Surviving the Kindergarten Field Trip

I have a confession. I don't like kids. There. I said it. I know, I'm a terrible person for not swooning over drooling babies or snot-nosed toddlers. I'm destined for doom because snaggle-toothed kids aren't so cute. The way I see it, in this world there are two types of people: kiddie people, and non-kiddie people. I am a member of the non-kiddie group.
Don't get me wrong. I love my son. There is nothing he can do that would make me feel any different. I feel the same way about my niece. It's like they're part of me. The diapers, the snot (both out of the nose and word vomit), the unfortunate habits. With Juni and Evie, they're annoyingly cute.
Other kids? Not so much. I don't like them to touch me ... it makes me feel smothered, like I've got cooties. My child and I have enough germs. Keep yours to yourself, please.
I'm extremely picky with the kids I invite over. I learned I just can't handle annoying kids, or their annoying parents. Luckily, it seems like the kids Juni chooses as friends are the kids I actually like. Not that I'd wipe their buggars for them, but I genuinely enjoy having them around. And so far, their parents rock. It's actually surprised me just how much I like having Juni's friends over, and how great their moms are. Juni and I have the same taste in friends. Thank goodness.
It's children en mass that freaks me out. I literally began to have a panic attack during Juni's Halloween party in school. They swarmed me! There were fingers poking me in my belly fat, Hands hanging on my back, fingers up noses, voices fighting for my attention. It was terrifying. I was outnumbered, and they were going to pounce. I started to sweat, felt my heart race, and ran for my Xanax.
During kindergarten orientation I told Juni's teachers that I'd love to be homeroom mom. I also straight-up told them I don't like other people's children. They laughed, and said they appreciated the honesty. I've organized parties, donated goodies, and volunteered in the class. Being the uber-involved mom is in my blood. My mom ran the PTA (I have yet to attend a meeting), organized the parties, and anything else the school needed. And so will I.
There is nothing I wouldn't do for my child. Kidney? Have it. My last bite of dessert? Ugh...go ahead, you can have it. Bail money? I pissed, but yes, you can have it. I'll even endure kindergarten field trip. Wearing a matching Grassfield Elementary Kindergartener shirt.

It was a 45-minute school bus ride to the boonies. I get car sick. Buses? I turn green. So I grabbed an up-front seat and ginger gum. Unfortunately, Juni decided to hang in the back with his friends, and the most talkative girl in the world sat next to me. I'll admit it. She was cute. Pretty hazel eyes, a cute bow in her hair, one adult front tooth and one baby. But the child just didn't shut her mouth. Ever. I'm completely serious. She talked the entire time.
At one point I tried playing possum. I figured if she thought I was asleep she'd stop. Nope. "Hey...are you asleep? I could never sleep on a bus. Hey! You're not sleeping ... I just saw your eyes blink under your sunglasses! Did I tell you about my bunnies? I have bunnies. And they have babies. One of the babies died and the mommy bunny tried to eat it. She stepped on my foot. Do you like bunnies? I like bunnies. They're soft..." I couldn't stand it. "I do like bunnies. I had one as a kid. Her name was Peaches. You know what else I like? Relaxing ... why don't we just relax and enjoy the ride? You've got a big day ahead of you and need to save all your energy." To her credit, little Miss Talks-a-lot has reached self-realization. "I never relax! All I do is talk, talk, talk! That's what everyone says ... all I do is talk, talk, talk. I love to talk. Hey! Do you like..." At this point I believe my brain literally turned off. I have no memory of the last 20 minutes of the ride. I credit my body with self-preservation.
We arrive at Brookdale Farms 45 minutes late. And of course I have to tinkle. So I dart off the bus and hit the glorious port-a-potty. Fun times, as usual.
Each volunteer got a slip of paper with kids they were responsible for not losing or injuring. We were to take our list, find our kids, and inhale lunch in record time. Picnic tables filled with 110 kindergartners and 29 perfectly groomed Soccer Moms with their group of kids. And then there's me. Sweating like a hog on Tuesday, with Juni and one other little boy. Two kids. Two kids! I may not like kids, but I'm not going to lose them.
Of course I'm not going to lose Juni. And it's virtually impossible to lose the other kid ... he's wheelchair-bound with a full-time aid. I mean, seriously? Give me some credit. So I decided to take one of the "problem children" the teachers reserved for themselves.
This little girl has a rap sheet of issues. Many just like mine. But for a seven-year-old, she's just too young to understand what's happening. So she throws "fits." These fits have left Juni's teachers' arms with scars from biting and bruises from kicking. They have to physically restrain her so she doesn't hurt herself or someone else.
Until she finds the correct special classroom placement, it's the best they can do. They put a pair of headphones on her in the class, plop her in front of a computer, and go about their day. Sometimes she wanders, sometimes she attaches herself to the teacher's leg. She calls herself the teacher's shadow. And Juni likes her. "She's nice, Mommy. She's mean to herself. But not to the other kids." Amazing. At such a young age, Juni can differentiate between a snotty little brat and an emotionally disturbed, self-destructive child.

My boy, paying attention!

Anyway, I asked her if she'd like to be my shadow for the day. And that was it. I shared my lunch (her parents forgot to send one), and she stuck by my side.
The kids learned how seeds grow, they planted their own in a little greenhouse, saw the animals, and took a hayride into the middle of a cornfield. Juni amazed me. While I spent the day playing Kindergarten Warden (keep your hands to yourself. put that down. stop talking. pay attention. i saw that, don't do it again.) Juni payed attention with the best of them. Talk about a proud parent moment. My child, the model student.
My shadow began to loose it about two hours into our excursion. Did I mention it was near-record heat? Yep. 92. Hazy and humid and absolutely miserable. Everyone dripped with sweat. And guess what I don't like? Sweaty people. Including sweaty kids. Ick. But we trooped on.

Juni...Exhausted and over it.

And then, in the blink of an eye, my shadow broke down. She'd  had enough. The teacher came over and played human straight-jacket. I've never seen anything like it. A child, completely out of control, and terrified. The teacher carried her, kicking, growling, biting and screaming "I hate you" behind a giant bush, as not to frighten the other children. Too late for me.
The head teacher decided it was time for my shadow to have a break. She asked the assistant to watch her while the rest of the class climbed onto the hay ride. The next thing I see is the assistant sprinting across the field, headed toward the road ... my shadow had escaped, and was bolting to God-only-knows-where. I couldn't help but laugh. It was just too much.

Homeward Bound.

Poor Juni was tired, thirsty, and just plain over it. Me too, kiddo. Me too. At one point, sitting on a bale of hay in the middle of a corn field Juni whispers to me "Mommy, I sorry to say this, but I'm sweatin' balls. Sorry I said balls, Mommy. But I am."
One of the still-perfectly-groomed and daintily perspiring Soccer Moms brought pony water bottles for everyone on the bus. Glorious. Juni decided he was too tired to sit in the back, and fell asleep laying across my lap. It was my reward for a tiresome day.
I returned home with sweat-drenched clothes, indescribably bad hair, exhausted muscles, and a headache for the record books. But it was worth it. We peeled off our clothes and ate a snack. Juni said "Mommy ... you're the best Mommy in the world. Did you know not every Mommy can go on field trips? But you do. I had the best day with you, Mommy. I just love you.""Me too, buddy. I love you too."
Five minutes later, just as I finish cleaning up after his snack and sit down ... "Hey ... Mommy ... wanna watch me swim in the pool?"
Serenity now ...