Yesterday was the kids' school's 2nd annual walk-a-thon. About a month or so ago, I guess they held an art contest, with the winning drawing to appear on the walk-a-thon t-shirts. My ten-year-old daughter was the first runner up, so she received a laminated copy of her drawing and a certificate, which is really pretty cool, considering that there were hundreds of entries, and the kid who won was a 6th grader.

Anyway, we had been having gorgeous spring weather, and I planned to volunteer at the event if work allowed me to slip away. Rain threatened, but never truly broke through, and at the appointed start time, I moseyed on over to the kindergarten class to find that the kids were already lined up and ready to proceed to the front of the school. I walked alongside my 6 year old daughter, who was all keyed up and giggly. I guess the teacher had led them through a few rounds of "The Chicken Dance" because several of the kindergarteners were still at it, and my daughter announced that she would be walking "like this."

Like this apparently means sticking your butt way out, waggling it back and forth while moving your head as though you are pecking seed off the ground. Oh, and flapping your arms.

I congratulated her on her fine choice of ambulatory methods, and made my way to the kindergarten check station where I was handed a marker to make checks on the walk-cards pinned to the kids' backs. After about 10 minutes, with a cheer, the kids began to make their way under the balloon arch and onto the playground. Of course it was my youngest, leading the charge with a gleeful skip in her step, but sadly no pecking and flapping. After the first lap, it quickly became apparently that all available adults were going to have to be on point to mark off laps on the kids' cards. It was hysterical. A seething mass of kindergartners were on the inner track, and they ran their little butts off for the first 5 laps or so. It was a lot like Phoebe from Friends. About 80 Phoebes, on a playground.

Shortly thereafter, the kids started disappearing to the face painting station and the tattoo station and the food station and the first aid station and we had about 15 diehard kids that were hauling their little duckesses around the track. Other kids would appear, and suggest that you look at their face paint or at their tattoos, hey Mrs. Lauck look at it. Look at it. LOOK AT IT.

Once the feverish pace of trying to mark laps on cards slowed, I got to find my other two kids, and egg them on. I didn't really care how many laps the did, because I did a flat donation (and called my mom and sister and told them each that they were donating a flat donation too, but not really, because I was just throwing in an extra bit and saying it was from them because I didn't want to be the loser mom who didn't have her kids fundraise.) Besides, the bat-a-thon is coming. I'll totally be hitting them up for that. Maybe.

Anyway, the walk was really fun, and the rainclouds didn't let loose, and we even made it to my son's baseball game last night. The kids slept like logs last night, unsurprisingly, and tonight, we're at the start of a four day weekend. I can't wait.