VBS

The following is a little canned item, a preserved fruit in light syrup, from my pantry of past writing. I wanted to talk about this year's Vacation Bible School -- which sucked the life out of me for 5 days in June -- but I honestly don't have the composure to create a new post right now. So I found this old diatribe on last year's VBS and decided, eh, well, it'll do. Isands. Safaris. Themes come and go, but VBS remains very much the same....


JULY 2004
I look down at the edge of the registration table, and there's a pageboyed, pink-jacketed girl of indiscriminate age. She won't make eye contact and she doesn't seem to belong to the group in front of me. "Is this one of yours," I ask the mom? "Nope."
"Hey, honey, what's your name and I'll get you a name tag?"
"[very small voice] reagan."
OK, how do you spell that? R-e-a-g-a-n?"
"No! No, no."
"OK, how do you spell it?"
"R...... E...... A.......
........
........
GAN."
Well, of course.
Welcome to Vacation Bible School, R-E-A-----G-A-N.


It's DAY ONE of Lava Lava Island ("where God's love flows"), and I've been conscripted into registration duty, where life is trial by chaos. Or death by details. Will and Griffin must stick together. Ryan IS preregistered, but will be found on a different page because his last name isn't the same as his two siblings. Nathan will help me spell the first and last names of Ethan, Joey and the fourth amigo from social services somewhere-or-other. Two are twins. Three are related. All are precious, the oldest a little eager for positive or negative attention. (Meanwhile, their supervising adult asks, "Now what's your age limit? I'll be bringing four more later.")
Adults on the other side of the double glass doors grow restless as the table bottlenecks with parents, forms, malfunctioning pens, luau decor and name tags. A quick glance at the watch shows it's 10 after 8. Two thoughts: "YIKES! Already 10 after 8!!" Then, "Ugh. ONLY 10 after 8?" Yes, 10 after 8. 3 hours, 50 minutes to go. Mahalo.


Small, pigtailed Julia sits with her granddad before the welcome, swinging her legs and eyeing everyone with a palpable need for a connection. I ask her how she's doing, and she says, "I'm the new girl."
Oh, sweetheart. Don't I relate?
"Well," I say, "I was the new girl last year. I think you'll be just fine."


Two cute, round-faced kids on the front row are already making the song motions along with the warm-up CD. They've been to this Bible school before and want to shout out requests... kind of like a piano bar.
Two girls in the row just behind them (one razor thin in a tropical sundress, the other pixie-faced and brunette) are also singing along. Later, one tells me, "Y'all copied this Bible school from Pollard. We went there first, and it was really good. Maybe better than this." Hmm... Well... all I can do is try not to suck.


At 8:15, a mom grabs me and says Elizabeth was so nervous, she couldn't pee at home. Now she has to go, even though we're 15 minutes late starting already. I take them both to the Ladies Room, telling Elizabeth that my little boy has red hair just like hers. Elizabeth's first smile of the day is barely breaking before I have to leave her, a poor Nervous Nelly whose mom is headed back to grownupland post-haste.


In the middle of my second lesson, I notice a girl in a blue knit track suit with dirty knees, curled into a fetal position on a chair. It's Grace, who wants to be in the same group as her cousin and isn't. I promise we'll work something out, even though she's barely verbal and doesn't remember all her cousin's names. "Her name is Emer... [something I can't understand], but she likes to be called Cheney. I forget her other names."
The name thing only SEEMS like a hurdle. Actually, my big problem is the time-space continuum. As in, too much space to cover & not nearly enough time. But, after three rounds of the building (to seek out an offical roster), two conversations with two different teen counselors, and one chaotic search through Snackland to find Cheney (whose last name was misprinted on the list, anyway!), Grace is smiling HUGELY. And it was NO PROBLEM. No problem at all.


I think the cutest, cutest girls in the world must be three and four years old. Honestly, every female child I've met in this age group is a cherub to behold! As I begin my lesson in semi-darkness, I have about one minute to register how darling these little people look before Natalie and Madison are trying to sit on my lap and monopolize my attention. (My little friend Kelsey is staying outside, because she is afraid of the dark and angels.) The other two aren't actually less fearful than Kelsey... I think they just have "sucker radar" that indicates I will allow them to manhandle me, and this will make them feel better. Soon, Natalie is wearing my tinsel halo over her blond bangs and Madison is whispering that my angel wings "are really for fairies. Angels don't have pink wings, you know."


I have wised up after the frightened toddler episode and am now asking each group if they'll be OK in the dark for the first half of our lesson. Precious, precocious Taylor (four going on 14) is quick to say, "I'm afwaid of the dark!" -- spurring four or five other children to say, "ME, too!" The teen leader then says, "OK, everyone who's afraid stays out here with me," and Taylor sees the small hitch in her confession. "Oh, just kidding," she says, "Let's go on IN now!"


