Today, I dreaded working at our co-op preschool. I could get over the paint (I can't stand paint) and the sand (also not a fan) and the chaos (it's only three hours) ... but today, it was raining. And rainy days are my least favorite at co-op preschool, because, unlike all of those sensible drop-off schools we attended back in New Jersey, kids at this preschool are allowed to spend the entire day playing in the rain. And I knew that Dash would. Of course, the person for whom I was subbing was assigned to "outside play" -- so that meant that I was destined to spend a ridiculous amount of time in the rain, too.
I prepared. Last night, I laid out snowpants, boots, changes of clothes for both of us, and flask of bourbon. (Kidding, though it was tempting!) I convinced myself that it wouldn't be that bad. I also thought that I could maybe convince Dash that playing inside was fun! and to do a craft! and that his mom wasn't nuts! And for the five seconds that he did engage in a craft indoors, it involved playing with tape. When his friend K taped his own mouth shut, Dash announced to the room, "Hey! My mom does that to me all the time!" I told him to go back outside.
So there we were, Dash and I, and the 30-odd other kids who have taught me more than I ever thought I'd want to know about children's behavior. And we were outside. And it was raining. And I was not very happy. But then, I started to push these smiling little faces on the tire swing. I realized that their choice of play might be making me miserable, but these were the some of same kids (from last year's class) who taught me a lot about how to love other people's children. And that's a big thing for me, because I had to teach one of my graduate seminars once (as in one session) and realized that I was not cut out for teaching anyone younger than the-age-when-you-know-what-you're-doing-with-yourself (for some, that's 'round about never). And these little faces, squealing with delight, made me forget that I was wet, miserable, and wearing snowpants in California.
Then I saw my son. My soaked-to-the-bone, covered in sand and dirt and God-knows-what, sweet, smiling son. He had decided to help another mom clean up spilled glitter. He was sparkling like a fairy from head to toe, and all I could think to myself was: darn it, I'm miserable again. That won't even come out in the wash. Argh! So he came up and hugged me, of course, because having to do his laundry on a daily basis isn't enough ... and now I have Sparkly Snowpants to wear next time I work in the rain, which might be never. I'll be calling in Californian. The tranformation is complete!
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