Believe it or not, this is me, yesterday, busting out The Worm in front of a school wide assembly with a rock concert designed to make students (and apparently staff alike) think about the choices we make in life. Yes, this was a dance off, and, clearly, when one is willing to throw down the worm, one is going for the win.
Evidently, this is performance week in our house. Tonight is the Annual Ice Cream Social at school for the spring band concert; our kids are too young to play in the band, but they plan on rocking out the trumpet like Daddy or piano like Mommy or guitar like T Swift. But since they were babies, we have come to this concert, always held indoors because of rain, because they LOVED the music. Tonight, the sun shines! Thursday night is their spring choral performance, which they will very much be participating in and have been practicing for months into hairbrush microphones. A tribute to classic 70’s rock is the theme, so Carver’s musical idol is now Elton John, and everywhere Greta walks she is “Kung Fu Fighting” her way along. Last night, we selected outfits so I wouldn’t be rushing last minute to find the one white tee shirt in our home without a stain on it somewhere.
“But, Mom, this is just a boy’s white undershirt,” the blond kung fu fighter complained.
“The directions say: white shirt and shorts or pants. It will be fine, now put them in the bag,” I tell her so I can put the bag somewhere safe which actually translates into me not being able to find their clothes the night of the concert.
“Carver, pick out one bright shirt from your collection.” He’s been rummaging around in his closet of accessories looking for just the right tie.
“Mom, is this one okay?” Smiling, I acknowledge the colorful TURQUOISE shirt, soccer ball bow tie, and ORANGE swim trunks decorated with blue sharks he has selected. Man, would Elton be proud.
“But wait, Mom, Mrs. Burhoe said ‘bright’– do you think we ought to do a glue design and put the gold sparkles on the shirt too?” Has he actually met Elton John without us knowing? Is it the Youtubing we’ve been doing at home of “Crocodile Rock,” or is it just the internal performance artist within him that believes bedazzling is the right choice? Unclear at this writing.
Following closely on the heels of the spring musical revue is Greta’s third year dance recital, her first JAZZ performance, costumed in blue sequins and booty shorts. A big week here in the Krill household. A serious student of dance, taken every Monday faithfully by her Dance Gram Polly (no Dance Mom lives in our house, I’m not sure what she is more excited about or inspired by: the blue sequins, the red lip stick, or the lit up stage with her dance buddies. She has already decided that next year will be tap because she has tried ballet and jazz, so tap is the natural progression given she does not have a dance mom willing or able to sign up for more than one.
Both of our kiddos enjoy an audience and for years I’ve blamed Geoff, Mr. I performed in The Sound of Music in high school/ Mr. I was a fragrance model at Macy’s at the Danbury Mall/ Mr. I love being on stage talking to large or small groups of people/ Mr. I can ski the pants off anyone standing up or sitting down/ Mr. Twinkly Blue Eyes himself. Yes, sir, does their daddy enjoy an audience.
And apparently… so does their mother.
So yesterday, I busted out “the worm” in front of our student body during a school wide rock concert with a band named Attaboy. Yes, you read that right. I performed the worm, iconic 80’s break dancing move– not learned during the actual 80’s as one might suspect given my age. Rather, I learned to worm in college when I took my art credit via Experimental Dance Workshop I. Regretfully, I did not sign up for Experimental Dance Workshop 2 or who knows where life would have led me. Not only did I worm across the gym floor, I blew my students’ minds. According to the lead singer, Ryan, I may also have scarred some students’ memories. He joked that some things should be unseen. Perhaps the 42 year old mom competing in a dance off with a fellow English teacher was too much for even him. Little did he know what he had bargained for when asking if we minded helping out the band at one point.
I did not wake up yesterday morning thinking, “Today, I will rock this day when I do the worm across the gym floor.” No, I woke up thinking about laundry and dishes in the sink and what would I feed my kids for lunch. I could not have imagined that hours later, students would be wowed by my worm prowess– they would be cheering loudly and proudly, not because I’m generally an awesome human being, but because I challenged everything they thought they knew about me, their 42 year old, English teaching mom who often lacks signature style. So thank you, Mr. Untersee and Mrs. Burhoe for encouraging music within our own children, and also to Mrs. Knotts and Mrs. Hamm for all those years of piano lessons and my jazz teacher, Belinda Bridgman– who helped me to love music and dance even if I once hated the stage.