"Hello, Becca. This is Miss Bluebird (the nicest woman in the whole world), calling from Charlie's school?"
Oh geez, who did he puke on? I'll be there in ten minutes.
"I'm calling about Vacation Bible School."
Run. RUUUUUNNNNN. RUN FAST. GET AWAY! Visions of thirteen three-year-olds breaking into a dead run as we walked to music class. Visions of a small child throwing up Play Doh onto a desk. Of getting head butted soundly in the bladder. Three times.
Shoot, I see this woman almost every day. She definitely knows I wasn't paralyzed in a skiing accident, knows I'm not pregnant, missing a limb, psychotic, adopting quintuplets out of a crack den in the city or in jail. Think, think, think--
"I was wondering if you would be interested in a coordinator role. You would have to advise and coordinate the preschool teachers, but you wouldn't get to be in the classroom with any children."
"What? Oh, I said 'That sounds interesting, tell me more about it.'"
"Well, you would be helping the teachers get organized and get their classrooms set up. You would need to come to a few meetings ahead of time to get everything ready."
"Great, sign me up!"
"Oh, ok, great! I just wanted to stress that there will be a little bit of extra work outside of camp hours and a few meetings this spring..."
"Whatever you want! No kids, right? Because I, uh, don't really find teaching that many three-year-olds to be one of my strengths. Last year I was a little, uh, overwhelmed. Hoo boy." Nervous giggle.
"I actually find I enjoy the coordinating roles more than I did teaching."
"Oh, nothing. So, great! I better get going, but I would be happy to be preschool coordinator, Thanks for thinking of me."
"Thank you! Goodbye!"