This Is The Place

I had a successful stint last year as Kindy-garten Room Mutha for Daws, so when I volunteered again this year, for Dyl's class, I had no qualms about my qualifications, or whether I could contain my irreverence. Apparently I should have been more worried. They never asked me, despite always being desperate for volunteers, so I guess it is a good thing I am not easily offended.

I did get to go on the last field trip of the year, and Dyl was pumped. A few days before the trip, Dyl brought home a note saying that there might not be enough room on the buses, for all the chaperones and to be prepared, if needed, to drive your own vehicle behind the bus. Me, still being a little sensitive from the Room Mutha shunning, asked Dyl if all the parents received a notice, or if Mrs. Ure only gave it to him. He said, that everyone got one, but that probably only the smart kids parents would get to ride the bus. That took me by surprise, and I asked him whether or not that meant I would be able to go. He was very exasperated and said, "Duh, the smart kids are in the afternoon." I was relieved, since he goes in the afternoon, but could not help but remind him that the smart kids don't say Duh, to get their point across. Duh.

In the end, as my friend Lynsi, and I, Crisco'd up to wedge ourselves into the already packed bus, we got booted as well, and only 1 or 2 parents were able to actually ride the bus. I believe it was a tender mercy of the Lord, as I can only imagine what riding a bus that cramped, all the way to Salt Lake might have been like. Plus, I was able to ride with Lyns, listen to good music, go the speed limit, have air conditioning, and stop for a cool, condensating Diet Coke on the way down.

By the looks of the few "chosen" chaperones as they exited the bus, it was the right move. Dyl and his buddies had a great time, and were fairly well behaved. As we were leaning on the fence watching the baby goats, one of Dyl's friends, who shall remain nameless, leaned over the fence and asked me if I would like to see a cool trick. I agreed, and he happily placed his index finger against his right nostril and with all his might, blew a long string of snot, (approximately 10 inches long) which he then made dance, by swaying his head. Right before the vomit reached my esophagus, he sniffed the snot stream right back into his tiny nostril. Now, I am no stranger to gruesome sights, and don't get bothered by bodily secretions, but this "trick" made me ill.

Dylan was speechless. He slowly turned his head to gauge my reaction, and I am certain his eyes have never been bigger. I stammered something about it being a sweet trick, but not to show me ever, ever, ever, EVER, again..............Ever. That's when Dyl and this boy dissolved into hysterics. Ah, little boys. In the recent weeks, since the snot incident, whenever Dyl references this kid, he says, "You know, the one with the sweet trick. "

The day was a success, and despite being from a farming community, the students all seemed to be enamoured with the baby animals. Lynsi and I were enamoured with the opportunity to load up all the sugary, sack-lunched students on the bus and ride home in peace and quiet