On Thursday, I volunteered to chaperone Eleri's class room on their very first field trip. (This is one of the upsides of not having found a job: more time to be part of the school community.) Miss Becca's ambitious plan: taking 13 toddlers on a city bus to the downtown public library for a story time presentation from cast members of the Curious George show playing in town.
Yes, that's right, 13 2-year-olds on a City Bus. When I predicted that this would be "interesting," my own mother suggested this was a positive choice of words. The adventure included getting on the "donut" chain gang, walking a block to the bus stop, boarding the bus and riding a couple of miles downtown, then chain-ganging it about 5 blocks to the library. Five looong blocks. Do you have any idea how slow a train of 13 toddlers moves?
You know what, though? It was great. The kids were great. Their teachers have amazing, unmatched reserves of patiences, stillness, and slowness (the good kind.) There is, in fact, nothing cuter than a toddler train, particularly the surprise of it downtown in a city where most children live in more residential areas, and many a smile could be found on the faces of unsuspecting office workers out on the sidewalk.
There were, off course, a few sour-pusses, and I feel it is my duty to call them out here.
1. The bus from school to the library was quite crowded, and while many people were absolutely lovely about giving up their seats for the little people, one guy suggested to Miss Sharon that we should have taken a school bus. When she laughed to indicate how silly this was (taking the CITY bus with the PEOPLE was part of the point), he said: No really. Next time, take a school bus. Sour apples.
2. Turns out, Eleri did not like Curious George, aka a person jumping around in a monkey suit, and therefore started screaming "Take me OUT" and pointing outside the moment the monkey, anxiously-awaited by others, appeared on the scene. I had to pick up my daughter, her coat, her backpack, my coat, my purse, my waterbottle, and various scarves and dead lift the kid and all the gear, all the while feeling guilty that the kid was a.) terrified and b.) ruining it for everyone else with her wails. Just as I was trying to maneuver out of there without knocking any poor unsuspecting children upside the head with a scarf, the nice woman behind me tapped me on the shoulder and said, "Ma'am. Could you sit down please? We can't see." I will admit, I could have been nicer. What I said was this: "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm trying to take my terrified child out of here so she won't bother the rest of the children with her screams." Then I turned on my heel, carefully, so as not to maul tiny fingers, and went on my way.
For the record, Eleri insisted on being taken all the way out of the library, and would have preferred if I would have taken her all the way out of the building, but with temperatures south of 40 degrees, I demurred.
It was nothing a little snack could not fix. Apples, cheese, and water, perfect in the library atrium for the task of fortifying our kiddos before their 6-block walk back to the bus stop.
(Above, from left: William, James, Eleri, Gracie, Axel, Max, Justus, Hyadi, Koen, Bridget, Raquel, Sundjata, and Promise)
Tired, tired, kiddos.
Thankfully, the bus was nearly empty and we lined them up all in two rows.
(Here is Hyadi, Raquel, Promise, Max, and Bridget):
By the time we made it back to the bus stop by the school, at least 3 of the kids were asleep (or very nearly so), including William, in my lap. (Eleri and Koen were up on their knees, busily investigating everything that passed the bus by, past tired to that place that borders hysteria.)
When we walked back in to the school, we met with warm welcomes, and a little applause.
I imagine everyone slept well that night--parents included.
