'I believe the children are our future"
Ok, my kids are brilliant. They're mini geniuses. They should be featured in a movie about their advanced intelligence. We could do a remake of "Mr Holland's Opus" (just substitute my name in there) or a "Baby Geniuses" just slightly older. Why all this gushing over these munchkins when I didn't even give birth to them? Because when I arrived to my classroom yesterday I was handed an envelope. Inside the envelope was a poem about me written by some of them. After reading this ode to me all the way through, I have to say it is the most well written piece of fiction I have ever read. Better than Frost. Better than Hemingway. Better than the Da Vinci Code, (okay, I'm exaggerating but pretty close). Now I'd like to share with you this masterpiece:
Meet Miss Annie
She’s a person with lots of taste, for very pretty purses,
She’s very smart, a wonderful cooker, mighty nice,
And even strong enough, to deal with deadly curses.
Every time at dinner, she’ll always add some spices.
She’s very into coats and scarves, and even high heels aren’t bad!
She goes to Blockbuster, Costco, and buys her favorite treats
If you forget to buy boba for her she will definitely get mad
She’s loyal and sweet and very petite
Next of all is her wonderful brain,
It’s full of continents that shake,
All her homework to her is no pain,
It’s as easy as a piece of cake!
Her job, oh boy, is very fun, but sometimes not (to her) as cool,
She loves to check our homework (not really)
She’s never really cruel,
She just sometimes gets mad at us when we act stupid purposely.
She eats a lot of chocolate and never gains an ounce.
If she sees you with candy, she’ll be ready to pounce.
She loves eating cake, and all the other junk food,
If you want to eat with her, she’s never, ever rude.
Now you know Miss Annie, hooray!
So buy your purses, scarves and boots, and sing as many songs,
Because this special Miss Annie, will be waiting all year long!!!
Hey, I'll take whatever gesture of kindness I can get. It's better than their usual "Let's Torture our teacher" game which they gleefully like to inflict on me almost daily. For instance, yesterday they stole my favorite comfy chair and hid it, forcing me to sit in one of their miniature, uncomfortable, osteoporosis inducing sitting device. Maybe they are too brilliant for their own good. Anyways, at least I'll have this poem to reflect upon after a long, hard, beaten up day with them.
Here's a pic of me that I took with one of my rugrats. She was the one who caved and told me where they hid my chair. Doesn't she look happy to be in the picture with me?
Meet Miss Annie
She’s a person with lots of taste, for very pretty purses,
She’s very smart, a wonderful cooker, mighty nice,
And even strong enough, to deal with deadly curses.
Every time at dinner, she’ll always add some spices.
She’s very into coats and scarves, and even high heels aren’t bad!
She goes to Blockbuster, Costco, and buys her favorite treats
If you forget to buy boba for her she will definitely get mad
She’s loyal and sweet and very petite
Next of all is her wonderful brain,
It’s full of continents that shake,
All her homework to her is no pain,
It’s as easy as a piece of cake!
Her job, oh boy, is very fun, but sometimes not (to her) as cool,
She loves to check our homework (not really)
She’s never really cruel,
She just sometimes gets mad at us when we act stupid purposely.
She eats a lot of chocolate and never gains an ounce.
If she sees you with candy, she’ll be ready to pounce.
She loves eating cake, and all the other junk food,
If you want to eat with her, she’s never, ever rude.
Now you know Miss Annie, hooray!
So buy your purses, scarves and boots, and sing as many songs,
Because this special Miss Annie, will be waiting all year long!!!
Hey, I'll take whatever gesture of kindness I can get. It's better than their usual "Let's Torture our teacher" game which they gleefully like to inflict on me almost daily. For instance, yesterday they stole my favorite comfy chair and hid it, forcing me to sit in one of their miniature, uncomfortable, osteoporosis inducing sitting device. Maybe they are too brilliant for their own good. Anyways, at least I'll have this poem to reflect upon after a long, hard, beaten up day with them.
Here's a pic of me that I took with one of my rugrats. She was the one who caved and told me where they hid my chair. Doesn't she look happy to be in the picture with me?