Where are all the blossoms? Isn't springtime supposed to be a rebirth? Why is everything so dead and dry?

I spent an inordinate amount of time outdoors this past week.

I do not enjoy outdoor activity of any kind. My skin, hair, and temperment are better suited for temperature-controlled rooms adorned with artwork and interesting people who buy me drinks while we discuss the ways in which George W. Bush has destroyed the middle class.

Nevertheless, my children went on a field trip Thursday to Colorado Springs' idea of a zoo and they needed parent volunteers to supervise. I'm sure I was not their first choice, since Youngest's teacher ignored me and talked through my children instead.

Example: "You can tell your mother that the bus will be leaving at 1pm."

I know. Ridiculous.

At some point, though, they realized beggars can't be choosers. And so I rode on a bus with about 30 second graders and tried not to gouge my own eyes out. Upside: I got to meet Larry, Curly, and Moe for myself.

One of them wore this t-shirt: "I Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time."

Well. Doesn't that just about sum it up?

Actually, the kids in question weren't so bad. They were loud. Obnoxious. They got into trouble and were reprimanded by Miss Blah Blah several times. And one of them had his mom with him. Decked out in biker clothing, she looked like Cher from Mask. The kids reminded me of my own special needs students who've learned long ago that being yelled at is better than being ignored. Larry, Curly, and Moe simply seek out negative attention because it's better than nothing.

Halfway through the day, Youngest remarked, "Now I know why Larry yells at everyone. I just heard his mom yelling at him. She's kind of mean."

Plus we saw a monkey eat its own fecal matter. All in all, my children learned a lot that day.

On Friday, I chaperoned my own students on their Community Service Day, last one of the year (thank God), where they planted seedlings at Bear Creek Park. I supervised the teenagers, but did not participate.

"Ms. Robinson," one of my students said, "why don't you plant trees with us?"

"I didn't break the law and therefore am not required to complete community service hours."

"Don't you want to get your hands dirty?"

"I do not."

"You could contribute to the community."

"My entire teaching career has been a contribution to the community. Now get to work."

Halfway through the day, Lou, a supervisor of parks and recreation, offered me a bottle of water. I politely declined.

"You need water here, ma'am."

I could barely hear him because my ears were covered with a wool cap and hoodie to block out the forty degree weather and 45 mile per hour winds. In April.

"I'm aware it's dry," I said, after he repeated himself. "But due to budget cuts thanks to a Republican-run town, there aren't any bathrooms except that blue port-o-potty about a mile across the tundra. Since I don't feel like dodging snakes and branches falling from dead trees, I'm going to go with 'no thank you.' At least until I can get back to civilization again. Lou."

He just stared at me.

As a rule, Parks Department people do not get me.

But I bet if I were in a temperature-controlled room sipping a cosmopolitan and talking with fabulous people, they would have laughed their asses off.