Reindeer desecration

 In my mind's eye, it always looks different. Pinterest-perfect. And then you add in sixteen 9-year-olds and your expectations get adjusted quickly...sometimes...painfully. Yesterday will now forever be known as the day "G" ate a crayon. As a sweet gesture ("Sweet" as in thoughtful; NOT "sweet" as in tasty), one of my students had cranked out seventeen little stars in her crayon-melting-mold device as gifts for her classmates. It did not occur to me to make a verbal disclaimer which is something I have actually developed quite a talent for. I've even named this cultivated skill: Disclaimer improv. "Please don't unbend my large paperclips in order to stab one another." Oops...that needed immediate amending as 9-year-olds are quick to find loopholes. "Please don't unbend ANY sized paperclip-shaped objects." I once fabric-painted names on tiny stuffed elephants and spent the day repeating, "Please don't point
your elephant trunks at each other and pretend that they're guns." So I shouldn't have been surprised when "G" unceremoniously popped his star into his mouth. But I was. We are were. The entire class froze as we watched the emotions evolve across "G's" face: Surprise,

awareness, disgust, and then...determination. None of us could breathe as we saw him swallow. "Would you like some water," I asked gently, sifting through my mind's fact file that most quality crayons no longer contain lead and/or asbestos. I considered asking my star-maker if her crayons had been manufactured in China but figured it was too late now anyway. "No, I'm good," "G" gulped, his face a slight shade of gray. Or maybe ash, stone, slate, or oyster.

So if we can't handle something as simple as gift-giving, what on earth made me think that we could handle making a 3-D ornament? The decorations were simple enough. Cut. Trace. Cut again. We lost focus during the trim one-inch sections of straw section. Disclaimers were quickly made about paper-wads and students who chose to ignore my instructions lost their straw privileges.  We also learned what it means when Mrs. Mosiman yells, "This is the last straw!" Simple instructions, simple shapes, simple decorations...two eyes, a little reindeer nose, color in the hooves...BAM! You're done!

No. Instead we ended up with reindeer sporting Snidley Whiplash mustaches and grilled teeth. "Why does your reindeer look like that," I sighed. "He deals blackjack, Mrs. Mosiman," my artist explained as another deer decorator yelled across the room, "Look! Mine has a tattoo!" Choosing to ignore this reindeer desecration, I pretended it was a malformed tail. Santa accepted Rudolph with his nose so bright, why wouldn't he embrace this herd of hipster doofuses? Should the sleigh break down at a casino, they'll come in handy.