So. This Happened. And I Survived.

If you had asked me how I felt about preschool graduation ceremonies five years ago, I would have rolled my eyes. Heck, if you had asked me last week, I would have rolled my eyes. LAME. LAME. LAME.

I mean, c'mon! Do we really need a big ceremony every time a kid does what they are supposed to do?

YES. YES, WE DO.

This is why:

And this:

And this:

I'm not referring to the photographs. I'm referring to the experience they capture. Alexis celebrating with her friends has officially become my new favorite memory.

But, damn, do they really have to grow up so fast?

The Laughing Grandmas

Hop . . . Skip . . . Hop . . . Skip . . . Hop . . . Skip . . . Hop . . . Skip . . . SPLAT.

A flurry of golden ruffles flew upside-down  as the little girl landed right smack on her bottom, her legs straight up in the air. She quickly popped back onto her tap shoes as the spotlight followed her around the stage. She continued on with her routine as a ripple of chuckles worked its way around the room.

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An arm went left, a leg went right, one girl hopped while another girl bopped. There was no telling who was doing the dance steps correctly. Perhaps none of the girls had it right. There was absolutely no semblance of choreography that was even slightly in sync.

It was such a mess that many in the audience began to laugh.

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She reached her arms way up high in the sky and then quickly began to lean forward. As her hands grabbed hold of the ground, her feet flew up into the air. It looked as if she was going to execute her cartwheel just fine, but at the last second her arms buckled and she crumpled to the ground into a pile of sequins and ruffles. She jumped to her feet and ran to the end of the mat as laughter filled the auditorium.

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The little girl in the red polka-dotted costume enthusiastically threw every ounce of her 30-something pounds into the music. She waved her arms wildly as the music played, clearly feeling every beat. Her feet energetically carried her across the stage . . . and right into one of the other little dancers. After a brief moment staring at each other, they recovered from their collision and went back to dancing.

Chuckles flittered about, originating from every corner of the audience.

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I admit, I'm extra-sensitive to it. That's because Alexis is extra-sensitive to anyone laughing when she makes a mistake. Sometimes she wants to be in on the joke, but often she crumbles into a pile of tears and embarrassment if anyone laughs at one of her moments of klutziness.

All through the dance recital, I was continuously mortified by the grandmas laughing . . . it seemed to be mostly the grandmas, anyway. Is there a generational thing that happens where cute and klutzy becomes worthy of a guffaw once you hit a certain age? Do people wake up one day and just start to find little kids' mistakes funny?

I mean, I get thinking the errors were cute. They absolutely were. But worthy of a laugh? If it were me on that stage and I had been the one who fell on my butt, laughter would have been the worst possible response.

I know that if Alexis had made a mistake and the grandmas had laughed, she would have been crushed. Possibly for life.

If any of those kids end up developing a phobia of public speaking or performing on a stage, I'm totally blaming the laughing grandmas.

Pssst . . . In case you didn't notice, I added a page with links to all of the recipes I have posted. There's also a new post on the Photography Blog page and a new giveaway on the Review page.

Calling Her Bluff

"You don't have to go to dance class ever again!" I told Alexis. It was a jerk move, I'll admit. Waking your mom up at 3:00 in the morning to tell her that you want to take a vacation to "Hawai-Li" in a few years is also a jerk move, though. I believe in revenge.

"What?" Alexis asked. Apparently she had forgotten all those sarcastic little bombs she had dropped over the course of the past few weeks.

After Alexis was called out for being mean in dance class (which she deserved, btw), she got it into her little head that she hated dance class. She whined about it. She complained about it. She talked about how much she hating going and how she wanted to go back to classes at her old place and blah, blah, blah. It was very much so a complete 180-degree attitude change, so I instantly smelled the rat.

She wanted to quit because she was embarrassed that she had behaved so poorly. It's easier to run away than it is to face our mistakes, after all. The kid had her fastest running shoes on. The only problem was that I was standing there with my hand on her forehead, holding her in place while her feet burned rubber like Scooby Doo.

I forced her to attend the last three classes. I hated doing it because I don't ever want to force her to participate in any extra activities, but she was smoking crack if she thought I was going to let her quit at the very end for anything less than a good reason. Behaving like a jerk and being embarrassed is not a good reason in my book.

But, once the recital was over, she was truly free to choose. Since she had so vehemently insisted she wanted to quit, I was willing to let her off of the hook. Last dance class! Yay!

After thinking about my initial statement for all of 0.00000001 seconds, a look of panic overtook Alexis' face. "But there are more classes in the fall," she replied.

"You said you wanted to quit so I didn't sign you up for any classes," I said. I know. Jerk move. SO SUE ME.

She was visibly upset. I let her stammer and struggle for a few moments before asking, "Unless you want me to sign you up for fall classes? I guess I could do that." 

She said, "Yes, please," so quickly I'm now convinced she has a turbo charger installed in her voice box especially for such occasions.

I told her I'd think about it.

It's not like she had fun at her recital or anything. ;-)