I try it, everytime. Everytime, I wind up wanting to break the little monsters in half. And yes, I am referring to children.

I was so not cut out to be a teacher, baby-sitter, child care worker, balloon artist, clown, McDonalds playpen supervisor or anything else that involves locking me in a room with twelve children for two hours and shouting: GO!

And yes, I did all of the above today, minus the whole McDonalds thing. Everytime I talk myself into doing something child related I am all "I totally love kids, right? Because I like HAVE to since I want to be a Mom... someday! In a country where you have nanny's, housekeepers and surrogate mothers!" And then, after three point seven seconds, reality sets in. I start snapping out orders like it is the military. Which, it is. Dammit! You are in the Army of Porkchop. You had better stand at goddamn attention, be pretty goddamn quiet and GODDAMIT stop running your hands down the full-length mirror creating that GODDAMN noise.

Four hours.

Four. Very. Long. Hours.

Who in their right mind gives their three year olds MODELING lessons? Do they not realize this is seriously overpriced baby-sitting? Which involves me playing Model Duck Duck Goose and Model Musical Chairs? Both games are as horrific and cheesy as they sound.

At more than one point today, I had a little girl in a full nelson. THE KID WAS TRYING TO SCRATCH MY EYES OUT. At more than one point today, I found myself trying to remove tennis rackets and baseball bats from the paws of these little angels to prevent permanent damage. At more than one point today, I found myself saying "What the hell! Beat each other with the things!" My assistant and I agreed the injuring, assessing of the injury and treatement of the injury should take up worthwhile and justifiable chunk of class time.



Right. And why do I try to convince myself I love children?