I am a dancer. Maybe not a very good one, but I’m a passionate one for sure. There are very few things that I love more than dancing my heart out. Throughout my entire childhood (and most of my adulthood so far), I have spent hours upon hours dancing alone in my house. Give me an hour and some hip hop music, and I can burn 1,000 calories, no problem. Add an audience on top of that, and, well, basically all of my dreams have come true.
My boys are my most hilarious dance partners. I can turn on any song, shout “DANCE PARTY!!!” and they will stop whatever they are doing and come running. We do this daily, and it has become one of my most favorite things about being a mother. In addition to this, I really enjoy making them smile or laugh by dancing for them. I am constantly making up silly songs and dance routines in an effort to entertain them, and it always works. Nobody appreciates a few jazz hands, some pop-and-locking, or a little falsetto singing more than my two sons.
Until today, that is.
While my boys were watching the Disney Channel this morning, a commercial came on that was encouraging the little viewers to stand up and dance. My boys protested while I (of course) jumped up at the invitation. As I was dancing, I felt something hit me in the leg. I looked down to find a size 10 Croc on the floor. I looked up just as its pair whizzed past my head. Before I knew it, my flip flops and my other son’s Crocs were being chunked at me, one after the other. In the midst of all of this, I realized that my husband was laughing hysterically.
“Did you hear what Matthew just said?” Kenny asked.
“He said, ‘Hey Daddy. If I throw these shoes at her, do you think she’ll stop dancing?'”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing! My baby boy finally hit that age when what I was doing was no longer entertaining, but embarrassing or annoying. I thought I had at least five more years of him thinking I was the most hilarious and awesome thing ever. I was not prepared for this!
Moms, why does this have to happen to us? Why can’t they just go on thinking that we are the coolest, the best, the funniest people they have ever met?
My poor boys. They sure hit the jackpot when it comes to embarrassing mothers. And while they may be ignoring me, pretending that I am not their mother for the next fifteen years or so, you’ll know me when you see me. I’ll be the mom cheering the loudest at their baseball games, dancing in the center of the circle while chaperoning their middle school dances, and giving them giant kisses on their cheeks while they’re with their friends.