I'm still off my normal glowing, robust health. I trust that I'll be back to my full strength and brain power by morning, but for now, I've got some little morsels to share.

Last Thursday was my son's first school field trip of his burgeoning elementary career. They hired two school buses and took 80 kindergarteners and all available parents to our favorite pumpkin patch. I'm not sure what was more exciting to my kid: the prospect of the field trip, or the riding on the bus. He's always dreamed of riding on that big yellow bus. He heard the stories from my oldest about how it's big, and bumpy and noisy, and that sounded pretty great to him.

I couldn't go along, because I had music classes with my youngest. At 2 1/2, she's full of baloney, and has decided that the classes are not merely to be called Orff Music. No, it must be barked. Orff! Orff! Orff orff orff! My son and oldest daughter participate with their group lessons without me, but parents are an integral part of the very young program.

We sat in a circle and danced and sang and made shapes with our bodies and galloped and then! The crowning moment of my parenting thus far! We interpretived danced to a medley of children's songs being played by the instructor on her accordian. Me, my kid, another mom and her kid, just doing whatever spastic moves were shot down our spines from our brain stems, who thought that this was all too much fun.

I danced to an accordian. While waving sparkly streamer clad maracas in both hands. And occasionally whooping.

Mother. Of. The. Year. I'm so getting a posh private care facility and a hot young male assistant to act on my senile whims.

Anyway. We rushed back to the school to meet the school bus.

*It has just now dawned on me that my daughter is going on her field trip to the pumpkin patch tomorrow... thank goodness I busted out some laundry today.*

**It has also just occurred to me that we haven't done our family trip to the pumpkin patch. Looks like we'll be doing a blitz on the weekend before the holiday. Joy!**

When the first busload of kids pulled up, they tumbled off the bus in good spirits, collected their shiny orange pumpkins from the curb outside the play yard, and then went home.

We waited.

And waited.

Finally, the second bus pulled up. The doors swung wide, but instead of a stream of chattering kindergarteners, the kids who tumbled from this bus were disheveled, grumbling and sweaty. When my son's teacher appeared, she was sporting a huge wet blotch on her tshirt. Behind her, my son finally stumbled down the bus steps, and burst into tears.

What happened to these children? What? I was flabbergasted. I turned to my son's teacher and she grinned. Apparently, they all fell asleep on the ride home, and were angry to be woken up from their nap. She had a drooling four year old draped all over her for the 45 minute ride, and my son was one of the many kids who dissolved into noisy, hiccuping sobs upon arrival.

Poor babes. But so cute.

My little drama king son is a big fan of making wild declarations and martyriffic statements. When we scold him, he is likely to say something like "I guess you don't love me!" or "I'm going to run away!"

I thought this wouldn't happen until puberty, but it's been going on since he could string two words together at 18 months.

Now, he's moved on to other phrases. "Just fire me!" he says, hand over his eyes. "Just vote me out of the family!"

What next? We can't even guess. Lucky for us, we scold him often enough that we won't have to wait long to find out.