During activity time, I noticed Daria digging in her butt, as usual. She was standing with her back to the corner, facing me, with both hands down the back of her pants and an odd satisfied grin on her face.
Whenever I catch any student with his or her hand down their pants I’ll remind them that this is not appropriate, ask them if they need to use the restroom, and then make sure they wash their hands.
“Daria, where are your hands?”
Daria smiles and takes them out and hold them in the air to show me.
"Thank you, Daria. Do you need to use the restroom?”
"No, I itch."
"Okay, how about you go wash your hands now.”
Daria begins to waddle to the classroom sink to wash her hands.
Then I noticed something. Peeking over the waistband of her pants, directly above her butt, was our tiny classroom American flag—the kind on a stick that costs a dollar at Wal-mart. It was just flapping in the breeze as she sauntered to the sink to wash her patriotic little hands.
Even though I guess it was a little unpatriotic, I made sure she threw that flag away.
Showing posts with label Daria. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Daria. Show all posts
Sunday, November 8, 2015
17: Sick Daria
Daria got a really bad ear infection and needed to have a minor procedure done. She was in the hospital for a day or two and missed school for a week to recover.
After the third day of her absence, I explained to the class where she was even though no one noticed she was gone. Anni asked with a quivering lip why Daria was in the hospital.
Before I could explain, Jay asks, “Is it because when she spilled Kool-aid on the carpet last week?”
I think maybe Jay has been witness to some domestic violence.
After the third day of her absence, I explained to the class where she was even though no one noticed she was gone. Anni asked with a quivering lip why Daria was in the hospital.
Before I could explain, Jay asks, “Is it because when she spilled Kool-aid on the carpet last week?”
I think maybe Jay has been witness to some domestic violence.
9: Crappy Date Night
After a day of cleaning up drool, teaching how to count to three and how to color in the lines, I went out per usual with my TA for happy hour. We went our favorite watering hole, Doogan's.
While we were there this tall, attractive man asked for my number and asked if we could have dinner the next night. I agreed. He then asked where I worked, it seemed to be rather close to his work, so he asked if he could pick me up there. I agreed. By the way, I told him I was just a K-5 teacher. Not a K-5 sped teacher.
He came by and saw my kids while we were waiting for the bus and parents to pick everyone up, and didn't seem to be bothered. After 45 minutes one kid remained, Daria. I knew her parents only lived about a mile from the school, but they tend to forget to pick her up from time to time due to their conflicting schedules.
I asked my date if we could drive her home. He said it’d be alright, although he was very hesitant. I think he could tell something was not right with her but I said nothing. As we were driving, I saw her house a few blocks down, and smiled because we were almost in the clear and she had been a perfect angel.
No sooner did I have this thought when I hear, “Hey Mister!…(giggle, giggle)….smell!”
Daria digs in her pants a lot--in her butt to be specific. I turned to see a small arm reaching from the back seat (Yes, I forgot to buckle her up, so sue me, it was a mile to her house and she was in the back seat). I then followed the line of her arm to see that she had her poop-laden finger directly under my dates nose.
He turned bright red and stared at me in horror while I laughed. We ended up going back to the same Doogan's where we had met the night before. After one drink and very little conversation on his end, he nervously said,
"Oh, I forgot, I have something to do on the other side of town, could you get a cab home if I paid for it?”
I haven’t heard from him since. It’s just tard poo, dick.
While we were there this tall, attractive man asked for my number and asked if we could have dinner the next night. I agreed. He then asked where I worked, it seemed to be rather close to his work, so he asked if he could pick me up there. I agreed. By the way, I told him I was just a K-5 teacher. Not a K-5 sped teacher.
He came by and saw my kids while we were waiting for the bus and parents to pick everyone up, and didn't seem to be bothered. After 45 minutes one kid remained, Daria. I knew her parents only lived about a mile from the school, but they tend to forget to pick her up from time to time due to their conflicting schedules.
I asked my date if we could drive her home. He said it’d be alright, although he was very hesitant. I think he could tell something was not right with her but I said nothing. As we were driving, I saw her house a few blocks down, and smiled because we were almost in the clear and she had been a perfect angel.
