Tard gets into tires

My mom teaches pre-school for developmentally delayed 3 and 4 year olds. We'll call them Tards in Training [tits]. 

Every once in a while she coerces me into coming to school with her when I'm on breaks for a day to meet the kids, socialize, gain some perspective and insight into why when she gets home at night she feels the need to beat her head repeatedly into the wall. This morning was one of those mornings when I was too emotionally weak to fend off her pleas, so I decide to check out the TITs. 

This week is "Transportation Week" and they are supposedly doing all sorts of activities that have to do with transportation. When I get there the kids are coloring school buses and after half an hour of reminding them that school buses are yellow, my mom calls all the TITs over to read "The Little Engine That Could." 

Most of the kids comply, as they are pretty much devoid of willpower, except this one little Tard. He's 4 years old , 60 pounds, about the size of a baby hippo. When I ask him if he wants to go sit on the carpet, he begins thrashing around and throws crayons and paper pieces everywhere. He proceeds to run around the room, but then spots a pile of tires (bicycle, big wheel, car) that the teacher's assistant had brought in to show the kiddies later.

"Fattie" Tit (as I am now calling him) decides the best way to get some peace is to hide in the tires, but the kid is the size of a hippo and gets stuck. He is suddenly terrified because he can't move his arms and begins running around the room again, a stack of tires concealing his arms, upper torso and head,  screaming wildly, and then suddenly stops and collapses like he passed out. So my mom and I go over to him (and by this time the rest of the kids are running around screaming to) and he's staring up at us like a deer caught in headlights.

I decide that I'm not really cut out to work with Tards in Training so I head home but man... An hour of working with those kiddies is just enough reassurance that teaching is not my forte.