My day was INSANE. Crazy stupid insane. And all this bad stuff happened. And it was stupid. And it really, really bit. But then it miraculously was fixed. Which I am incredibly thankful for, but needless* to say, today was a TWO Zoloft Day. I felt the need to get that all out before I started blogging today. (breathe and go – you got this girl. what? I can give myself a pep-talk in the middle of my blog post if I want.)
(*why do people always say that and then say it anyway? That’s stupid. After today’s post – I’m not going to say that anymore.)
When our two boys were little they were super cute. Not that they aren’t cute now. They’re just a teenager and a preteen and sometimes they are cute, but they are mostly hungry, tired, stinky and/or having a “I have new testosterone in my body so I think I’ll have a meltdown at this very moment” moment.
I will call the elder Max, because if my third was a boy, that was going to be his name (I had a girl and although this story doesn’t include her, she is Tomboy Princess) and the younger Mr. Schmee, because that’s his nickname. (Max’s nickname is Pooter and it makes him really mad when I call him that now, so I’m sure not going to blog it. Except for this one time. Sorry Pooter. Oops. I did it again.)
I work full time (I know – what am I doing? Seriously – trying to make daily posts so I can have a famous blog while working 40+ a week makes no sense to me either, but I like writing and I can’t afford the Betty Ford clinic) and am incredibly lucky to have a school teacher mom who is able to pick my kids up and take them to school with her and then watch them in the afternoons until SAH or I can pick them up.
FLASHBACK to when Mr. Schmee was in kindergarten and Max was in 1st grade (That whole close in age thing is a story for another blog post). Mr. Schmee told his teacher, the gym teacher, the cafeteria lady, the school janitor and a few random other people that he had started taking tap dancing lessons that week and he was really, really excited about it. He talked about it all day to anyone who would listen. So after school all these people at different times stopped by my mom’s classroom to tell her how cool it was that Mr. Schmee was taking tap dancing lessons and how much they loved the way his eyes lit up when he talked about it.
The thing is though, Mr.Schmee had never taken a tap dancing class in his life. He never asked to take tap dancing lessons. I don’t even think I know when or where he even learned what tap dancing was. So my mom politely explained to all these people stopping by that she had no idea what they were talking about, Mr. Schmee wasn’t taking tap lessons and wasn’t currently enrolled to take any kind of dance class while Mr.Schmee ran and hid his embarrassed making stuff up self behind a book shelf.
After the hullabaloo died down that day, Max very graciously offered to teach his little brother how to tap. Which was an incredibly sweet gesture from someone who had never taken a tap dancing lesson either. Mr. Schmee eagerly accepted the offer.
So starting that day, and every school day for the next two months, Max taught his brother how to tap – and not only how to tap – but how to tap in tennis shoes. They would occasionally practice at home, but really this activity was reserved for the hallowed tile rectangle in my mother’s classroom.
FLASHFORWARD to today. Mr. Schmee got involved in a local children’s theatre acting troupe that performs really cool shows all over the place. Besides meeting weekly to rehearse their shows, they take classes in Shakespeare, voice lessons and what not. This year he came home from the first class of 2013 and said “Mom – I need tap shoes – they put me in a tap class.” After the initial ”AW MAN. I have to go buy tap shoes?!” (which I just thought by the way, I didn’t say it out-loud, so don’t be mean to me), I remembered his two months of tap dancing lessons from his brother.
I ground the boys. I sigh at the boys. I give them the super stern mom look when they are behaving badly. I also have been known to give them wedgies, noogies and to prove my superiority by occasionally taking them down (and yes, I mean like a wrestling move). But above all else – MAN – I love them so, so, so much.
His tap teacher sent me a message the other day to tell me how awesome he was doing in class. So 1) Mr.Schmee is completely and totally psychic and 2) Max must have really, really taught him well.
Peace out guys and hopefully I’ll have time to post again tomorrow. Also if you comment on this post and Mr.Schmee becomes the next Savion Glover – you’re getting comp tickets. For reals.