Dude, can I teach Emmett? He's ready for middle school, right?

Dude, can I teach Emmett? He's ready for middle school, right?

I say he's ready now. Let's do it!

Hec, that kind of breaks my heart while also making me feel very proud of your boy. Shit.

yes. this.

ion, ow. tonight is a night that i really need some sleep, and i just rolled over on my shoulder the wrong way and subluxed the joint. really can't get to sleep witout advil, but the bottle is empty.

Ow wow, Hec. That kid's always impressed me, but that made me all sniffly and stuff.

found some advil. waiting for pain to stop.

stupid shoulder.

Happy voting, Americans! Have fun storming the castle!

Emmett likes Toph. I think that shows excellent taste in imaginary girlfriends.

It does indeed. Toph rocks. (ducks, runs)

Sorry about the shoulder, Hil.

Emmett's a really nifty kid.

I wonder if I'll be able to stop obsessively reading political blogs after today?

Wow, Emmett is quite a kid.

Hil, I hope your shoulder feels better and you got some sleep.

I just answered a question about Catholic paraphernalia, and then a pony play question.

There's something so deeply wrong about that.

And so wonderfully right.

...aaaah, Bitches, how I love thee. And Bitches also, obviously.

Also - BLESS Emmett. Bless. Emmett. Bless. And BAD JOB, Crazy Dumped Guy! Accept your rejection already! Piss the hell off!

Thing 1: I have nearly finished writing reports. Just got 'Topic' still to do.

Thing 2: My kids? Still REALLY fucking cute. OMG. So much cute.

If I could guarantee that I'd have kids like pretty much any of this little bunch I'd be off out getting impregnated like NOW, because - bless. And there are a couple I could just positively kidnap, or eat with a spoon, or just hug to death. Ray leaps to mind. I adore Ray beyond the telling of it, as does E, my fellow Year 2 Teacher. Because Ray ROCKS.

Ray is a tiny wee person with ENORMOUS Manga eyes. Apparently he is Chinese, but I have to say he really doesn't look Chinese...maybe he has a Caucasian mum or dad or grandparent? Don't know. Anyway, visualise a small and rather slight personage with the most enormous Manga eyes ever, whose hair has just recently been given a Number 3 cut (except for a wee bit at the front, which is a little bit more substantial). He has arguably the second cutest accent in my class and is the most generous spirited little person EVAH, going out of his way to notice when other kids have done something cool or had small personal successes and pointing it out in a real ovary-hurting way. Bless him.

Anyway, picture him, if you will, having just got changed into his football (soccer) kit for his after school activity. He is sitting on the floor surveying The Biggest Socks In The World. In Ray's little world, they are thigh boots length and then some. These socks will fit Ray when he's 20. I always help him because, as he always says (the wonderment of it fresh in his voice every time) "They are GIGANTIC socks! For a GIGANTIC boy! Or a GIGANTIC machine!" Quite what Mr and Mrs Ray were thinking when they purchased these socks I couldn't begin to tell you. I mean, I know there's that whole 'he'll grow into it' school of thought but...these socks would be too big for me. (Granted I have small feet, but, you know, I'm 33 and he's 6.)

So in order to help him with the sock, I roll the sock up and then turn it inside out, like a sock monster, and make growly sock monster noises. "Raaargh raaargh raaargh! Give me your foot!" I say, as the sock monster reaches for his foot.

Ray squeaks, but before he has chance to scrabble away the sock monster has grabbed his foot and I roll the sock down off my hand and onto the foot. I briskly create another sock monster.

"Raaargh raargh raaargh! Give me your foot!" I say. This time, however, Ray is wise to my scheme and pulls his naked foot hurriedly away and tucks it under his bottom.

"No!" says Ray, quite firmly.

"But...but please give me your foot?" I say, with some bemusement at this show of uncoperation. Ray is a very co-operative wee scone.

"No! The sock monster will eat it!" he explains, not about to fall for this twice in a row. I blink at him.

"But...but Ray, I'm trying to help you get ready for football!" (I'm giggling a bit, because he is SO earnest about this.) Ray is not about to fall for my blandishments. He picks up his wee kit bag and waves it threateningly at the sock monster. "Um," I say. We seem to be at a bit of an impasse. I have an idea. "Ray, the only way you can defeat the sock monster is by sticking your foot INTO the sock monster. In fact," and now I'm giggling madly, because I have such a weakness for crap jokes,"the only way to defeat de sock monster is with de feet!"

Ray eyes me suspiciously, but after a moment or two he extends his wee foot and the sock monster gobbles it up and magically becomes a sock. Off he scampers to football, calling 'Goodbye Miss Fay! Goodbye Mr E!'. Mr E and I sit and giggle and giggle and giggle.

There is no way that you'd get that from a Year 2 kid in the UK. They're all way too jaded to get sucked into that kind of whimsy. Bless Ray.