VivaCity

I'm considering taking off work in order to volunteer with Spence's field trip coming up on the 31st...Word on the street is they're going to a "cultural garden." I am excited about both the opportunity to watch young children absorbing knowledge like good little sponges and also learning myself exactly what the HELL a cultural garden might be. I have this crazy mental image of berkas blowing in the trees while a river of sake flows with a little sign advertising "FREE FOOT-BINDINGS FOR THE KIDDIES!" in the corner. I have no idea what to expect, although the idea of steeping my son in a little culture really appeals to me. And it would sure the hell save me some money on shoes.

I'm also a little apprehensive about the whole volunteer experience...The last time I volunteered for Spence's class, we went to the park (sounds simple enough, except multiply the idea you have in your head times fifteen toddlers at nap-time, ALL of whom want to swing on the 2 swings) and it started out being a grand time. The single hitch in the whole shebang was when I turned (cliche, I know, the ol' "I turned my head for a SECOND!" line) from manning the bottom of the slide, which the children had down pat anyways (My face was getting tired from all the over-enthusiastic "Hurray! You DID it!"s, what do you want from me) when my fantastically brilliant co-volunteer at the top decided at that very moment to put the tiny brace-wearing handicapped child down. I swear she must have kicked him down with both feet to get the kind of momentum this kid had. All I have to say is Thank God for small favors. And soft dirt.

But this is a new classroom, with mostly new friends and new teachers and hopefully nobody who remembers The Day Elijah Fell. So I'm bravely walking that gangplank called Volunteering once more...Wish me luck. Or better yet, pray your fool heads off those kids survive the day with me. Mu-hahahahaha!

Forgive me if I seem a tad loopy. My son woke up at approximately 3:30 this morning, screaming for Juice! Juice! like he'd just crawled across the Sahara. Normally it's the baby that tends to throw the midnight parties, but for whatever reason poor Spence's subconscious called a pit stop on that track named Sweet Dreamland, desperately needing to be emptied and juiced. The baby, not to be outdone, joined in the festivities, and...I'm one tired Momma, Ok? And in this sleep-deprived state, I vaguely remember having signed up to volunteer on the 31st. Lord help the children.