My loving wife's birthday is coming up in two weeks.  She's at work now, and we miss her.  Sundays aren't the same without her.  I love her company, her everything, and I love the fact that she sacrifices her Sundays to put in a few extra hours at work to cover for a sick colleague.  It's only temporary, we hope!  

We had a fun family birthday party for the December birthdays at my mother-in-law's house yesterday.  My wife and child, both December babies, received a carload of gifts that have taken over our house.  With the addition of the Christmas tree to the living room, it seems as if there is nowhere to turn in this shoebox home of ours.  We're cramped, but we love it, for now.  For the first time in years, I managed to escape injury when installing the 7.5 foot tall artificial tree in the living room.  I usually end up abraded, punctured, or lacerated by one or more of the unruly branches of the blue-green beast that I unbox and drag up from the basement every December for the holidays.  Injuries tend to be a major player in my holiday celebrations.  I sustained a wonderful gouge on the dorsal surface of my wrist from an uncooperative car seat before packing ourselves up for our Richmond trip.  It's looking better now, mostly closed and scabbed over after ten days of cycling through healing, cracking in the winter air, and healing again, before reopening due to the occupational hazards of writing on whiteboards and correcting papers, and healing again.   It should leave a nice little scar when all is written, frozen, and done.

I spent half of my half day with my most loathsome class. I was glad to see that three notorious troublemakers decided to stay home. I figured class would be smooth, and it was going just fine until one girl tripped over her chair and fell to the floor pretty hard. I rushed over to check on her, and she was full of drama, totally milking her moment, and I could tell she was fine. I gave her a minute and asked her to get up. As I'm helping this girl to her feet, I notice three knuckleheads laughing their heads off on the other side of the room. I deal with my injured girl, let a friend escort her to the nurse, and address these cackling morons on the other side of the room.

I pointed North, South, East, and West at my classroom rules. I asked, what is rule number one? "Respect everyone and everything in the classroom!" I lay into these kids, asking how they would feel if they were injured and everyone else was laughing at them as they writhed on the ground in pain. They didn't get it. One girl kept laughing her fool head off, so I closed her lab book and told her to get out of my room. I held her book out, waiting for her to take it, but she was too busy laughing to acknowledge my order. I threw her book at the door and said "GET OUT, NOW." Suddenly, it wasn't funny anymore. "Oh, how can you throw my stuff? Gonna disrespect me like that?" "Go," I said, adding "You're not respecting me, my classroom, or your classmates, so why should I treat you with any respect? GET OUT."

She huffed off, out the door. A boy piped up to offer her defense. I told him not to get involved. He told me I was wrong for throwing her things. I told him that I didn't care and that if he kept talking, he would join her. He kept talking. I told him to leave. He huffed and puffed his way out the door.

I put out a few more fires, none worth mentioning. I love their sense of entitlement. I explained that my classroom is not a democracy, it's an absolute monarchy with me as King, and I make the rules that they will follow. Break the rules and you're gone. This isn't up for discussion or a vote. If you make it hard for me to do my job, I make it hard for you to pass my class by kicking you out, costing you points and valuable classroom time.

They came back next period, telling me that an administrator said they should come back to class. I told them that they weren't welcome back and to get lost for another period. I've given these kids enough chances. I tried for five weeks to work with them, but they just don't get it, so it's my way or the highway. I'm not going to screw up the educations of the fifteen other kids in the room who cause no disruptions to try and save the five assholes who want to disturb my class. They lack maturity, and by age 16, I expect maturity, a modicum of decorum.

It's a long weekend. I've got Monday off and I plan to enjoy it. Four teaching days next week. I love short weeks.