Asking For Trouble

My son's preschool class will be joining the elementary school in an end-of-year musical performance. Apparently, each grade will be performing songs from a different country. The preschool class will just be doing a generic, "It's A Small World" type of thing.

His teacher sent home notes informing the parents to dress the children in "ethnic clothing" on the day of the program.

I've been a parent long enough to know you never give us an open-ended assignment.

And I've been a Southerner long enough to know that if you give some of us an assignment that involves what we might perceive as "ethnic clothing," you're asking for trouble.

Should be an interesting morning.

My Daughter, The Diva

As I was unpacking Zoey's backpack while she was napping, I came across a note from her teachers. Apparently, Zoey is set to play one of the Three Wise Men (only it has been changed to the Three Wise People) in her preschool's upcoming Christmas production. One might think she would have told me about this on the way home from school, but as I often say, she operates under the "What Happens In Preschool, Stays In Preschool" philosophy.

While she and Zed were eating their afternoon snack, I said to her, "I hear you're going to be one of the Three Wise People in your Christmas program!"

Zoey: What?
Me: Three Wise People. You're going to be one of the Three Wise People.
Zoey: No I'm not.
Me: That's what this note says. I showed her the note like she knows how to read or something. I'm a moron.
Zoey: I DON'T WANT TO BE A WISE PEOPLE!
Me: Wise means you're smart. Don't you want to be smart? Don't you want to be one of the Wise People?
Zoey: NO!
Me: Who do you want to be?
Zoey: Mary. What the hell was I thinking? Of course she wanted the female lead!
Me: Who's Mary?
Zoey: Jesus' Mommy.

And then she gave me a look that said, "Dumbass! Maybe you should be the one in preschool!"

Me: No, I mean which kid gets to be Mary?
Zoey: I don't know. I want to be Mary!

Great. Should be an interesting program. Considering that she's argued with other kids, kissed a girl, and flashed the audience at past programs, if she's going into the program with this kind of attitude, all hell might break loose.

GHS: 3

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Because You Can Never Have Enough Songs About Killing Turkeys

Zoey came home from preschool today singing another delightful little ditty from next Wednesday's Thanksgiving extravaganza. Enjoy!

I'm a little Indian on the go.
Here is my arrow, here is my bow.
When I go a-hunting, hear me shout,
"Bears and turkeys, you better watch out!"

Between this and the I'm not here for living turkey song, I'm starting to think this whole Thanksgiving show is actually pro-NRA or anti-PETA propaganda. Time will tell.

I'm really hoping Max Fischer is directing this show.

Of Turkeys And Restraints

Zoey's preschool is putting on a Thanksgiving show in two weeks. Today, she came home singing one of the songs they'll be performing. Here are the lyrics:

Gobble, gobble, gobble, gobble
Fat turkey, fat turkey
Gobble, gobble, gobble, gobble
Fat turkey am I.

I'm not here for living
I'm here for Thanksgiving
Gobble, gobble, gobble, gobble
Fat turkey am I.

I'm just hoping she's not the one that has to pull an Ozzy and bite the head off a live turkey when the song's over.

A Question For You

It happens every time I go grocery shopping. Every time I go to one of the big box stores. Every time we go out to eat.

I usually have to go through four or five shopping carts or highchairs before I can find one where the restraints haven't been totally destroyed.

Who are these children that break the buckles or totally rip them off? And how exactly do they accomplish this?

And if you're the parent of a child who has done such a thing, please let me know how it happens. Do you give them pocketknives to play with while you're shopping? Screwdrivers? I'm curious.

Let the truth shine. You're among friends here.

And You're A Prima Ballerina On A Spring Afternoon

In my thirty-six years on this planet, my eyes have seen many things. Beautiful things. Ugly things. Funny things. Sad things. Scary things. Things people would pay big money to see. Things people should never have to see.

But nothing I have witnessed in my journeys prepared me for what I faced on Saturday. The delicate balance between sickening and cute, between ecstasy and agony, and between the ridiculous and the sublime: the utter chaos that is a dance recital starring three-and four-year-old girls.

I have learned to expect the unexpected when it comes to Zoey's musical performances. But this was her first dance recital! Things would go differently, right?

