In an attempt to get a foot in the door at the school of the little ones, i had offered myself as a classroom assistant a few weeks back, while talking to one of the teachers at a party. She is one of the Specific Subjects Teachers that the school employs, and her strengths are French and Crafts. And this week she needed someone to give her a hand with washing wool.
Every year, in year one, the kids learn to knit. Boys and girls, and throughout the years they come back with beautiful, sweet and impressive objects - Max made a gnome with a backpack, Otto a hat, Felix is in the middle of the hat and has also brought his gnome home, and Polly is now making a finger-crocheted string, awaiting the wool that is going to become their year's lot to learn knitting with.
This wool has come straight from the sheep - unwashed, unpicked, un-anything, and today my task was helping about 6 of the kids to do just that... The reaction from most when i pulled a bit out of the box was brilliant: "Yuck... are we supposed to touch that?!" They all got stuck in though, in various degrees of gusto, and the room we were doing this mucky job in, quickly changed into a muddy pool of fluff, twigs, grass bits, and the water changed a peculiar colour (think bodily functions...). An hour later the wool was cream coloured, fairly clean and our hands as clean as they've not been for a while. When i told the kids who were most fussy that soap used to be made from grease from the animals - like what's in the wool at the moment - they gave me that look of "She's off her rocker..." but appeared to take it on board... And a bit more wool was ready to go to the Wool-spinning lady, who will colour it and make it into lots of balls for them to work with.
I came home feeling wonderful. Satisfied, happy, contented - i may have found a job that i wouldn't mind going back to school for...
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