The Magic School Bus

      Ms. Frizzle and my seven year old self would have had a field day this week. I was invited to accompany two of my classes on a school field trip...to Vulcania! Massif Central is located in the middle of France. Volcanoes and geysers and craters and mines dot the region.
      The classes have been studying these topics for months so we had an interrupted three full days of volcano-mania. We went on a guided hike of a dormant volcano, explored Vulcania's many attractions and demonstrations about volcanic activity past and present around the world, explored a former mine, learned about stone masonry, and visited a geyser. We played "Heads up, Seven up!" which they loved and Musical Chairs in English ("Everyone wearing a blue shirt" finds a new seat).
      Here's a picture of us at Vulcania:

We yelled "Cheese!"

      I tried to take some responsibility off the poor teachers so I put myself in charge of medicine. This routine took a minimum of half an hour every meal time. The kids were remarkably responsible about taking their medicine and helped me measure everything. I only almost killed one of them. One girl was taking a pain medicine in powder form. She promised me she could take it before eating. So, thinking I was really on top of things, I gave her her medicine while she was still in the breakfast line. Minutes later, she threw up all over the cafeteria. And she turned green. My hands are not red, though, because she recovered (sort of) and managed to eat a bread roll hours later, although that was all. I appointed myself a medicine dispenser supervisor after that.
      The kids taught me lots of jokes so I've got my fake laugh mastered (mostly because I didn't get the French in half of them). The favorite seemed to be: Why do blonds throw bread in the toilette? Because they are feeding the toilette ducks. (Note: they think I have blond hair - my highlighting hero of a hairdresser would be so proud!) In contrast, I also mastered stifling my laughs. Kids devise the most hilarious of problems. They're right at the age when they are starting to sort things out for themselves, but this means that the majority of the time, they are professional tattletales. Someone is always kicking someone else so hard and someone is always being so mean and someone is always pulling someone's hair so forcefully. And then, of course, they are always insults being thrown about. Example: You are a "pain au chocolat". I don't even know what being called a chocolate croissant insinuates because I was so failing to stifle my laughter that I couldn't see who the alleged pastry was.
       My favorite instances occurred when two little girls snuck out of their rooms at night. The auberge was situated so that we could see the lights turning on and see them scurrying out and heading towards the stairs. We took bets - stomachache or headache? Stomachache won out, because said girl had claimed to be vegetarian all day and refused to eat anything except bread and dessert (obviously). As soon as they got near us, Miss Vegetarian started to limp (on conflicting sides) and sob. They made their grand entrance and Friend of Animal Lover had to present the situation over MV's tears. We listened patiently to the complaints and explications of all the pains in every body part and absolute exhaustion and not liking the pillow and missing her stuffed animals and oh-so-much more. The head teacher turned to the malady-ridden girl and said "I'm very sorry you are feeling so badly you can't even express yourself. Now go back to bed and tomorrow you are going to eat." Ouch. MV impudently huffed (while crying) out of the room until she thought we couldn't see her and then ran all the way up the stairs.
       I also intercepted my first love note. The class's very own Romeo (the same one who arrived at school with a rose on Valentine's Day to bestow upon the formerly uninterested Juliet) wrote the now-interested Juliet a note. Which was left on the floor. The lovebirds economically saved trees by writing back and forth on the same piece of paper, exchanging misspelled words of love. The major concern was when they would see each other again. Given that they were in the same group, on the same museum tour, on the same class field trip, for four days - and they attend the same school and are in the same class - this concern is clearly understandable. Accordingly, their notes ended with: We will see each other at break. (You know, in three minutes time.)
      The trip was a blast and I'm so glad I was invited. But you were right, Mom, teachers are so under-appreciated. Next week in class we are going to write (belated) postcards and thank yous to their teachers!