Showed up to volunteer in the kids' classroom this morning, as usual, when I got completely side-swiped. In addition to the routine craziness of helping the kids get through their learning center tasks (which, is a little like herding cats across a rushing river filled with snapping turtles -- plus, they talk incessantly and raise their hands every two seconds), we were also having a little impromptu Easter Egg Hunt with their 3rd grade big buddies because it would be the last time they got to get together before break.
The criticality of this still escaping me, the teacher pulls me aside, folds up a bulging paper bag, and kind of slips it under my arm, glancing over my shoulders from side to side, like we're smuggling drugs or guns or something.
She leads me backwards into the hallway, whispering in my ear that I should take my time, not make it too easy, and not to worry, there were only 100.
And as I step out into the scalding sunlight (which I'm definitely not prepared for before I've had my daily venti chai) and I take a look around at the dewdrops glistening on the flower petals and rolling off the blades of grass, I suddenly realize that I'm really not dressed for this task today. (See my lovely Amy purchases to the right? Please ignore the tree trunk calves -- it's the ANGLE OF THE CAMERA, DAMMIT!)
And yes, apparently, this does happen to me quite often. Your point being?
So there I was, aerating the lawn (evidently) with my 4" heels, shoving my hands and elbows into the bushes and flowerbeds to plant THE MOST well-hidden eggs, and emerging nearly every time with snail goo and cobwebs sticking to the hair on my arms.
And at some point I noticed more traffic than usual lingering at the stop signs for this hour of the morning when, yes, I realized that the top of my thong was peeking out of my pants as I did my egg-laying-bunny impression.
As if that weren't enough, someone then released the mob of children who descended upon the little patch of lawn yelling and screaming and clamoring over one another for plastic eggs filled with things at least some of their parents were not about to let them have despite their best hunting and gathering efforts.
And then it was over. And just the shrill ringing in my ears remained. At least until I got here, ordered my tea, and...oh, hell, there come the Thursday flock of mother hens!