To set the scene, I just returned from 3 days of a muddy, chilly but fabulous School Camp experience.

You know those moments.

The ones when you are so sick of answering the same questions from kids that you wish you had a tape player implanted in your forehead. When you are tired because your slumber has been interrupted by ten year olds, who are so wired to be on camp they are using the dorm corridor as an athletics track at 4am.

The ones when you are questioning the absurdity of your job with your colleagues as you attempt to judge eleven year olds searching for their talent (and singing five different versions of that Hannah Montana ‘Pop It, Lock It, Polka Dot It’ song while doing it…)

The ones when you’re crammed in a bus supervising fifty Grade 5/6 children while watching a good number of them heave their guts up on the windy 3 hour drive home…

But then you witness a Grade 6 girl (who you had previously dismissed as having major attitude) lovingly wrap her coat around the shoulders of a shivering, sick classmate who she’s not even sure she likes.

And you feel all tingly inside and see that it was all worth it.

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