Loving the sand between my toes and between my fingers and between my... wait! Ahh, that doesn't feel so good.

How inappropriate is it to have a tiny crush on one of your kid’s teachers*? Wait, don’t answer that, after my mental affair with the 17 year old over ice cream, maybe it doesn’t matter.

I spent the day chaperoning the 5th grade End. Of. The. Year. Field trip. I know it was the End. Of. The. Year! Trip because at least 146 little monsters came up to me to tell me. Woohoo! It’s the End. Of. The. Year. They were so excited and all I could conjure up were scary thoughts of the 9 thousand “I’m bored” text messages I’m going to get. And I can’t argue with them too much about it. I was laid off last summer and despite many home projects, I still found myself thinking “I’m bored” more often than not. Anyway, this field trip was at a lakeside campground with water trampolines, basketball, canoes, minigolf, volleyball and a partridge in a pair tree. For the first hour I documented all the kidlet fun with my juicey camera. Then I decided to join in the fun myself. We canoed and played golf. We rode bikes and shot some hoops. But I had the most fun playing volleyball.

When I initially asked the little demons if I could play I could tell they were none too pleased to have someone’s Mom taking up space on the court. Still, they nodded assent and stuck me in a corner. They mobbed me and didn’t allow a single ball to come within 10 feet of me. I wanted to scream! I can play. I CAN PLAY. Please let me play. Then it was my turn to serve and I knew just how to shut the little fuckers up. I sent a bullet over the net that dropped like a rock 6 inches over the other side to a crowd pleasing “ooooh.” That’s when they finally let me Play. When the principal joined in the fun we started with some good natured taunting. Then a giant entered the court. He was at least 6’ 5” of lean hotness who after taking a digger in the wet sand took his shirt off. And then the heavens opened up and the angels sang. I have to admit, I’m a chest woman. Abs are nice and I do love me some ass, but a man’s chest, mmmm. That”s my happy place.

He and I worked out a good rhythm of sets and spikes. We laughed at the kids and finally got around to being on a first name basis. Calling out Thing2’s Mom can be awkward. And saying Mr Yummyness can sort of make you tongue tied.

After a while, the sun became a bit too much for his fair skin and he donned his shirt again. At that point, the mommy cheering section sitting on the sidelines sunning themselves in various forms of undress jeered and asked him to take his shirt off again. SayWhat? And then I started to question whether I was just another one of his groupies. He blushed appropriately and ignored them. When things died down a bit he asked me if I’d like to head up to the grown-up tables to get in on a game of cards. Hah! Suck It Momma Bitches. I’m not a groupie! And we played. And we lost. But still, it was fun. Then, it was time to load up the buses. That’s when I realized that it was really the End. Of. The. Year. No more opportunities to chat up Mr Yummyness. Why oh why did I wait so long to chaperone? Who knew that middle schools held such treasures?

Sadly, next year Thing2 will be off to the next level and my opportunities to lay eyes on his hotness are pretty much nil. Still, I’ve got some nice memories for summer dreamin.

* For the record, he was not actually one of Thing2’s teachers, but from another pod. That totally makes him fair game right?