Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is not a hoarder, but she plays one in the classroom. And Mrs. Hillbilly Mom never does ANYTHING without going full tilt boogie.
I normally run a tight ship. There's a place for everything, and everything is stowed in its place. Except when I think clutter might rub somebody the wrong way. C'mon, we all know whose fur I'm forcing against the grain. I stop short of creating deliberate messes to consume extra cleaning time. I even straighten all the desks, and have my students pick up trash from the floor. I clean my own whiteboard when I deem it necessary. I drip the light Fantastik onto the occasional graphite artwork on a desktop. I dump my tiny desk wastebasket into the main classroom wastebasket to streamline trash removal procedures. All I really need is a sweep and a dump daily, and a pencil sharpener emptying once a week, and perhaps the removal of oily nose- and forehead-prints from the door window strip.
Yes. Those are my demands and my expectations. None of this rearranging of the desks weekly, nor wiping down my keyboard, nor scrubbing my coil of wires to the electronic control tower, nor running a rag around the inside of my mini-fridge, nor scouring the inside of my microwave. Not necessary.
I expect to be able to work in my classroom after the final bell until I have my work caught up for the day. Popping into the doorway to ask how I'm doing, while scrubbing the area with a tennis ball on the end of a broom handle, is not going to get me out of your hair any sooner. Nor is popping in fifteen minutes later to ask how long I'll be staying. Come in and do your chores. It's fine. But don't demand small talk, because I AM WORKING.
It does not bother me in the least when the remnants of 800 drinking straws are scattered willy-nilly upon tabletops, bookshelves, and TV stands after our tower contest. Nor do the ten or fifteen assorted science fair project boards that are leaned against the file cabinet. Nor the six issues of a Scholastic magazine, thirty copies each, stacked on a desk in the corner by the pencil sharpener. Nor the stacks of various already-given tests that cover the back table.
I told The Pony to get rid of the straw sculptures after school today. Where's my medal?