All around the mulberry bush
The monkey chased the weasel
The monkey thought 'twas all in fun
Pop! goes the weasel
Over the course of first semester 2011, I had about 4-5 (it's hard to know for sure) monkey breaking-and-enterings into my classroom. Each was unique in it's own special way--boys screaming, monkeys stealing and saws flying for a few anecdotes. You really cannot do much in their aftermaths except squeeze the only drops of sanity out of the experiences: their hilarity. And like much of life, the semester ended ironically by coming full-circle in monkey stories.
Once upon an early November afternoon, four boys were working on their art projects diligently after school while their teacher was out. Nothing in the day was out of the ordinary, and there was nothing foreseen to the contrary.
Until a monkey entered the room.
One of the boys saw the monkey peak its head in the room, apparently scoping out the scene. Since it left shortly upon coming, this student thought nothing of it and continued working. What he did not know was that the solo monkey was going back to get his gangbuster buddies to stage a surprise attack on the art room.
All of a sudden the four boys found themselves screaming in the corner of my classroom while monkeys went wild on my desk, the sinks, and my teacher chair.
They stomped prints on my papers. They scattered trashed all over my floor. They even had the gall to open my tuperware container and munch down the few remaining crackers.
As you can imagine, I returned to my classroom in a stew with four traumatized boys trying to mend their unraveled wits.
Perhaps the most intriguing piece of evidence denoting my students had not been hallucinating (besides the fact that we were in the Indian Himalaya) was the styrofoam pumpkin that once perched happily on my desk. As we cleaned up the mess, we found this decoration lying maimed on the floor. Not one, but two chomps had been taken out of the pumpkin: the first greedily devoured while the second was left intact for good reason. A monkey had tried to eat my styrofoam pumpkin, and I was pissed.
Days passed from the roaring upheaval like styrofoam through a monkey's innards. The only memory of the event remained as a trophy to survival in a world as intense as Indian spices. The pumpkin rested peacefully on my desk.
All seemed to fare well until a group of brutes planned and perpetrated the final ambush of Ms. E's art room.
Once again I was absent from the room while only one lonely art student quietly worked. The photo below of my whiteboard tells it all.
What goes around comes back around the mulberry bush.
The monkey chased the weasel
The monkey thought 'twas all in fun
Pop! goes the weasel
Over the course of first semester 2011, I had about 4-5 (it's hard to know for sure) monkey breaking-and-enterings into my classroom. Each was unique in it's own special way--boys screaming, monkeys stealing and saws flying for a few anecdotes. You really cannot do much in their aftermaths except squeeze the only drops of sanity out of the experiences: their hilarity. And like much of life, the semester ended ironically by coming full-circle in monkey stories.
Once upon an early November afternoon, four boys were working on their art projects diligently after school while their teacher was out. Nothing in the day was out of the ordinary, and there was nothing foreseen to the contrary.
Until a monkey entered the room.
One of the boys saw the monkey peak its head in the room, apparently scoping out the scene. Since it left shortly upon coming, this student thought nothing of it and continued working. What he did not know was that the solo monkey was going back to get his gangbuster buddies to stage a surprise attack on the art room.
All of a sudden the four boys found themselves screaming in the corner of my classroom while monkeys went wild on my desk, the sinks, and my teacher chair.
They stomped prints on my papers. They scattered trashed all over my floor. They even had the gall to open my tuperware container and munch down the few remaining crackers.
As you can imagine, I returned to my classroom in a stew with four traumatized boys trying to mend their unraveled wits.
Perhaps the most intriguing piece of evidence denoting my students had not been hallucinating (besides the fact that we were in the Indian Himalaya) was the styrofoam pumpkin that once perched happily on my desk. As we cleaned up the mess, we found this decoration lying maimed on the floor. Not one, but two chomps had been taken out of the pumpkin: the first greedily devoured while the second was left intact for good reason. A monkey had tried to eat my styrofoam pumpkin, and I was pissed.
Days passed from the roaring upheaval like styrofoam through a monkey's innards. The only memory of the event remained as a trophy to survival in a world as intense as Indian spices. The pumpkin rested peacefully on my desk.
All seemed to fare well until a group of brutes planned and perpetrated the final ambush of Ms. E's art room.
Once again I was absent from the room while only one lonely art student quietly worked. The photo below of my whiteboard tells it all.
What goes around comes back around the mulberry bush.
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