Of bigs and littles

I should be writing elsewhere right now, (think, that place that pays me to write) but my head is full of fuzzies. In the past three work days I feel as if I crammed two full weeks worth of work in, and my brain can not be bothered with creating a proper sentence. And while clients might be perturbed with my lack-luster spelling and grammar, I know you guys will never complain. (Expect maybe you, Audreya, but you do so lovingly.) So, here I sit, spewing the useless banter running through my head, in an attempt to clear the proverbial air and get some work done.
Back in December, two ladies came to our office in an effort to convince us to give money to the United Way; only $5 a pay period! Why, that's just a cup of coffee! And a representative from one of the benefiting organizations came to help 'up the ante.' She was from Big Brothers Big Sisters. And she talked about volunteering. And I was bitten. I don't know why, maybe to squelch [or indulge, if you will] that tiny part of me that has ever considered being a mother.
So I joined. And after THE LONGEST PERIOD EVER to get my background checked, I am finally the proud owner of a Little.
And by 'owner,' I mean I get to borrow her once a week for an hour. And by 'borrow,' I mean I visit her at her school (we are NOT allowed to leave campus).
And it's been a blast. My little's name is Emily. And really, she doesn't need a Big. She's great. Which, of course is great, because I feel like I can't screw her up too much.
Although, I did slip in an 'Oh My God!' today on the swings. Despite being firmly cemented, I was convinced we were going to tump that thing over.
I've really enjoyed being able to trade my adult worries for the 8-year old variety:
Wondering if the [older and therefore 'mature'] 10-year old boyfriend is watching us.
Bringing a fun but also healthy lunch.
Comparing 'Bigs,' and, like I told all of them, no I don't know Amanda, this other girls Big.
And the elementary version of wearing a letter jacket- giving her my visitor pass sticker when I leave.
It's a wonderful escape. Even if for only one hour a week. To climb on the monkey bars. Drink a juice box. And play with fractions.
Not sure if I remember being 8, but I'm quite certain, it wasn't nearly this much fun the first time around.