Sweet-faced, obviously overweight Hunter says he likes it in my room. "This is my favorite of all," he says. "I'll come here every day." Even though he's a tad too old to think this is cool, he hugs me on the way out. I hug back and feel a little tear in my heart as I hope puberty and peers are kind to Hunter.


On the way back from my extra-short snack time (gotta set up the story campfire for the next group), I see three-year-old Rob escaping. I've seen him before, because I checked him in and noticed his HUGE backpack. Rob is confidently zig-zagging past adults and toward the exit when I catch up. He tells me he wants to see his daddy.
...I hear ya, little guy! I just want to see my coffee maker and my couch! "Soon..." I tell myself. It's 10:35; only 90 mintes to go!


Wild, wiry, bright-eyed Isaiah is talking during the lesson. Again. He wants to know about "the other God -- the evil one."
"He's orange and strong and has, like, some super-powers and I think he beat up Jesus, until Jesus kicked him out of Heaven." I briefly pretend to be unclear on what he's saying, until Robby interjects (moving his head in closer for emphasis), "He MEANS Satan. You know, Satan, right?" And Isaiah –– who is probably no more than 5 and doesn't recognize the letters of his own name –– literally SHOUTS, "It's true! It's true! I read all about Satan in the Bible."
I refrain from asking "Just what Bible DOES your family read?" and come up with something in reply. ...You know, I'd been picturing skits and songs and a double portion of cookies for the grown-up help. (Sigh.) And I didn't even get ONE cookie at snack time. A quick time check tells me it's 10:53.


A little later, a girl whose name I cannot remember says, "I'm so tired. I just want a nap." I tell her we're almost done for the day so she can go home soon, and she says, " Nope. not me. After this I haffa go to Taylor's house for a 'play date.'" I look at her droopy brown eyes and give her a little back rub in sympathy. I for one know how it feels to be completely PLAYED OUT. And it's only 11:15.

45 minutes and 4 days to go.... God bless them all, and have mercy on my exhausted adult soul. Amen.

Witticim. Truth. Good writing.

"A bared soul is the new accessory, the midriff of the Internet age." -- Stacy Schiff in a New York Times column, published June 8, 2005

She was writing so wittily about (among other things) blogging. And don'tcha love that? As sincere as this medium can be, Ms. Way With Words is RIGHT. A lot of soul-baring online is just for effect.

As for me, only a dilettante (OK, OK, "part-timer" sounds less snotty) in the journaling world, I can but HOPE to sincerely bare something so deep as a soul. (I'm not even down with the midriff, really, so you can imagine my discomfort at flashing the flab INSIDE...)

As I try to restart a blogging routine, I do hope to be brave enough to lift a corner on things true and real about Ginger, attractive or ugly as they may turn out to be.

I'll work on some down-home, grassroots soul-baring before the summer is out. Until then, I'll probably skip trendy accessorizing all together.

Viva Labor Day and the end of swimsuit season!

Dinnertime

"Look! My boobies are poking out!"

Full stop mid-dinner. Did my small, innocent, boy child just say what I think he said?

"Look, Mommie, look! [He gestures toward his bowed-out chest, bare at the table for some reason I have yet to hear and don't remember approving.] My boobies are getting bigger!"

There's a pause, as neither parent quite knows what to say. I flinch first.

"Honey, little kids don't have those. And boys don't really grow... um... boobies. You have a chest. That's what we call it. Only grown-up girls have chests that stick out, and we try not to use that other word, remember?"

"But I do have them! Look!" [He pinches a tiny boy nipple.] "Little kids have boobies that stick out when they fill them up with food. Look at mine! They're poking out!
Yum, yum! I am SOOO full!"

OH. MY. And what could we have said to that? As best I recall (this was last night, but the old gray brain just ain't what it used to be...), we nodded and resumed adult conversation. There might have been a brief tittering before we pulled it together, but no out and out laughter. (I CANNOT, in good faith, laugh at anything that encourages a 3-year-old to use the word "boobie.")

Do the parents of infants have ANY idea what they're getting into? The parents of boy infants, especially? Maybe other people do -- but we simply didn't know. We did not.

...And thank God for surprises! (It WAS funny, the whole posturing to best show off the after-eating "boobies"....)

We're switching to a shirt-mandatory policy for mealtimes at Sherry Lane. It won't keep Miles from showing off some OTHER bit of body or vocabulary we'd rather he not take public, but it will help me not crack up every time I see him rub his chest and hear him say, "Yum! Yum! I am SOOO full!"