a big deal, but you would have thought they were talking about something truly incredible.  In third grade it doesn't really take much to count as a "day we've been waiting for," but I think it's the cleaning that really seals the deal.  "If Ms. Sarah cares more about how the room looks than about if Emmanuel is flicking pencils in the library--this must be a special day!"

Other kids can be rather harsh critics, however.  On our daily schedule one day, I put in the "Special Event" card for a guest speaker we were having come in to talk about government.  After the talk, I saw Matthew look at the schedule and realize that the PowerPoint presentation we had just watched happened at half past ten.  Hmmm.  "But 10:30 was supposed to be...." I could see him thinking.  "That wasn't a special event" he said, fortunately out of earshot of the guest speaker.


After all that scrubbing (not to mention cooking), I'm definitely ready for tonight's special event!  They had BETTER comment on how clean our baseboards are.

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