Have a "creepy", "gross" Christmas (Sing to the tune of Holly-Jolly Christmas)

My brother-in-law was thrilled. "You need a dart for your classroom?" he boomed, "We will leave no bar untended in our quest to acquire one!"

My father was concerned. "You need a dart for your classroom?" he asked, "Shouldn't you be worried about impending litigation?"

My husband, as usual, didn't give it a second thought. "Aren't you going to ASK me why I want a dart for my classroom," I demanded, feeling hurt and neglected. "No," he answered with a sigh, "I'm just going to get you a dart and hope for the best."

Usually, my Advent bulletin board is comprised of gift boxes that are revealed, one by one, with that day's surprise activity. This year, however, I decided to change things up with a giant Santa sporting a beard of balloons. What was I thinking?

I came into my classroom on Saturday and began the process of drawing a giant Santa to fill up my bulletin board. That was the easy part. Now I had to color him. Fortunately, planning ahead for our up-coming Colonial Days, I had purchased poster markers. An hour later, I was flying high from the fumes. Eyes watering and head pounding, I then cut out my monster Saint Nick and wrestled him onto the board.

Step One: I should have stopped here. Or cut out a red circle and
 said it was Rudolph on a pitch dark Christmas Eve.

The next day, Sydney and I blew up sixteen balloons. Actually, Sydney blew up balloons while I hyperventilated. Eyes watering, head pounding, I stuffed them into plastic trash bags to transport them to school early Monday morning so that the children could be delighted by the magic of the holiday as soon as they walked in the door.

It turned out that "magical" was not the primary adjective employed when describing my bulletin board. The first adjective of the day was "creepy" which inspired a creative lesson in how you do not necessarily have to say the first thing that pops into your head (aka: If you don't have something nice to say...).

Step Two: Not to full "creepy" and "gross" status yet

The second adjective was an excellent example of how words can hit harder than a fist or strike sharper than the pointy end of a dart. "That's gross," one of my angelic little honeys declared, noticing that the natural static of the balloons, raised to supernatural status when combined with the natural static of the plastic trash bags, collected every spare human and canine hair within a fifty feet radius. With a Hulk-like rage, I stomped over to the dry erase board and wrote these vividly descriptive adjectives on the board, heroically resisting the impulse to smash every balloon in Santa's beard. "Creepy and gross," I yelled, "Are these the words that I was going for when I spent hours drawing, coloring, cutting, and inflating this display?"

Eyes watering and head pounding, I paused as I listened to myself. Who inflates a bulletin board display? And who inflates a display that inadvertently collects random hair samples? Maybe my advent bulletin board was creepy and gross. That wasn't what was important though. What was important was that, when my students looked at their creepy, gross bulletin board, they knew that their teacher thinks about them ALL THE TIME. On Saturday mornings. At 7 am on a Monday morning. On a Thursday night at Stuff-mart searching for white balloons. Every night as she recites their names alphabetically in her prayers.

Student A was drawn on this first day of Advent. He held the dart, balanced with precision between his fingertips and, with a practiced eye, let fly. POP! We cheered. The first activity was fitting: We sang Spongebob Squarepants' classic holiday hit:  Don't Be a Jerk: It's Christmas.