There's nothing like watching after sixty-five small children for the weekend. Nothing in the world like it.
If you have no idea what I'm talking about, try this experiment. Go to the zoo. Open all the cages, and I mean _every_ _single_ _one_. (Make sure the main gates are closed when you do this) Then try to keep them from eating each other, escaping, or getting hurt in any way.
To add some spice, throw in the keepers who are desperately trying to protect their own animals with no thought for the others, or for you, the one in charge of it all.
That would be my weekend. My troop was in charge of the Girl Scout camping trip this year, and as the oldest, I had the inestimable honor of being the second-in-charge.
I was quite lucky, all things considered. Two of the troops had to cancel due to illness, so the number was reduced by fifteen.
At camp, there are any number of hazards for the annoying little tweebs to expose themselves too. The electic fence around the horse field, the various ravines, and the lake, to mention a few. And it was my job to entertain and care for the little monsters.
The other girls in my troop were quickly swarmed by small children, to whom they took to immediately. Rebecca became 'The Pink Lady' and was never seen without a gaggle of brownies. This instant assimilation left me on my own to combat the forces of chaos, for our leader was busy with the other leaders, explaining why they could not have golf carts to ride across a five hundred foot long field.
Eventually we got all the little darlings off to their respective stations, and I hurried to teach them a couple camp songs. No sooner was I there, however, than I discovered that five of them had cornered a lizard of some sort and were poking at it with a stick. I dragged them away from the poor creature, but not before they had accidentally crushed one of its legs.
Singing was a joy, dozens of little voices raised in joyous song. Or something like that. In truth, it was my partner and myself tunelessly singing and the little kids staring at us blankly.
After the songs were over with, we played a 'getting to know you' game. It was not _supposed_ to involve large amounts of deafening screams, but that is how it turned out. I had to resort to yelling to be heard over them. I have not yelled since I was a child.
That night, we gathered around a nice bonfire to make s'mores. I stopped more fires that night than the average firefighter does in an entire year of work. Little girls wandered around with flaming marshmallows, sparks flying out of the fire, marshmallows dropped into the flames. Did you know that your average marshmallow swells to six times its usual size before exploding?
The next day was the same thing over, only with a thunderstorm, which produced more screaming.
Each night I had to stay up until one in the morning, consulting with our leader about the next day's activities. Then, at six, she and I woke up and prepared breakfast for the rest of the troop, who came stumbling in about seven.
On Sunday, they came to breakfast at eight after packing to go home. We loaded everything into the two cars, cleaned up the three pavilions, ampetheater, field, lake side, dining hall, kitchen, fire circles, cabins, bathrooms and had the ranger come check everything.
We got home about eleven, where I promptly passed out and slept until dinner.
Unpacking will come later.