Me, working with Tall Andy (who is a performer whenever he does anything. Seriously, you ask him where his books are, and he strikes a pose and strokes an imaginary beard while answering. I swear, he's a natural) on his paragraphs:
Me: TA, that is not okay. First of all, I know you can write better than that. You *speak* better than that. Second of all, Mrs. E (his regular teacher) specifically said 5 sentences per paragraph, or she'd slam you. And I don't want to see you with a broken nose.
Tall Andy: ::looking down at the paper:: That's retarded.
Me: Well, okay, it kind of is. (Because, seriously, 5 sentences? It should be at least twice that length. They're thirteen, not incapable.) But, hey! You know you shouldn't use that word like that. You don't know who has a special-needs brother or sister around here. What if they're listening?
Tall Andy: Well, I sure hope they're not eavesdropping!
Cue me, smacking forehead.
Do I have the funniest kids or what?
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