Truth be told, I went in with the mindset that as long as she didn't hit anyone, kiss anyone, or cry, it would be well worth the $250 that, contrary to the bickering from my inner cheapskate, we spent for dance lessons this spring. And if she wiggled once or twice? Happy Early Father's Day, Chag!

As we were driving to the recital, I asked Ella, "Should we have gotten Zoey some flowers to hand to her after the performance?" "That's cheesy. I doubt anyone else will bring flowers," she replied.

As soon as we opened the door to the joint, we saw twenty pairs of parents, each carrying bouquets of carnations or roses. We suck.

Zoey took her place with the other dancers on stage, all giggling nervously over the clickety-clickety-clacking of their tap shoes. The girls all looked adorable despite the fact that they were dressed in glittery polyester Pageant Dresses From Hell that were offensive to four of my five senses (I did not actually lick or taste the dress, but if I had to guess I would say it tasted like petroleum).

Right before the show began, Zoey's preschool teacher came in and sat with us. She loves Zoey so much she asked if she could come to her recital. And guess what? She brought flowers for Zoey. Apparently, she loves Zoey more than we do.

The music started. While there were some girls dancing and acting like they actually knew what they were doing, there were also some girls just standing there, making their parents proud.

Zoey? She was doing some sort of perverse pelvic thrusting that was really driving me insa-ay-ay-ay-ay-ane. That's my girl.

But she was trying and was having a great time. That's all that's important. Not the fact that it looked like she was auditioning to be a Cheetah Club girl.

Next, it was time to do ballet. When Zoey came up to us to change into her ballet shoes, she asked me, "How did I do?" I hugged her, gave her a high five, and sang the New York Dolls lyric to her. She beamed.

She hurried back out to the stage. And that's when everything began to fall apart.

She wanted to be on the end of the line, as did another dancer. They started arguing. The instructor put the other girl at the end and Zoey right beside her. Zoey was visibly pissed.

Other Girls 1, Zoey 0

As they were dancing, the girls began bunching up at Zoey's end. Two of the girls managed to get in front of Zoey, blocking her out of the line. As soon as she noticed that she was behind all the other girls, she yelled out, "HEY!"

Other Girls 2, Zoey 0

Zoey inched her way between the two girls that were blocking her view of the audience. She then stretched her arms out to her sides, effectively pushing both girls behind her. She even knocked one of them on her ass in the process.

Final Score: Zoey 100, Other Girls 2

After the recital, the children and parents went into another room for cupcakes and juice boxes. Except me. I headed to the front desk to cancel her summer dance lessons.

GHS: I think you can figure this out yourself.

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Why Do I Even Bother Bringing The Camcorder To These Things?

Zoey's last day of preschool was Friday. Per tradition, all the kids put on a little ten-minute musical program for the moms and dads. In the past, this is what my sweet little girl has done during the Christmas and End Of Year programs: argued with another child at two separate programs, twirled her halo around her arm, played with grass for an entire program, and kissed another girl. But she did manage to sing one freaking word at one of her programs.

So she was due for a breakout performance, you know?

I would love to tell you how she stood up straight the whole time. How she belted out every word correctly with pride. How she acted out every hand gesture. But I can't.

Things stared off well. She was actually half-singing the first song. I started feeling a little cocky.

Hallelu, Hallelujah was the next song. Oh, no, I thought. Please don't let her have the 'Praise Ye The Lord' part.

Denied!

Thankfully, she wasn't singing loud enough for the audience to pick up on it. But there was my little girl, smiling proudly as she sang Crazy The Lord! I should have nipped that in the bud when I had a chance.

Unfortunately, this wasn't the highlight of the production.

Zoey quickly became bored (I really have no worries about turning into a Pageant Mom; the girl's got no desire for the stage). Since there was no grass nearby for her to play with, she turned her attention to something else.

Her dress.

She reached down and pulled the hem of her dress up to her chest, flashing the audience. People started laughing. So she did it again. And again. And again. She did it 12,347 times during the next eight minutes.

Actually, she probably only did it five times. It just seemed like 12,347.

So I now have videotape of her kissing a girl and flashing the audience at two separate programs. I should be ready when she inevitably shows up on Girls Gone Wild: Spring Break 2019.

