very happy moments and golden youth

It was my fault. I should never have told my maths class it was going to be my birthday the next day. Just because they'd multiplied 6 by 5 it didn't mean I had to say any more than that they'd got the answer right; keep up the good work.
And so I find myself locked out of my classroom, concerned about the number of unsheathed pairs of scissors inside and the number of days till exams. We still haven't done triangles. Someone is arranging furniture inside and someone is lunging somewhere.
Eventually the door is opened by a giggly gaggle of girls who stand back proudly to reveal a blackboard full of balloons and Happy Birth Day Miss chalked up where I'd hoped to be reviewing acute and obtuse angles. As if to compensate, a large triangular package (isosceles) is thrust into my arms. I now notice that everyone has brought a gift, laid beside their pencils and exercise books. I received:
1 bouquet (the triangular package, made in China)
10 items for the hair
2 earrings
48 bangles
1 picture frame
1 picture of the Simpson family
2 items of unknown name and/or purpose
1 mug saying 'I love you.'
1 piece of tapestry, made by a pupil's aunt.

The cards were full of good wishes:
"may very happy moment continue all year through."
"God! give you Beautiful future"
"Happy longlife"

I was told that, in the same way that roses are red and violets are blue, I am sweet, like sugar is. I was told that my 'golden youth is like a picture' (of Marge, Maggie or Lisa?) and that 'Our miss Hanna/Likes to eat banana/she like honey/and also like a bunny/she like to act/ and the light reflect. Whilst thankful to be reflecting light on the one hand, I hung my head in shame on the other. Who has been teaching them English? Who? My only consolation is I have not asked them to write a poem for the final exam; I won't have to read any more year 4 verse. Stick to prose kids, you're much better at that. (While I think of it, I might drop the triangle question from the maths paper, too.)

Azhar has been a very good boy so he is allowed to go to the store cupboard, walking not running please, to bring the big drum, carrying it very carefully please. So off he belts and is back in an instant with the drum, broken, and two pieces of firewood to hit it with. He beats out a rhythm that the boys flick their wrists to, stamp and swirl to, cock their heads to. Aah golden youth.

Thus the day at school continued, punctuated by snippets of teaching and learning: Aesop's Fables, The Enormous Turnip, the Age of Exploration, magic 'e' and where babies come from (well, that's what Nouman had chosen to research.)

Back at home the party wasn't swinging so much as swimming - in oil. The kebabs and spring rolls I'd got in were taken over by my colleagues who decided there wasn't enough oil in the frying pan. They ladled it in and we had cream cake for afters. I'm not sure I will have such a longlife.