The Letter S, L & Pea Soup

Just so you know (and by you I mean the ant that is crawling across my screen), maS still can't spell his name. He can, however, now tell me that his name starts with 'S' and that 'S' says 'ssssss'. Yay maS. Another small miracle is that yesterday after 25 minutes of me asking the questions along the lines of:
"What letter is this maS?"
"Do you know sweetie?"
"Do you need me to tell you?"
"It's the letter 'L'."
"What sound does 'L' make maS?"
"No honey that's what 'F' usually says"
"No that's what 'Y', 'B', 'D' 'G', 'P', 'Z', 'R' and 'C' says. It says 'lllll'."
At which point maS passed out with exhaustion on the floor and that was his day.

On another note, I have the sweetest, loveliest, just plain bestest class to teach that I have ever ever had. By this time of the year in any of the years passed I would have had at least half of the following things happen:

• a desk thrown at me (multiplied by about 174)
• chairs thrown at me (multiplied by about 8453)
• a chairs at a time thrown at me. Only happened once so far.
• a computer desk flipped. With computers still on it
• a book shelf pushed on the rest of the class
• slapped with a pencil case. One of those vinyl bastards and it stung like a mo fo
• stalked down a jetty/wharf/pier/whatever you want to call it by a nut job with a knife. The nut job was a 10 year old who's eyes rolled in his head.
• shoved, then pushed, then pulled to the ground, then nearly kicked. I'm little, I rolled.
• had a seven year old threaten to commit suicide by jumping off the second story stairs
• same seven year old tell me "I'm gunna kill you bitch!" with his eyes rolling in his head and a manic smile on his face. Incidentally he's not related to the previous eye roller.

Apart from the 10 year old knife wielding eye roller and the attempted kicker, they were all my little Year 2/Grade 2/Seven year old rays of sunshine who unleashed the hounds of hell. Which is so sad I think it induces more tears than watching The Notebook. Like I said though, this group of kids are nothing like that and I alternate between feeling smug and chuffed with myself, and terrified that their true natures are going to come out exorcist style. I'm taking a rain coat tomorrow to protect from the pea soup vomit just in case. Wish me luck.