A Pleasant Surprise

Every week I sit in the waiting room, holding my breath, gazing intently through the glass at Alexis. I'm always waiting for a disaster, a moment of panic, or signs of general discontentment. It never comes. I don't really understand it, but switching the kid to a different class for dance really was the cure for all that ailed her.

I really wasn't expecting that.

There was a good reason she wasn't originally in that Wednesday class, and the reason was that it's a class for kids much older than her. The whole class change thing only came together because there was another 3-year old in the Saturday session who was also a miserable mess. Her mother and I entered into a pact that we would do what needed to be done, but that we would make sure that our kids stayed together. So, the class is two 3-year olds, and the rest of the kids are 4-6 year olds--with emphasis on the "6" because over half the class could fold Alexis up and shove her in a pants pocket.

I would have thought that being in a room with kids far more coordinated and far more skilled would have bothered Alexis. Nope. She's totally cool with being forever behind as they learn new skills. I suppose part of that has to do with the fact that nearly the entire class calls her, "Baby Alexis" and she hasn't quite reached the age where she finds that to be an insult. Instead, she digs her title and happily lets the bigger kids help her figure out how to do things.

Whatever. She's happy, and that's what matters.

The past few weeks they have started to learn their routine for the little show that they will put on at the end of the semester. It's not a "show" in the traditional sense of the word, but more like they will do the exact same thing they do every week, just with parents on the inside of the viewing windows instead of the outside. The song that has been selected for the tap portion of the festivities is Supercalafrajalisticexpialidocious (I love that spell check is underlining that like "Your moron, that ain't how you spell it," but is all "What? You talking to me?" when I ask for suggestions).

Alexis is totally in love with that song. From the first time she heard it until now, Alexis has been on a mission to not only learn the dance steps that go with the song, but also to learn the lyrics to the song. I am ZERO help with the dance steps. I have explained to Alexis 17 bazillion times that I don't know how to dance, I've never been in a class, and that it's really better for all persons involved if I don't even try to dance. Me and dancing just don't go together. At all.

I guess that all my explaining about my two left feet has convinced Alexis that I am incompetent in all matters Supercalafrajalisticexpialidocious. If I so much as say the word, the kid stares at me, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. It's as if she thinks that it is a Top Secret Song that only kids in dance class are allowed to know about. Of course, that means I have to drop the word every ten seconds.

It's supercalafrajalisticexpialidocious being able to impress your kid with stuff you've known since you were five.

Having the Three of My Life

THIS is it.

Right now.

This IS it.

Three. Three is the age that I would want to redo if I could. Three is the perfect age to be alive.

The most upsetting thing that can happen when you're three is to be told "no" when you want to boogie down to a little High School Musical.

When you're three, it's gloriously fun to yell, "Momma pooped!" each and every time you wander into a public restroom.

A peanut butter and jelly sandwich is a perfectly acceptable, and preferred, lunch for someone who is three.

When you're three, a kiss is just a kiss, and it's hysterical when you give the wettest, most sloppery kisses you can.

A productive evening for a three-year old is when you get to chase the dogs, play a game on your computer, AND dance around in your tutu.

If you're three, it's cute when you try to tell a fib, especially since you're not very good at it.

You can pick your nose when you're three, and convince all the world that it's funny if you get caught in the act.

Proving you can spell "stop," "dog," AND your own name is just cause for a party when you're three.

Three is a spectacularly fun age to be alive.

But since I can't go back and be three again, I'm going to chauffeur around someone who is, and I'm going to act like it's my job to make sure she gets to go to all of her favorite places. Because it IS my job to make sure she gets to go to all of her favorite places.

33 isn't all that bad either.

And to think, I thought two was as good as it could get.

Smarter than a 33-Year Old

If you had asked me when I was 20 if I planned to have kids, I probably would have given you a very non-committed sort of "maybe" answer. I honestly didn't know at that time what I wanted, I just knew that the only way to live was to live for the present day. It's a sort of survival instinct I picked up early on, and I've always been pretty focused on making sure I get the most out of Today since there may not be a Tomorrow. That's not to say that I don't plan for the future, just that I try to eke a little happiness out of each and every moment.

At that time I didn't see how a kid or two or ten could possibly do anything to make Today any better than it was. Traveling the world, staying up all night, and being free to randomly make decisions without worrying about anyone else seemed like the right way to go.

Obviously, I was an idiot when I was 20.

In just three short years, Alexis has turned my life upside-down. I've ditched one career path for another that keeps me home, instead of traveling the world on someone else's dime. Decisions are now made based on what is best for her, and sometimes that means not going with my first choice. My life undoubtedly revolves around her.

Which is pretty much exactly how I like it.

I got to thinking about all of this earlier today when I picked Alexis up from daycare. I had to abandon a muy importante project at work, a project that in the pre-Alexis days I would have stayed at work for hours to finish, a project that I really wanted to knock out immediately. I rushed through pouring rain over to daycare just in time to pick Alexis up before it closed, thinking about how it kind of sucked that I couldn't just use my awesome mental powers to beam her little butt over to my office so I could keep working.

As we walked out to the car together, hand-in-hand, Alexis commented on the rain. "Look, momma! It's raining really hard!" she said excitedly.

"Yes, it is," I said in a much more subdued tone. The rain had annoyed me all day. I'm greedy and want 75 and sunny every single day.

Alexis continued, "It's raining and the sun is going to come out and IT'S GOING TO MAKE A RAINBOW!!!!" she practically cheered.

If you had told me at 20 that I would need a 3-year old to remind me to live for the moment and find joy in what is right in front of me, I would have thought you were wrong.

I was such an idiot when I was 20.

Thank you, Alexis.