I'm in VBS hell. Well, it's not entirely hellacious, there are some bright spots...but I'm wondering why I volunteered for this. Again. For the uninitiated, VBS is short for Vacation Bible School, a wonderful institution that offers some structure for one's children in the otherwise formless sea of summer, with a little religion thrown in. Once I send my children off, I could wallow in three hours of silence, in the (temporary) utter absence of whining, and light-saber-wielding-sibling-stalking. I could meditate. I could work out (insert hysterical laughter here). I could...nap.
I didn't do any of those things. Instead, while my children trooped off in their standard-issue eye-searing orange t-shirts, I...put on an eye-searing orange t-shirt. I stood in front of 6-odd classes of 20 kids each. And I danced like a crazy person. I have now thrust my arms over my head--in order to demonstrate proper "Galactic Blast" technique--so many times I think my shoulders might possibly be paralyzed. While exhorting assorted disinterested pre-teens to participate and sing with actual sound issuing from their lips (this seems to be a new and bizarre concept), thus singing ever more loudly myself, I now sound like an emphysematic truck driver. I embraced perspiration (no, little boy, I did not just take a shower, but thank you so much for asking).
Like I said, though, there was a bright spot: at the end of the day, leading the entire group of 100 kids in singing that cursed rocket ship song one more time, I look out and see my own little Colin and Hallie, dancing for all they're worth, singing at the top of their little pitch-challenged voices, utterly committed, and thrilled to the core that their Mommy was Music Leader.
Day one: success.
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