Playground Blues. . .

It has been a really really long time since I've posted anything on here. I've been very busy. . . I guess.
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Last week, I started working for my mom's daycare. I'm still working at the hospital a few Saturdays a month, but I spend my weekdays with twelve tykes under the age of four. Its actually been a lot of fun so far. We have already been to every park in town. . . just this week! Today was extra special. We walked to a park that has those gross wood chips on the ground. I guess they don't get stuck in your knees or hands like the little rocks and they're not as messy as sand, but I don't like them. They remind me of fourth grade. We had those wood chips on our playground at school. One day, one of my friends didn't feel very well, but she still thought it was a good idea to swing upside down on the parallel bars after lunch. And she wanted me to watch. I'm pretty sure I tried to talk her out of it, I must have, but she didn't listen. She grabbed on, jumped, and hooked her knees over the bar. And then she started swinging. And swinging. And turning pale. And swinging. Then green. And still swinging. And I watched. I probably told her to get down, I'm sure I did. Then, as I stood beneath her, watching and just hoping she wouldn't. . . she puked. It landed right next to me. I jumped back. Gross. She finally stopped swinging, got down, and quickly buried the puke under a pile of wood chips. "Sarah, please please please do not tell the teacher! Please don't tell! I really don't want to go home! Please, Sarah!!!!" We were playing Bingo Bango Bongo that afternoon. . . obviously too important to miss. So I didn't tell. I wonder how many kids stepped in that pile that afternoon. I know I didn't-- I didn't go near those bars for a long, long time after that.
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So I just don't trust those wood chips. You never know what's hiding underneath. . .