Monday, February 4, 2013

Someone once described Baby as “the most un-self-conscious child ever”. That’s pretty darn accurate.  Which means that I tend to be a most self-conscious mother. See Baby requested a microphone for Christmas so that “all the neighbors can hear my beautiful singing.” She’s the kid who dances and twirls in store aisle. And yes, I’ve told her to stop. But the ratio of listening ability to bellowing ability is indeed inverse, so if she’s singing, there is no listening occurring. You could continue to correct the behavior, but then you are just talking to yourself, and then everyone thinks you’re crazy, not just the judgmental old ladies who swear you’re in over your head. Which I, for one, am. But I don’t need everyone telling me so. My children, in general, lack the social awareness that keeps some kids from spinning and dancing in the store aisles. Truly, it’s a ritual,
“What are you supposed to be doing?”
“Holding onto the cart”
“What are you not supposed to be doing?”
“Spinning and dancing.”
 So just what is it about sparkly brown eyes and curly brown hair that makes it physically impossible to be quiet? She’s a little thing. Always been on the smaller side of life. But hello world, hear her roar…..and that’s just her saying good morning.  What is harder to communicate over paper are the ginormous hand gestures that accompany her rising timber. It’s amazing what genetics will convey. Not one of my kids was born with an innate ability to cook incredible foods, but they sure have all those Italian mannerisms.  So hurry on, maybe the crazy singing child will follow you, probably not because she does march to the beat of her own drum, one that makes it harder to follow her. And certainly it’s harder for her to follow you. Probably shrieking "Poke her, poke her, poke her in the face." I don't think I'll correct her.
It’s well known that children will find the worst things to say and repeat those at the most inopportune moments. Without fail. Be prepared. You could teach them only to sign….in Latin, and they’ll still belt out PitBull lyrics, about being too drunk no less, while walking up the stairs into church. I try hard not to actually listen to my daughter singing her odd mix of a song about Princesses, Airplanes and Dreams. Judging from the artists she's drawing from, I'm thinking that this belongs in the parenting hall of FAIL. My personal parenting hall of fail is bursting.
 Of course if I did stop to actually listen I would hear something along the lines of “We were both young when I first saw you, you're hot and you're cold I love spinning with bubbles."  Lyrical whiplash at its finest, although that might be an abuse of the word “lyrical.” It’s hard not being the mother who shouts “Would you please sing as if the world is actually listening????” Even when your new lyrics are actually an improvement on the original. That’s what’s so magical about kiddos, their ability to improve on any situation. Which is why they have so much useful advice for those of us who are trying to raise them. Advice that is freely shared, frequently. I’d pass along their wisdom, but Baby just walked into the room bellowing “I like big pants.”
I guess that's the homeschooler's version of Sir Mix-A-Lot. And they say homeschoolers are sheltered. 

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