And that's why I'm not a first grade teacher

I love my children dearly. I delight as they discover new skills and abilities. I savor their success as much as - and maybe even more so than - my own.

That said, I'm so grateful for the dedicated teachers who put up with their antics nine months of the year. Those patient professionals who - using only the threat of a color change - get them to sit still and listen, and appeal to their eagerness to learn.

I was reminded of all this Friday as I chaperoned a field trip for AJ's class. It was just one hour long. And that was plenty long enough. 

Twenty kids total. And really, I, along with the grandmother of another boy, just had to keep an eye on seven of the kids. That's 3.5 kids per adult. That shouldn't be so hard. All we had to do was get them safely across the street and down a block to the Esko Historical Buildings.

But once there, we discovered so many cool things to see and touch and potentially break. An old one room school house (which I learned once sat on the site where the current school is built today) complete with historic clothes and books so old they referred to World War I as the Great War. AJ was in Heaven! 

Other buildings were set up to show what kitchens and bedrooms looked like 100 years ago.

Checking out an old stove



An old broom and other cool, old-fashioned gadgets

 A few weeks ago while out jogging, I passed a farm where huge rolls of hay rested in neat rows. I could hear a tractor in the distance. And as I pushed my weary body on through this voluntary attempt at exercise, I couldn't help but think how easy my life is. Looking at the primitive tools used for critically important tasks, not to mention clothing made from buffalo hide in hopes of fighting off the bitter cold of this region's long winters, I was again reminded that my life is a relative breeze.

And then I had to do another quick head count to make sure these seven busy and curious kids were all present and accounted for. It seemed that at least one of them was constantly missing. They weren't intentionally disappearing. They just happened to notice something cool in the next room or right outside the building and - Hey! Is that an outhouse? - they just couldn't control their curiosity. They have to check it out.- Does it smell like poop in here? - and then they have to run around like a maniac in search of friends so they can share their less than pleasant smelling discovery. It does smell like poop. Did someone toot? (Gales of laughter)

Yes, my life is so easy.