Ankle deep in material

Guess what? I'm back--for real this time--and (for those of you who know me) you're going to love the reason.

1. I got a new job (in addition to my magazine job)
2. It pays 8 dollars an hour
3. It involves working with . . . children.

Now, I am famously (in the six-person circle that I move in) adverse to children. You can try to argue with me about the merits of miniature people, but I'm generally disdainful of poorly behaved ones, and incredibly awkward around all of them.

I try to speak to them like they're adults, which they don't take kindly to, and I'd say one out of four children look at me like I'm a lint-covered monster crawling out from under their bed. That's right before they hide behind their mother's legs and refuse to go near me.

If I try to baby talk them, they look at me like I'm crazy and, again, run.

So it may seem strange, even masochistic to get a job teaching gymnastics to children aged three to fifteen. Not only are there lots of tiny humans involved--they're in various states of misbehavior thanks to big, gushy mats and high bars and hard-edged balance beams. They see the gym equipment and
THEY
GO
CRAZY.

But, it turns out I'm particularly well qualified for this job. I was a competitive gymnast in another life, the daughter of a collegiate gymnast, and the child of two parents who owned/ran a gymnastics gym for much of my middle childhood.

So here I am, surrounded by munchkins. And here you are, getting ready to read blog post after blog post about all the things I wish I could say to my students.

Let the judgment begin.

Thanks, http://www.asklopan.com/pictures/evil_children.jpg for getting it just right on the photo.