GHS: 10

Related:
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Phoning It In: Random Snippets Of Tuesday Dialogue

The Gratingest* Show On Earth**

Zoey loves to sing. Usually AT THE TOP OF HER LUNGS. Passerbys and her grandmothers comment on how lovely her singing voice is. And I have to wonder, "Are they deaf?" Because I am. If you had to listen to her caterwauling all day long, your ears would bleed until you'd eventually grow deaf as well.

Imagine a high-pitched, unintentionally off-key version of the first verse of My Way by Sid Vicious. Now toss in the mumbled and slurred vocal styling of Shane MacGowan. Now imagine it on a forty-five minute loop. Are you developing a migraine yet?

She's also been writing her own songs lately. Her latest? Frosty On Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer, which sounds perverse but... is, actually. It involves, among other things, a sleepover between the two. Kind of gives a whole new meaning to the thumpety-thump-thump portion of the Frosty song.

Zoey is also a ham. She loves an audience. So, one might think that if you could combine Zoey's love for singing with an audience, she would be champing at the bit to perform, no?

No.

Last year, Zoey's preschool held a Christmas program. In came thirty little angels dressed in white with halos of garland atop their heads. Except one.

Zoey's halo was around her neck. We were not off to a good start.

After the teachers somehow managed to lead the children to the altar (the phrase herding cats comes to mind), the music started and most of the children began singing. Guess who chose to remain silent? She just stood there with a deer-in-the-headlights look, acting like she had never heard the song before or had any idea where she was. That's my girl!

After a song ended, one of the four-year-old kids would come out dressed as a shepherd, wise man, etc. and mutter a few soft-spoken words. Then another song would begin. Zoey remained stoic through the whole thing. In fact, the only time she showed any interest or emotion was when they would sing a song that required hand gestures. She would act out the song (admittedly, not as animatedly as her classmates) but would not sing. Perhaps she has a future as a mime?

Apparently, wearing the halo around her neck wasn't nonconformist enough for her, so she took it off and started twirling it around her arm. This must have been quite an exhausting activity, because after a few seconds of halo twirling, she had to sit down on the altar. Of course, four other children followed suit, causing the teachers to scurry over to rectify the situation.

Soon, she became totally bored with everything so she started looking at her classmates. Her eyes fell on the watch of her neighbor (and future fellow gang member). Since two-year-olds can only look with their hands, Zoey reached out and grabbed the girl's wrist. The girl recoiled in horror, put her other hand on her wrist, and turned her back to Zoey.

Like that move was going to deter my girl!

Zoey became much more forceful while yelling, "But I just want to see it!" Finally, a teacher came over and separated the two.

Luckily, the entire program was only ten minutes long. I would've hated to see what Zoey could've accomplished given a few more moments of boredom.

Last spring, they had another program at the end of the school year. This one was held outside on a bleacher. Unfortunately, they put Zoey on the bottom row, giving her easy access to the ground. While she miraculously remained seated for the length of the program, she didn't sing or act out any of the songs, as she was too busy picking blades of grass the entire time. 0 for 2!

My stomach was upset with antici... pation the morning of this year's Christmas program. I was expecting the worst and hoping for the best, as my inner pessimist is so fond of saying. About halfway into the program, I saw her turn to the girl next to her. Her brow lowered, her cheeks puffed out, and I thought to myself, "Oh, hell. It's on now."

Zoey got right up into the other girl's face and started wagging her finger at her. Apparently the other girl had accidentally hit Zoey's hand. How do I know this? Because I could plainly hear what Zoey was yelling at the girl, despite being five rows back in the church.

And then the girl pulled out the greatest anti-bullying tactic I have ever seen: she put both hands on Zoey's face and reached in and gave her a kiss on the mouth. Zoey pulled back, but the girl did it again, and both girls started laughing. Crisis averted!

Wonder what would have happened if I had tried a move like that growing up? I know, they would've just kicked my ass even harder.

But the day wasn't a total wash. Zoey acted out a few of the songs and even sang one word to a song. The word? Baa (it was a song about the manger scene). At the top of her lungs, of course.

Baby steps, my friend.

Can't wait until next year!

GHS: 4 (3 for Xmas 2004, 1 for Spring 2005, 0 for Xmas 2005 (it's not like the events came as a shock or anything))

*Yes, I know gratingest is not a word. It is today!
**I apologize for the lateness of this post. I had to find the videotape of last year's Christmas program as I had successfully blocked the events of that day from my mind. Oh, the soothing powers of denial!