No sooner did I have this thought when I hear, “Hey Mister!…(giggle, giggle)….smell!”
Daria digs in her pants a lot--in her butt to be specific. I turned to see a small arm reaching from the back seat (Yes, I forgot to buckle her up, so sue me, it was a mile to her house and she was in the back seat). I then followed the line of her arm to see that she had her poop-laden finger directly under my dates nose.
He turned bright red and stared at me in horror while I laughed. We ended up going back to the same Doogan's where we had met the night before. After one drink and very little conversation on his end, he nervously said,
"Oh, I forgot, I have something to do on the other side of town, could you get a cab home if I paid for it?”
I haven’t heard from him since. It’s just tard poo, dick.
Entry 1: My kids eat corn
My school is located in a fairly rural state. We have a varying mix of metropolitan city dwellers, suburbanites, and the good ol' corn fed folk. A few of my kids come from farms or trailer courts near and/or around the city I work in.
Unfortunately, many of these same kids come from lower income households. Many of these people are poor because they do not know how to manage money. At an average house, the household income is budgeted in this hierarchy: alcohol, trailer payments, scratch off lottery tickets, and only then feeding corn to their tard children.
How do I know that corn is a staple dinner for these tards? It all happened one day when one of my tards decided that her poop wasn’t waste, it was a fun toy. Not only that, but a toy that I would enjoy playing with.
Daria comes from typical tard family background. The mother drank all through out the pregnancy, burdening Daria with fetal alcohol syndrome. Sadly, a standard issue trailer park story from around here. She is a cute girl, except for her misshapen football head and the occasional fit of rage. She actually resembles Stewie from ‘The Family Guy.’
Anyway, Daria was digging in her Wal-Mart elastic-wasted pants, which she does on a regular basis, while I was trying to teach them how to play Red Rover. I ignored her for the time being and continued explaining the game. They of course could not understand the concept of why only one person got to run over at a time.
After 20 minutes of calling a name and then stopping multi-tard stampedes, Daria’s name was finally called. When she ran by she yelled,
“Miss Pell! PWESENT!”
Who knew she had aim? Her sticky little hand fired a corn dimpled log at my face, hitting me square in the face with her poop.
I was thus presented with undeniable proof that she eats a lot of corn.
I called my assistant to come watch the kids while I picked corn and fecal matter from my face and hair for the next 30 minutes, pondered my life as a sped teacher, and decided which bar happy hour would be at that day.
Unfortunately, many of these same kids come from lower income households. Many of these people are poor because they do not know how to manage money. At an average house, the household income is budgeted in this hierarchy: alcohol, trailer payments, scratch off lottery tickets, and only then feeding corn to their tard children.
How do I know that corn is a staple dinner for these tards? It all happened one day when one of my tards decided that her poop wasn’t waste, it was a fun toy. Not only that, but a toy that I would enjoy playing with.
Daria comes from typical tard family background. The mother drank all through out the pregnancy, burdening Daria with fetal alcohol syndrome. Sadly, a standard issue trailer park story from around here. She is a cute girl, except for her misshapen football head and the occasional fit of rage. She actually resembles Stewie from ‘The Family Guy.’
Anyway, Daria was digging in her Wal-Mart elastic-wasted pants, which she does on a regular basis, while I was trying to teach them how to play Red Rover. I ignored her for the time being and continued explaining the game. They of course could not understand the concept of why only one person got to run over at a time.
After 20 minutes of calling a name and then stopping multi-tard stampedes, Daria’s name was finally called. When she ran by she yelled,
“Miss Pell! PWESENT!”
Who knew she had aim? Her sticky little hand fired a corn dimpled log at my face, hitting me square in the face with her poop.
I was thus presented with undeniable proof that she eats a lot of corn.
I called my assistant to come watch the kids while I picked corn and fecal matter from my face and hair for the next 30 minutes, pondered my life as a sped teacher, and decided which bar happy hour would be at that day.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)