"Will you be my goose?"

It was my workday in preschool again today. I was dreading it a little because March is Art Month at DACP. Last week on Tuesday they learned about Michelangelo and the Sistine Chapel. The teachers had taped a canvasy-looking paper to the underside of a table and the kids had to lie on their backs to paint it.  Thursday they painted pottery at a studio and toured a kiln. Today they learned who Jackson Pollock was, as well as the art style for which he is most famous.

In the classroom, Mrs Wilson supervised the children dipping makeup brushes in watercolor paints and hitting them against a screen, splashing soft colors onto their white papers. However, in the Big Room (where Gross Motor play usually takes place), Mrs Fuller had set up the main event. Two giant blue tarps covered the floor. I was to be her assistant (hooray!), so I set up a basin of warm, soapy water on a fluffy towel. The children were ushered into the room in groups of 3. I rolled up pant legs and sleeves and smocked them up while Mrs Fuller arranged them each on the tarp in front of black sheets of paper. Each were handed a paintbrush dripping with brightly colored paints and instructed on technique. A few of them stared confusedly at Mrs Fuller and bent down to paint directly on the paper. They were gently corrected.

"Hold it like it's a magic wand and you're casting a spell." How amazing is this teacher at tapping in to the mind of a child to get them to understand? This caught on quickly. One little boy lit up like a sun when he realized he was allowed to throw paint and slung bright orange in a wide arc, getting some on his paper in the process. A little girl realized with joy that there were puddles of paint on the tarp and splashed and stomped like it was a rainy day until Mrs Fuller caught her eye. All of these kids respond well to "the look". I was assigned the cleaning up task. One girl was so hopelessly splattered that she took one look at herself and merrily sat down in the basin. Another one tapped on my head while I was scrubbing her.

"Yes?"
"Please stop cleaning my pants."
"But honey, you've got lots of pink spots on you." She leaned down and whispered.
"Those are sparkles on my pants." And so they were. She was sent on her way. The next little boy had blue and green freckles. I had to dunk a pigtail in the basin. Lilah's turn won't come until Thursday but I was told she made a lovely watercolor splatter in the classroom while I was out.

I assisted in the hand-washing line before snack when Mrs Fuller noticed something odd. "The bathroom stall is locked. And there's a pink pull-up on the floor. But no one is in there." My heart sank to my toes and I called for my child. She scampered up to me happily. It was pointed out to me by another parent that her pants were falling down and there was nothing underneath them, so she was more than likely the culprit. Yes, thank you.
"Sweetheart, did you go potty in there?" Her head bobbed and she grinned at me. "Did you take off your pull-up?" More vigorous nods.
"Then I was stuck. So I got out." I'm pretty sure I audibly groaned. "But I patted and washed my hands!" Small miracles. Not only because my daughter was the culprit, but also because it was pointed out that I was the smallest so it fell to me to maneuver into the locked stall and open it.

For Gross Motor time they played Duck, Duck, Goose. Whenever Lilah Rose's friends were chosen, she tried to hop up and chase them out of turn. Mrs Fuller kept trying to explain the game to her, but she just wanted to jump up and run with her friends. Her eyes welled up with tears and she put the back of her hand dramatically over the back of her mouth and gave a couple of gaspy sobs for good measure. Mrs Fuller smiled at her and I had every faith she knew it was a ruse. She called me over to sit with her. With her in my lap and the game continuing, I felt a tug on my hoodie and the little one next to me motioned for me to bring my head closer to her.
"Scuse me," she whispered. I raised my eyebrows expectantly. "Will you be my goose?" Silence. "Please? Will you please be my goose? I want you to be my goose."
"Uhhhm..." She pointed to the other kids taking their turn running.
"Please, Lilah's mom. Please be my goose." I tried not to burst out laughing. I let her down gently by saying only kids could be geese. She pursed her lips at me and tossed her hair.
"Mrs Fuller was the goose."
"Yeah, but she's the teacher so it's different. Only kids and teachers. But if we weren't in school, if we were someplace else, I'd love to be your goose." She thought about this as she examined her boots. I went for a diversionary tactic. "I really like your boots." She looked at me like she knew exactly what I was doing (and she probably did).
"Thank you. I spotted them at Kohl's and my mama got them for me."

Among the other incredible quotes of the day were a little girl's response to Mrs Fuller inquiring about her wriggling and tugging her skirt up. "Oh, ya know. Just a little too much crack goin' on in here."

So there you have it. Splatter paint, an abundance of crack, and for the first time in my life, someone wanted me to be their goose. Oh, and even though I swear I cleaned and scrubbed every exposed inch of me, it was still pointed out at work that just a few of my freckles were a lovely shade of blue.