When I was growing up, I often heard about how proud my parents were of me. Usually for simple things “awww, Kimberly, we’re so proud of you. You didn’t puke on Dr. James’s shoes this time!” or “You did your homework BEFORE 10pm the night before it was due, we’re SO proud!” Ok, they said they were proud of me for so much more. They were some crazy supportive parents, I just like making fun of myself.
I got to have a little moment of parental pride this week. I signed CJ up for music class at our neighborhood community center. We attended our first class on Thursday, a little hesitant of what it would mean, who would be there, and how he would take to organized singing and dancing.
Per usual (thanks for the early gene, mom), we were 10 minutes early…the first ones there. Carter had free reign of the giant rug in the middle of a 100+ year old classroom with a view of Greenlake and the Cascade mountains (mommy noticed the beautiful floors and view while C was busy spinning in circles on the floor).
Once all of the students and their adult arrived, we sat in a circle in the big rug. Most people had been coming to music class for months or years, so they knew all the songs we were singing. I played along and faked it so C would feel comfortable. At the beginning, we slap our knees and sing a welcome song to each of the children. Most of the children sat on their mommy’s lap. Carter? Dead center of the circle dancing and laughing. The kind where his head is moving so violently, you think he might tip over at any minute. When he got tired of dancing, he’d crawl to the edges of the circle and nuzzle up to one of the other moms and kids. After he tried sticking his fingers in their mouths (sorry, other parents) he would put his back up against their leg and lean back as if relaxing on a beach after a long journey.
Some people were uncomfortable. Others found it precious. Me? I was practically in tears. I was so profoundly proud of my boy. He just got out there in a room with 20 or so people he’d never seen and rocked it. He had the time of his life (minus a couple of overwhelmed moments in the middle of class). I figure there is an extremely short time in life where you just don’t care what people think. You show them your rawest emotions when you feel them. If that’s joy from music to the point of falling over? Awesome. Fear or stress because the egg shakers are too loud? It’s okay. Comfort from a warm, soft (albeit stranger) mommy that makes you relax and rest your head? Even better.
If there’s one thing this kid has from me, it’s emotion (eh, some would call it drama). He shows it when he feels it. It makes me proud. Even when I’m frustratingly trying to contain and corral it to productive action.
CJ? Keep up your antics. Especially in music class. You rock my world, kid.