Here's to You, Mr. Auclair

Hello, Portlanders - wherever you are in the world.
Happy International Labor Day! I hope you are celebrating by lazing around and not lifting a finger. I know I am.
It is about nine in the morning here, and the house is quiet. Max and Bella - the two little kids who were staying here with their parents - had to leave this morning. Max tried to trick me into coming back with them. He said I could drive them to school and pick them up again, and do work on the computer when they are gone. I told him maybe when I finish college - oh, I'm sorry, university. College here means K through 12. Then comes university.
Chris is gone for the weekend, too. He was invited to be a part of the South African team in an international bocce tournament. So he hitched a ride out of town, and now we are down about six people.
Yesterday was my first day at the creche - a preschool, of sorts, for the kids in Kurland. The building is quite small, with only about three classrooms and a hallway. There's a playground structure on the side yard, and only a few trees for shade. But still, it is always bustling. Rocky dropped me off at about nine in the morning, and I was immediately thrown into the art classroom. I stood there for a bit, with about thirty sets of seven-year-old eyes staring back at me. Then, the room erupted with noise. Let the wild ruckus begin, right?
We started coloring pictures of barnyard animals - pigs, sheep, cows, ducks, chickens. The room was filled with loud attempts at imitating such creatures, which made for a pretty hilarious soundtrack. Then, we went about cutting the pictures out. That's when things went awry. I found bits of paper sheep heads littering the ground, duck feet flying out the window, tiny cows fluttering in one girl's hair. A gruesome paper sight. As you can see, we need to work on our scissor skills. We did not make it to the glue stage.
But the whole time, we were laughing. Little hands tugging at my shirt, wanting recognition for the rainbow animals they had made. The boys at the back table laughed every time I said "very good," made them teach me how to form the foreign words. And all around, little voices calling out "Fro! Fro!" to get my attention. When snack time hit, I was suddenly bombarded with pleas to rip open lollipops, to unscrew the impossibly stuck caps from soda bottles. At break, when everyone made their way outside, five little girls stayed behind. We ran around the room, making a contest of clean-up duties. And all the time, just laughing.
I know I shouldn't play favorites, but my heart can't help it. There's this one little girl, Lollie. She's about four, but she can speak better english than anyone in my class. A tiny girl, with little features to match. And when I had to say goodbye, she stood on the steps and waved.
I'll be heading back to the creche on Monday, teaching a different age group in the last classroom to the left. But this is where you guys come in: I need to create my own sustainable project for Kurland. The creche lets out at about one, and I am supposed to think up some after school project for both me and the kids. Past volunteers have hosted soccer lessons, or painted murals on the school walls. But we all know I would be hopeless in those capacities. I was thinking I could set up some sort of link between here and home, some system of donations or awareness. But other than that, I've got nothing. So help me! Drop me a line, tell me about all of your brilliant ideas. You guys are in college now, you're supposed to be smart. This is your assignment.
(olive juice.)
P.S. Hey Sophie - when the kids count to ten in Afrikaans, it sounds just like Dutch.