Thanks to an overwhelming respose of supportive comments (shucks, you guys, am blushing!) I've been provided with a nifty stack of writing prompts to keep me going. And going. And going. Heck, by the
time NaBloPoMo rolls around this November, I'll have nothing else to talk about. (Except for maybe one thing. Yep. Bunnies.)

The lovely Miss Heidikins suggested embarrassment, which is always a good conversation starter. Except, of course, when you're like me and have conviently locked all of your embarrassing memories away into the
'Derrrrr' (also known as 'I Simply Can't Remember') section of your mind. Seriously, I'm not just piking out on you. I honestly find it really difficult to think of any moments that I would deem hugely embarrassing. After sitting here for a good half hour and resorting to the bribing of my brain ('I promise, tomorrow we won't think at all!'), I've come up with a couple. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Alright, so there was this one time when I was learning how to drive and let my true blonde colours shine through; if you've read my 100 Things, you'll know this one already. So I was happily driving along in
my instructors car, when he abruptly asked me to signal and turn left. I obliged, doing what I thought was a great job, until I heard the car crunching, and realised I had actually driven across a concrete island in the middle of the road. What's that? Oh. The other left. Silly me. I didn't cause any visible damage to his car, but I think he was pretty surprised when I finally managed to pass my individual driving test.

How about all those times when you get yourself all dolled up, think you look fabulous but then see photographs a few days later and wonder what the fuck you were thinking going out like that? And since when did a hippopotamous take up residence in your trousers? Blech.

And then there was this one time where I was meeting a few fellow bloggers, had a couple too many glasses of yummy white wine and then found myself gleefully screaming out the number of counting the bats I saw flying past the balcony. '33!' '39!' 'Jase, do you think they're all different bats, or is it the same bat doing laps and just fucking with my head? No really. That's alot of bats.'

(Don't you all REALLY want to meet me in person now?)

Actually, any situation where I drink a wee bit too much alcohol is prone to ending in embarrassment. A few late nights in Europe fit well with that statement, and really, anytime I get up on the chair and start dancing with my shoes off, you know it's going to be one to remember. Or not remember, depending on the morning after.

My verdict? I obviously need to get out more often.

I fear that things are getting a wee bit stale around here as of late.

Let's face it; over the past few weeks the majority of my posts have revolved around late night ramblings, whinges about sickness and sore lasered eyeballs, my insane ability to keep on rescuing bunnies that hate each other, some semi-lame attempts at wittiness topped off by some completely random picture posts of no real importance.

And I don't even particularly like picture posts. Ack.

Even before NaBloPoMo was created, I was already posting at least once per day. Not for comments (as anyone who reads back that far can see that my readership was a whopping one fellow blogger who may or may not have been my own mother) and not for any particular reason at all, other than to keep myself writing something. I started dabbling in Sunday Scribblings to keep me going, which I really should start up again someday soon. Heck, I even created my own Sunday Google-age stats round-up to keep myself occupied, which is now just another blogging aspect I've let slide. My attention span is shot.

I love to write, I really do. But not only that, I love the interaction that comes along with it. It's been over a year since I started this particular blog, and the people that I've met from it never cease to amaze me. If it wasn't 2am, I could go through my blogroll and discuss how each and every person on there has had some sort of impact on me, simply through words. Excuse the warm fuzzies, I'm sleepy.

I realise that this post is just another batch of random ramblings; reading these posts makes the title of my blog seem pretty appropriate, don't you think? But just so you know, underneath all the wordplay, there is a reason for this post. That reason? I need your help getting out of the blogging rut I'm in. In the past, I threw an invitation out there to any readers I had, asking them to toss me a topic or question or scenario which I would then discuss on my blog. Keeping in mind that my readership wasn't overwhelmingly wonderful, my efforts flailed around in the air for a bit and didn't get very far.

So, I'm being brave, and I'm asking you all again. Give me some inspiration to keep on going, to keep sticking to my post-every-day vow. Stop me from talking about biting bunnies and snuffly noses, before I bore you (and myself) to puddles of tears. Boss me around a little, take control. I'm going to be brave, and take whatever gets thrown at me. (Hopefully what you're throwing at me is gentle though. And unbreakable. And soft and squooshy-like.) And seriously? All this talk of bunnies is making me sound just like Anya.

Thankyou, friends from the blogosphere. For wading your way through the boring bits of my life, and for sticking around for the long haul. Let's just hope the staleness wafts away very soon.

(Preferably with my cold and flu germs swiftly floating along behind it.)

When it comes to relationships, I would like to think of myself as a pretty mellow girlfriend. I don't think I'm clingy. I don't think I'm obsessive. I think I'm pretty patient. I can watch football with the best of them. I'm all for some alone time, for myself and for my partner. Sure, I have my flaws and insecurities like everyone else, but all in all, I think overall I'm pretty okay.

