A Day In the Life, Dear Students

Don’t Touch the Art Teacher

  
“What the…? What… what are you doing? Are you rubbing your cheek on my knee? Please don’t touch Ms. Art Teacher.”

“What the…? What was that? Did you… ? It felt like… like something touched my hair. Did you just pet my hair? Please don’t pet Ms. Art Teacher’s hair.”

“What the…? What are you…? Why are you…? Are you trying to climb onto my lap? You’re in third grade! Please don’t sit on Ms. Art Teacher.”

“What the…? Why the…? Do you need something? Please don’t hit Ms. Art Teacher there.”

“Please don’t touch Ms. Art Teacher’s belly.”

“Please get your fingers out of Ms. Art Teacher’s hair.”

“Please stop pulling on Ms. Art Teacher’s shirt.”

“Please step away from Ms. Art Teacher.”

“Ms. Art Teacher needs some space.”

“Give Ms. Art Teacher some elbow room.”

“Elbow room, folks, GIVE MS. ART TEACHER SOME FREAKIN’ ELBOW ROOM!”

“Oh. You need a hug? Well, that’s okay then. Ms. Art Teacher loves hugs.”

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In the Art Room

Miss vs. Ms.

At what point do you drop the “Miss” and become a “Ms.”?

Who makes that call?

I never quite got the delicate maneuverings of using Miss, Ms. and Mrs. When I was little I used to assume “Miss” was used for an unmarried woman, “Mrs.” was used for a married woman, and “Ms.” was used for a divorced woman. But then my stepmother, who was obviously married to my father, came along and she used “Ms.”, but she was married.

And then my mind was blown.

In the past, I’ve always used “Miss” in the classroom. You know, because I’m unmarried, and, quite frankly, I thought it sounded… sweeter, if you will. Plus, hey, you never know, someday I might have ended up married and could then easily slip into the more matronly sounding “Mrs.”

Do teachers even still use “Miss”?

But now that I’m 30 (and still unmarried), using “Miss” feels… wrong. It feels like false advertising. Like, “Yes, I’m still young and sweet and totally marriageable,” when in fact I feel myself becoming increasingly bitter and snippy. I lack a certain spring in my step. A particular childishness I once had.

Of course, none of this really matters because the county decided I was a “Ms.” without even consulting me.

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Dear Students

Dear Students: We Need to Talk.

Dear Students:

We need to talk. There are some of you who do things/look at me/say things that creep me the freak out. Yes, that’s right. You’re younger, smaller, and more fragile than I am, however I’m still a little bit scared of you. Well, some of you.

Like you, cute little Kindergarten girl. You come to my class all put together and composed, dressed in the cutest, stylish outfits with the most precious hair clips. You’re capable of answering all of my questions and your comments are always so insightful. When we were drawing the human body using basic shapes like ovals and rectangles, you really got it. However, when you complained to me that your coloring hand wouldn’t stop scribbling over all your work, you creeped me the freak out. And then when I witnessed it for myself, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. There you sat, orange crayon in hand, drawing yourself very well. And then, all of a sudden, your hand wildly started scribbling and you kept saying, “Make it stop, make it stop.” And when you hit yourself in the head, and it stopped, I desperately started searching my room for some holy water. At least we were able to get a picture drawn together, without the wild scribbling, when I instructed you to draw something and then told you to STOP. Draw the next thing, and STOP. But then, later, when I was going through the Kindergarten faces you all drew the week before, I was terrified all over again. You see, I had noticed that while you were able to draw your face very nicely, I also noticed that your eyes were violently scribbled out. Now, I’m no art therapist, but…

And how about you, little first grader? You sit there, staring at me with your Tony Goldwyn face, which creeps me the freak out. You don’t smile. You don’t laugh. You don’t find any amusement in me, your classmates or the work we do. You just sit there. All serious like, crisscrossed applesauce with your hands in your lap. Except when your chin is resting on your hand, but not in a tired, lazy kind of way. More in a critical, analytical kind of way. You never answer any questions, but you always know what’s going on. You have no tolerance for the silliness in the room. Sometimes I just want to take you by the shoulders, shake you, and say, “Lighten up kid! You’re six years old, not 46!” And yet, you are one of the best artists in the classroom. You know exactly what you want to do with the assignment, and you execute it perfectly. And also super freaky? Your classmates immediately recognize your work as your work. 


And let’s not forget about you, silent sixth grader. In a class full of loud-mouthed, opinionated and outspoken sixth graders, you are silent. Eerily silent. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak. I have, however, seen you staring at me. Like, all the time, and guess what? That creeps me the freak out. You are always staring at me. Always. Even when I’m not talking and you’re supposed to be working. And you have the saddest eyes peeking out from behind your shiny curls. If someone told me to select a student who I thought might someday obsessively stalk me, you would be it. And yet, you are one of the best artists in the class. You are capable of planning and drawing in a way that I never could as a sixth grader. And your ideas are solid.


So in conclusion, creepy students, keep up the creep/freak factor. As much as it weirds me out, it will take you far in the art world. Trust me. Except for maybe you, little Kindergarten girl. You might need some medication and a good therapist.


Sincerely,
Your art teacher.

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In the Art Room

Time to Fess Up

Did someone feature me somewhere and not tell me? All of a sudden I have a HUGE spike in traffic to my art teacher blog. I’m not complaining. In fact, I’m flattered by all the attention. But seriously, if someone talked about me, LET ME KNOW! I like to reward people for their good deeds. I have tons of “goody” bags just waiting for good homes.

NOTE: If you or someone you know spread the word about this little blog, please let me know whether you prefer multi-colored glitter or glitter that has become multi-colored because someone lost the patience to make sure kids didn’t mix it. And furthermore, you like pom poms and feathers, right? I thought so. Just checking. Not that this has anything at all to do with the above mentioned “goody” bags. I’m just curious. Yes, that’s it. I’m just curious.

Disclaimer: I don’t actually have goody bags to give away. Sorry to disappoint.

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In the Art Room

Twelve

    
  
One two three
Four five six
Seven eight nine
Ten eleven twelve
Nose pickers
Came to the Kindergarten art class
One two three
Four five six
Seven eight nine
Ten eleven twelve
And they all sneezed boogies
All over the art room
And then their art teacher felt the twinge. And the twitch. And the tightening of the throat and the running of the nose and the sneezing of the germs and it only took three weeks.

Back to school, gotta love it.
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