Wednesday, May 20, 2009


I really have nothing to say.

This is what happens when I see my friends, keep busy at work, and sleep during the evening.

The biggest event of the week involved me, Nancy, April, and 60 kindergardeners.

I have this thing against swarms. Pile the young of any species on top of each other, and it becomes difficult for the cute factor to overwhelm the too-many factor. The cute is overtaken by the dear-god-get-them-away and I am left creeping away out the door or through a door to put something in between me and whatever spawn/progeny I am avoiding.

I should never have children.

I am comparing kids, human kids, to piles of mice babies, or grubs. That's one protective order short of a court case.

This is why I am not an elementary school teacher. And why I have so much respect for them (Jennifer) and all they put up with (students/other teachers).

I caught myself, after the kids were lining up to leave, rubbing down every surface because their hands had been all over what my hands were about to touch, and I had seen one of them doing the nose-pick/wipe thing on the circulation desk. Ewww!

I told them I was getting rid of marker stuff.

But they were cute. Especially when they thanked us for their tour by singing us a song. The song was cute, too. And they were so precious, it made me think: they had an awesome music teacher to help them learn their lyrics (like Jen). Then I thought: if they learned them this well, they must have had classroom teachers help with it all too or they wouldn't know the words or the motions near so well (like what Jen doesn't have but really wishes she did).

The cutest part was how they divided up into their little groups and went onto the buses and drove far, far away. And now, when they come back, it will be a few at a time (like, under ten)--and I can enjoy that.

But today, oh, today. There are forty (40!) kids coming today. Forty might not be sixty, but it is still more than ten, even more than twenty, and that means A Lot. Fortunately, Nancy has yet to leave on vacation, so the chaos can be shared for the most part, between Nancy and April who are used to giving tours and doing puppet shows and I won't be standing shell-shocked in front of the crowd holding a rabbit puppet in one hand and a pig puppet in the other while I try to Chicken Dance my way out the front door to my car.

I hate the Chicken Dance.

It is undignified.

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