Take this whole England situation, for example. (A brief summary for any new readers; the plan is that Jason is heading over to the UK in August, and I'll fly over to join him in January of next year.) Yes, I'm apprehensive about it all but when it comes down to it? I'm supportive. I know the reasons behind his leaving so early. I know it's for 'us' in the long run and that I'll join him eventually and that everything happens for a reason.

It's going to be horrible without him here for five-six months. I can't even begin to imagine how weird it will be not being able to see him whenever I feel like it, I can't even comprehend the thought of us being a 'long distance relationship' yet. But as scary as it all is right now and will be in the future, deep down I know that it will all be okay. I understand how things are happening, and I'm comfortable with them.

I'm happy taking a risk, and ultimately doing all of this together.

So . . . the question is this:

Why does the fact that Jason has already recieved his UK working visa in the mail as of today, terrify the bloody pants off me?

[Cue ghost feelings of paranoia, worry and overwhelming loneliness.]

Considering that last Monday on my return to work, I was greeted by seventeen seriously snotty children of whom at least half should have been at home in bed, I consider it about bloody time I ended up sick.

Yes. Sick. Again.

Surely by now, everyone here knows I have the immunity of a fly?

Yes, well, now you know.

It's now 4am and I can't breathe sleep. Wonder if there's a way to figure out which kidlet gave me their germs, or if it is just all of the kidlets germs having a good old-fashioned romp in my system?

Whoever they are, they're totally getting an E on their report card.

Yes, I'm kidding, of course.

Besides, I am much too busy feeling sick and sorry for myself to even think of writing any report comments today. Boo bloody hoo.

Overheard in the kitchen earlier today;

Ajay: [struggling to clean the kitchen floor with our pretty purple Dyson vacuum] Man, this vacuum cleaner is really sucking today.
Aly: Isn't that what it's supposed to do?
Ajay &; Mum: [groaning in unison]

Well, at least I am content with keeping myself amused.

Today is Jason's 25th birthday! Woo! Happy Birthday! Yeah!

(And no. I am not wearing a bunny suit. The two are totally unrelated. Sort of. Kind of. Not really. Well, actually . . . no. I really am NOT wearing a bunny suit. Sorry if I let you down.)

Anyhoo, as a) I am terrible at buying gifts and b) The boy is hard to buy for, we came to the agreement a few weeks ago that he should just buy himself something that he likes and it can be from me. Sweet, eh? He decided on a business shirt, and since he is the fussiest man alive when it comes to that particular style of clothing, I let him go with that. That present has been ready for weeks.

I've bought him a few novelty type presents too, since I felt like the worlds slackest girlfriend. Best one? I bought him his own pet rabbit!

(Shit, is she talking about rabbits again? [audible groaning] Squee!)

Er, yes. We are the proud owners of another bunny, a wee baby this time. Though he's not as small as Lucy was when she was a wee baby, he's (eek, boy!) cute and squishy and white and also has floppy ears. He was also lonely in the shop, since he was a big boy and nobody wanted him. Being a sucker, I fell in love and ah . . .

Happy birthday Jason!

(I'd let Jason name him but, well, we've already decided on a name. And I'd let Jason take him home but, well, he's going to be friends with Lucy soon, so he might as well stay here. And I'd let Jason HAVE him as his own but, well, he is heading to England soon, so he's better off staying here with me and Lucy. Totally justifiable, right?)

We've decided to call wee baby bunny Ricky. Hard to figure that one out, eh? (I didn't get it at first. I wanted to call him Fred.)

Er, back to Jason. It's his birthday! Yeah! Now sing, bitches!

(And I'm going to book wee little one in to get his bits snipped as soon as can be, because as much as I love baby bunnies? I don't want Lucy and Ricky to be, ha, breeding like rabbits (!) in my backyard. I just want snuggling. Lots of snuggling.) I think I need help.

Today at school, the kidlets got to participate in a professional dance lesson, which was hilariously fun. I'm still thinking about it now, hours on, and smiling. The aim is that each year learns a different cultural dance, and in a few weeks time the school will have a big celebration with all the classes dancing (complete with costumes made out of garbage bags, no, really.)

My class learnt a Swedish dance, so automatically I was laughing on the inside, my random brain thinking about Abba music, cute names like Inga and Sven, and Masseure sandals. (Sorry to any Swedish readers, I really am that hopeless and blissfully ignorant.) It was so damn cute.

They have to do lots of hand holding, skipping around in a circle, clapping, jumping and stomping. And the most wonderful part of the dance? The happy walking! When the kidlets are walking/skipping around in their circle, they need to do it swaying their heads from side to side in a 'happy walk'. Being the fabulous little petals that they are, most of the kidlets did this; even going as far as copying the completely fake and painful looking smile that the instructor was giving them as he pranced around the circle with them.

