It does seem a little lazy, using this stuff I have resurrected from beneath 3G artwork hills, but it's actually a much needed stroll down memory lane. Cliched, but true, time is disappearing too fast and I can't believe my hormonal (!?) BigL was ever wee. But she was and occasionally it does me the world of good to sit back watching the scroll of baby photos on the digiframe (bought by yours truly for GeordieLad,but I'm getting all the fun - bonus!) and read about how I felt back then. Last one then...
Ah ‘tis the season to be merry.
Dark mornings, dark evenings, putting the heating on, cosy weekends in
front of heart-warming family films and the school nativity. Yes, it was all going so well wasn’t it? BigL is currently filling our school runs
with random verses and chorus lines from this year’s school Christmas
play. She is an angel, no…a star, no…a
stable. A what? A stable? What kind of physical theatre lunacy is this? So
after sending her straight back to class to ensure her teachers knew her mother
was once Head of Drama, I asked BigL if she wanted me and Sensible Husband to
attend.
The pause was deafening. I had
pre-empted this response as we have been subject to a number of
plays/pantos/concerts where BigL has ceased to perform the minute she caught
sight of us. So much did we dread the
minute our first born was almost struck dumb we stopped telling her we were
coming to the relevant nursery performance that morning.
Cowering behind fellow parents squished into the miniscule
bottom-trapping seats, we remained hidden and were able to bask in the glory of
our daughter singing, surreptitiously winking at each other. Her look of surprise when she discovered us
after the event was welcoming rather than the usual venomous façade that
appeared midway through ‘Little Donkey’ or some such musical offering.
The worst case of this came this summer at the nursery graduation. Yes,
complete with ceremony, handmade gowns and mortar boards, and professional
photographer; the afternoon was surmised with a squeaky rendition of “Mamma
Mia” which the 4 year olds had been practicing for, ooh at least 6 months. BigL, surrounded by babyhood buddies started
at full volume, then turning to face her audience fixed her eyes on me, popped
the resident thumb in her mouth and continued to stare me down through two
verses and three choruses.
So we asked this year. Does she really want us there? After all it will
be my second day back at work and GeordieLad will have to skip off work. Yes
yes yes she’s adamant we must both be there.
She’s in big school now and ready to show off newly learned lyrics
among her peers. But I’m not so
sure. Seriously though, if she so much
as shows an inkling of embarrassment when I’m all electronic applianced up, I’ll
be right up on that stage with my mummy version of Fairytale of New York…(altogether now)and the
teachers from the city comp are necking down their wine, coz Ofsted’s on the
phone – they’re in at 9.
Well, luckily, no X-factor moment required from me that day. She was the perfect stable. Proud me, however, possessed no stability at all and blubbed all the way through. Sigh.
Goodnight London, wherever you are.
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