Teaching: Day 71

Last Friday my coworkers and I went to a state-wide training session for special educators and learned about billing our school for extra gas money, writing up lunch as a deductible, and how to walk in late to a training session with 183 other special educators. Somewhere along those enlightening lessons, I sat in on a session discussing just how to teach special needs children about sex.
I know what you're thinking. This will be a trip. I, however, was thinking about what to order for lunch, the man next to me who had a key chain around his neck with hand moisturizer attached to it (yes, he opened it halfway through the morning and rubbed it over his hands. It smelled of cucumber.), and how my children were just young enough (or nonverbal enough) that I would never have to worry about the where-do-babies-come-from questions.
Obviously, you know if I'm writing about it, I was wrong.
Today was our first day back in the classroom, and the sex ed discussion was nowhere near my subconscious mind.
It was raining out, I was wishing I was still in bed, and it was social skills time in the classroom. One of my little ones was sorting out pictures into happy, sad, or angry faces. He had just answered my question of "How do you know he's happy?" with "Because he has a happy!" and I was debating whether to take this discussion any further when he suddenly turned his little head. Directly into my barely there cleavage. While cupping his tiny fingers directly around each of my not-much-bigger boobs (and giving me the most action I've had in... you really don't need to know...) he said, "Which ones are these for? What do they do? Where do they go?!"
Now, I could have ventured into a detailed, mature, and appropriate sex ed talk. Or I could have pretended I didn't see it, feel it, or hear it, and ignore a chance to positively affect a bright young man's future. Which is what I did.
And that, my friends, is why I am such a great teacher.

Note for today: Find man preferably my age to fondle me for next time.