Child Labor Scofflaw

I tried to put my advisee kids to work today, in a sweatshop of sorts. After they finished their test, I commanded them to pick a skill and demonstrate it. Did I say 'commanded'? I meant 'invited'. We have started working on the Big-A$$ Do-Gooder Basket. By 'started working on', I mean we have dumped out all the bells and whistles, and left the basket bare. The door thingamajig is still in the planning stages. It is only some disjointed heads at this point.

But listen to this! I might be breaking the rules! Go figure! Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is not a common, garden-variety scofflaw! Laws, NO! M-O-O-N. That spells Mrs. HM is a law-abiding do-gooder. I know the rules said that the door has to be put up on judgment day. I mean 'judging day'. But the way it was explained to me was that you can work on it, you just can't hang it up until J-Day. Not even for a quick photo to see how it looks. But you can work on it plenty. Is that right, Mabel? That's how the in-charger who took away our Homeless Christmas theme put it to me. I know for certain that some groups have been working after school.

Mr. S put the kibosh on my sweatshop of horrors today. Why should those kids be sitting in class learning when they could be with me on my plan time, listening to Bing Crosby croon Christmas carols, and slapping that door doohickey together? Two kids were certain he would let them out once their work was finished. But NO! He told them it was not allowed. Hmm. I need to have a chat with him at the lunch table tomorrow. Let me know, Mabel, if I really am breaking the rules. Oh. I forgot. You're the one who started campaigning for Turkey Teacher a week before the contest started. Perhaps you're not the best choice for a consultation on RULES. If you know what I mean.

Lucky for me a sub felt like getting rid of two other kids, as long as I sent a note that made it legal. And Mabel's math crony also donated a child to my cause. Lucky for me, I had already assessed their skills. I had a sketcher, an outliner, and a cutter. But we sorely missed those basketeers. Time to get out my rootin' tootin' homemade hillbilly corncob persuader doll. Mr. S might feel a twinge in his lower back later this evening. Because I really need those basketeers. They are female. As opposed to the three young males I had sweating up my shop today. I am very conscious of kid-gossip. In fact, I even propped open my classroom door while they were perspiring to Bing's oldies. I normally keep it closed against the sewer aroma from the boys' bathroom that permeates our hall every afternoon, like a forgotten mouse abandoned in a trap over a two-week summer vacation. I don't want any hints of impropriety in this witch-hunting day and age. My first year of teaching, a crony let a 9th grade boy sit in her car at the baseball field when a thunderstorm suddenly came up. The next day, he told everybody he made out with her. He apparently missed the memo that she was of an alternative persuasion.

In other news, the sleet came a-callin' around two o'clock this afternoon. All after-school activities were canceled, and we surged out of that building like so many rats off a sinking ship. Or undocumented workers from a clandestine sweatshop. It has been melting and re-freezing over the last two hours here at the Mansion. I have a feeling we will be doing illegal sweatshop business as usual tomorrow, but it was nice to be commanded to bring home our emergency phone tree. One can always hope.

The school year is almost over anyway, you know.