Field trip

I mentioned to Jo yesterday that I had signed up to go with the Jellybean and her classmates on a field trip, to a local orchard; she, on her part, was scheduled to have a business lunch with her associates and a former ambassador to Somewhere, who was instrumental in their acquisition of Something Genuinely Important. She sighed, "I'd rather be eating a cider doughnut, though, even if it is loaded with artificial flavors and transfats." "Ah, but would you rather be eating it in the company of 22 six-year-olds? That is the question," I countered.

There's nothing about parenting, or loving your child, or even enjoying your child, that makes any sane adult (or even me) competent to accompany--much less enjoy accompanying--an unwieldy mass of children, including one's own, in some ostensibly recreational venture. Please don't mistake my meaning: I was really glad to be able to go on the field trip. But it was a sentiment akin to being 'glad' that I could throw my body under the wheels of the semi in a successful attempt to save the life of my child; not so much like being 'glad' that Pierce Brosnan eagerly accepted my invite to sample caipirinhas on the beach in Brazil. (Uh, Howie honey, you're invited too, of course ...)

As one of the drivers, I was assigned one of the Jellybean's classmates to ride with us in the car. I collected her booster seat (It's not a booster seat--it's a carseat. Sorry--my error.), and prepared them for travel (Why is your car so small? Hmmm--I don't know--it's not smaller than other station wagons, as far as I know ...), and the young lady regaled my daughter with many a riveting tale on the way to the orchard (... and then, at the outdoor shower, my cousin pe*d all over me, and so then I pe*d all over him! and it was like a BIG SHOWER OF PE* ... [I was pretending not to listen to this fascinating lesson in precocious watersp*rts, and was quite relieved that the Jellybean listened in polite silence and then skillfully changed the subject.])

We didn't luck out in the guide lottery, it seemed to me: a white-haired, double-chinned lass of about seventy years with a volunteer tag reading MASTER GARDENER DOTTIE B****.

Master gardener
maybe, but she can't cope with
kindergarteners.

She spent most of her time either wringing her hands or rolling her eyes at the most normal six-year-old behavior. Lest I be accused of hypocricy: while I confessed to not especially enjoying the company of more than two six-year-olds at a time, I certainly feel neither surprise nor disdain for their routine antics. I respectfully prefer my own absence, is all.

Chief among their favored repertory, at least on this trip, was accidental injury and subsequent sobbing. I near-witnessed (some law of physics forbidding observation of such incidents until just after the peak moment) a child yank a trowel from someone else with enough vigor to clout her neighbor in the ear with it, resulting in sobs on both parts: the child who was removed from the activity as punishment for negligent infliction of injury, and the injured child himself (hey! a twofer!). Another similar incident, only more accidental and less negligent, left the offender sobbing, while the young man struck in the stomach patiently informed her, 'You have nothing to cry about, Mollie. I'm the one who was hit, and I'm not crying.' My own Jellybean got knocked to the ground and dragged under a chair swing, as a result of her infelicitous attempt to claim her turn by stepping in front of it and grabbing one of the side chains.

However! the trip was a success overall: live worms were witnessed, and relatively few were accidentally bisected; goats and donkeys were fed; zinnias were planted; Jilbur played nice with the other moms (I haven't had a biting incident for years now!). The field trip relocated to a nearby park for lunch, and then the children threw themselves at the playground equipment with great abandon, but fewer incidents of violence.

Some bizarre time-warp phenomenon made the twelve hour excursion only move the hands of my watch three hours ahead. Alternating standing around with darting toward some preschool mêlée or other had left me strangely enervated. On the drive back, I played our cassette tape of The Lorax to curb further fetishistic conversation from the Disturbing Young Lady. After depositing her and her carseat back at the school, the Jellybean and I still had half a day at our disposal, but I was yearning for a nap. And I am not 'from the nappers.'

We did go home to hang for a while, but then as promised I brought the Jellybean to a playground for her regular monkey-bars training. Then came my favorite part of the day: after weeks of grim determination and persistent practice on her part, she got all the way across the monkey bars totally unassisted! I literally shrieked with pride. My daughter can kick your daughter's ass at monkey bars! That is, if your daughter hasn't made it across the monkey bars yet ...
---
Edited to add:
I would be remiss if I did not mention my delight and surprise at being honored with the title of Grand Master in Week 10 of the Haiku Smackdown. I probably would have devoted a whole post to gloating about this accomplishment, if I did not suspect that it was awarded to me out of pity for my poor persistent efforts. Mwah, 'ku bosses! You will never get rid of me that easy!

Comments

[science chick]

Jbur, your 'ku rules!
seemingly effortless -yo!
wish I had your sh*t

[Angie]

Haha I love your post. Cracks me up and reminds me of the last field trip I went on with my kids oh and I agree, the time DOES drag on.

[Suzyn]

The constant injury thing is something that suprised me about childhood from the adult side of the coin. My son can fall down and hurt himself standing in the middle of an empty and cushioned room. He literally just collapses and then sobs ensue and I'm trying to be comforting but at the same time completely astounded at how goofy this child is.

[Mamarama]

Field trips are the best and worst all rolled together into a day of accidents and insanity. My son is admittedly a complete freak, but you know, he's not a as freaky as the kid we had riding in our car on the way to the pumpkin patch. THAT kid constantly complained and then somehow removed himself from his car seat while I'm driving down the highway at 65mph. When I gave him a respectful but stern little talking to after pulling over and getting him back into his seat, he called me a "poopy lady." Good times, field trips.

[Melissa]

Oh how I hate field trips. I actually guilted my spouse into taking our 5 year old to the farm last week.

I feel both evil and relieved.

**Congrats on the monkey bars. I have a feeling Madison's arms would come right off, the bloody limbs hanging from the bars and she laid armless on the ground.