Housefuls of Kids

You know how I usually like a houseful of kids - cooking for a crowd and enjoying listening to their fun. 

This 15 year old birthday party was a big exception.  Most of the kids were very polite and some of them have been coming for years and years, but there was one boy this time - I am not even sure which kid it is, to tell you the truth, but I WILL recognize his voice if he ends up in my classroom next year.  This boy is shouting rude words, complaining about the amount of food (I made about 20 lbs of pizza dough last night, and there are many leftovers:  leftover pizza and leftover cake and leftover hot dogs, homemade buns, and piles of pancakes - all made from scratch), and generally being rowdy in the basement. 

After scrubbing the millionth dish and hearing what appears to be a herd of elephants in my basement, I gave a dark look to my husband and said, "I don't know which boy that is, but he will be very sorry if he is in my class next year...."

I have a reputation for being a rather kind teacher - although after a month of me, the class realizes that I may be smiley and kind and willing to sit hours during lunch to help them catch up, but they are working darned hard.  And I do not tolerate profanity, rudeness, or unkind remarks - and complaining gets the "small violin".  Painting your voice with frost works remarkably well if, on the whole, you are usually all sweetness and light.  This, of course, is not my real personality, but my teacher personality, honed after years of work.

Well, time to head down to the basement and tell the kids to clean up, call your parents, we're heading down to the rendezvous - the peril of living in the boonies - you have to stage the pick-up.