Today was Little Kidlet’s first big school recital. They tend to have something once a month. It could be a parade in the schoolyard or a bigger show in the school’s chapel (it’s at a church).
Off I went with camera in hand. Despite being there early, there were people in rows ahead of me who politely promised not to lean into my camera view, and then did just that. I’m not sure how good the video actually is, yet. Next time I’ll just have to be there earlier- especially since the next one is the Christmas pageant.
Since LK is in the tiny kid class (confession: he’s 4 and has no interest in potty training. So he has to go in with the little kids. We’re trying some new tactics next week when we’re off of school), he got to sit down and snack on some fruit jellies instead of having to stand and sing. So I have a video that occasionally shows him chillaxing while wearing a turkey hat. It’s pretty awesome.
Afterwards, they were serving pumpkin bread the class made with some butter the kids made as well (they put whipping cream in baby food jars and let the kids shake them until butter formed). The parents are invited to come back to join in on snack time. Which might have been great if LK hadn’t spotted me right at the end of the performance. He saw me just before they were whisked out the door, and I couldn’t get outside in time to walk with them.
By the time I caught up, he was in tears. He went off to try to use the bathroom, but was insistent we leave. He didn’t want to eat the cookies I’d brought for him (Enjoy Life’s soft Snickerdoordles) and just kept insisting he wanted to go home. So I did the right thing. I politely excused myself and left him crying there with his teacher. (The other teacher later told me he only cried for 10 minutes, and that they all do that for the first play/party combination) It was painful, though. Especially since I just sat in my car and wrote for the final hour he was in preschool.
Of course, there’s a weird side effect to going to these programs. I find myself surrounded by wealthy families in their luxury cars/SUVs. Stepford moms with their high heels, perfect manicures and designer attire. Every time I’m there I just have this immediate urge to dye my hair pink, get a tattoo and buy a leather jacket. Just because I feel like something has to cancel out the Stepfordness. (I won’t even get started on how frustrating it is to listen to how self-centered a lot of them are, too. One bragged about how she knows they ask the parents to sit down during the program, but she’s going to stand anyways. Then she asked how the other mom liked her Louboutins. NOT MAKING THIS UP.)
I do plan on dying my hair some unnatural color soon. Maybe before Christmas! The tattoo on the hand, I’m pretty sure that’s a temporary desire.
Am I the only one out there that gets fits of temporary rebellion?
Day 16 of NaBloPoMo