(For those of you who like mental images; Imagine about 75 kidlets skipping around like penguins with their arms to their sides, bobbing their heads from shoulder to shoulder, all the while smiling psychotically and staring into space. Happy dancing, indeed!)

We have lots of practice before we get it right, because it actually was quite tricky. The kidlets do half the dance sitting down doing the moves, and the other half standing up, and they're still working on getting up and down faster. But they're quick learners. They'll even get to wear cute little costumes, made entirely out of garbage bags and crepe paper.

Me, on the other hand? I've been fighting the urge to do the bloody 'happy walk' every time I get up and move around. Woo!

I'm following in the footsteps of NPW today, because she is fabulous. (And because I am tired, back-achey and just plain lazy, if you really wanted to know.)

In random order, the things I'd say to people right now if I could; (And no, I'm absolutely not telling you who is who. Unless bribes are involved, of course.)

1. Sometimes you irritate me to no end, but despite what advice other people have given me, you'll always be someone I care about.

2. I don't even know you that well, but there is something about you that I find intriguing. Why is that?

3. You are someone I haven't made up my mind about; to like or dislike? I'm still in two minds about you, and I'm not sure that I trust your motives.

4. You don't realise how terrified I am at the thought of you leaving. And as much as you say you feel the same way, deep down I don't think you can even begin to feel the way I am feeling. I wish you did. And why don't you ever just CALL?

5. Sometimes, you just need to shut the fuck up. Seriously.

6. I really think you are an amazing person, we are so much alike, and I wish we were friends outside of this little thing called the internet.

7. I envy you because of your social life.

8. I wish I saw you more, because I think you are an amazing person and are someone that I think about often.

9. I feel like you don't find me useful at all, or worth keeping around.

10. I really hope you get what you are trying for, I really do.

11. It makes me jealous when I see your beautiful engagement ring.

12. You are looking really amazing, I want results just like yours.

13. I think it's about time that you started acting like an adult.

14. Some days, every little thing you say pisses me off and I can't stand the thought of you. Other days, I think you're grand.

15. I wish you would think of me more as a friend than just a person.

You know, that actually felt mighty good writing all those out. If you're up for giving it a try, feel free. Stealing is a sign of flattery, don't you know?

Have spent the last few hours selling random things on Ebay.

Still have a crapload to upload. Have too much junk in bedroom.

Back aching rather badly. Think it's broken. Or something like that.

Require immediate (and possibly forceful) removal from computer.

Ebay = browsing. Browsing = spending. Spending = bad. Bad!

Send for reinforcements, pronto! Must. Avoid. Ebay. Help!

(And no! It's not the meme; been there, done that!)

Every morning in class, we run literacy groups. The kidlets get to practice their reading, do activities with comprehension, practice their reading, complete spelling games and puzzles, practice their reading, learn about books, and did I mention practice their reading?

Having a support class this year has made literacy groups a real challenge. In the past, I've been able to have groups running independantly, but with this group of kidlets, they really need structured tasks that they understand. Give them something that is too advanced for them, and you've lost them for the hour. It's a very fine line, and I'm still learning how to walk around it.

Regardless of their reading levels, I'm happy to say that most of the kidlets I have this year actually really do like to read. (Sadly, they don't get much/any support from their parents at home, which is very sad.) For that very reason, literacy groups are important to me as a teacher, and for the kidlets as learners, so I make it a habit to rotate my groups so I'm hearing most read aloud every single day.

Today I decided to read with my top group. Their book of choice? Snow White & the Seven Dwarfs. 'Excellent!' I thought to myself. 'They'll have an idea of the story, so that should make them much more fluent in their reading.' Er, no. Would you believe that not one of my group had even heard of that fairytale before? Amazing. (So, so different to my own childhood, where I was reading any book I could lay my hands on before I was even at school!)

But back to to kidlets; we did a story orientation, talked about things that happened in fairytales, walked our way through the book together just as we would with any other story. All was well, until we flipped back to the books cover and looked at its features. There was a bit of chatter as they talked about why she was called 'Snow White' (they figured it out pretty quickly!) and then a pause. One little girl put up her hand, and asked 'Miss, what's a d-w-o-r-f?' Silly me, the thought that the kidlets wouldn't know what a dwarf was hadn't even crossed my mind. [insert quick explanation here]

Onwards we went, to our individual reading. It was a long book, but they got through it (despite every kidlet in the group having the sniffles, I predict getting sick within the next week; I ended up having a tissue box in the middle of our circle) and all was well. Are you wondering why this particular teaching moment warrants its own blog entry?

Ha! The reason is this; some key words changed by the kidlets whilst reading today, has given this age old fairytale a completely new title;

'Snow White & the Seven Giraffes'.

Perhaps we ought to send the original authors a memo?

Tomorrow's lesson: Comparing Giraffes and Dwarves. Oh dear.