Miss, Jerry ate my hamster!

Ahh, the tranquility of the village classroom. The carpet pollinated with leaf skeletons, washing lines dangling laminates boasting 'curly c a t', teachers' hands affectionately clasping warm coffee mugs, and amber rays of morning sunlight diffusing through the window. Peace.

We blissfully reflect on the joy of learning, looking forward to imparting our wisdom to the eager, innocent wee pups that make up our class.

Then the whistle goes.
I am instantly besieged. And bewildered.

"Miss, Jerry kicked me!"
"Miss, my shoelace is undone!"
"Miss, Luke's got a conker!"
"Miss, I feel sick!"
"Miss, I dropped my coat in puddle!"
"But MISS, conkers aren't allowed!"
"Miss, Miss, Miss, I'm six today!"
"Miss, my knee hurts!"
"Miss, Neil's taken my conker!"
"Miss, Felicity kicked me!"
"Miss, Neil's got my conker in his mouth!"
"Miss, I can't find my cardigan!"
"Miss, Neil's swallowed my conker!"
"Miss, Sharon's said "who the heck are you!"
*Miss looks particularly puzzled at this one*
"But miss, that's rude, she's singing a rude song, you can't say who the heck are you!"
*Miss remains puzzled despite this enlightening explanation*
"Miss, Neil's choking!"
"Miss, Neil's turning blue"

I'm ready to run to my car and its only 09:03.

This whole telling tales business is baffling. Yet the class teacher manages to unpick 15 of the most tricky of tales, simultaneously, and has them all sitting down working within 3 seconds.

The teacher then had the unenviable task of organising a democratic vote (which she manages seamlessly despite only a few minutes notice); the class needed to elect a boy and a girl to stand as representatives on the school council. After establishing who was prepared to stand (i.e. every hand in the room waved madly at the teacher: "Me! Me! Me! I want to!"); each child was asked to write down the name of one boy and one girl who they would like to stand as class rep. There then followed the most complicated, entangled web of "vote trading" that a person can concieve - you vote for Shirley, then I'll write down Christine, and Christine'll vote for Francis, and Francis then has to vote for Charlotte, and Charlotte needs to vote for . . . I was lost. You reckon Bush's subterfuge of the Bush/Gore election was impressive? His administration has got nothing on 5 year olds.

Talking of politicians . . . five year olds have this remarkable talent for appearing tremendously industrious; take this morning, for example (after the reps were announced and the last tears wiped away: "But I really, really wanted to be on the council!") The whole class room jiggles and swarms, each bee buzzing around its P.E. kit, giving the impression of diligent "changing" taking place. Yet with closer scrutiny, you realise that not one shoelace has been untied, not one button undone, infact, not one bag even opened. What have they been doing for the past ten minutes? I am stumped.

They are amazing. I am convinced, (despite me and my partner beginning a prayer routine begging God to introduce 48 hour days so we can fit in all our work) that we have joined some of the luckiest people in the world, getting to spend time with such inspiring little people.
As for teaching? At the moment, I am learning a HECK (sorry Caroline) of a lot more than I am imparting.