Wednesday, 27 February 2013

And I'm telling you I'm not going

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 fa├žade 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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