A Tiny Little Story

This story takes place on a blustery day, with winds that blow so hard and cold they feel as if they penetrate through your skin, deep in your bones (yes, I live in hell- at least it has felt that way for the last month). The setting of this story is at a music class that Simret and I attend faithfully every Monday evening because she loves going and my girlfriend Jen might have suicidal thoughts if she didn't have someone to share the pain of attending these classes with. The awkward dancing and singing that is involved in this class by the parents and their children is a story for another time. This story takes place on the last day of class for the semester. One parent's comment early on in the class, that would ring true later, was "these classes always seem to last one class too long".

So, there we are hopping around like rabbits after inching around like snails on the floor. Simret is having a wonderful time with Hannah; whom she often refers to as "my sister". The next song played was called "Playing in the Kitchen"- I sort of hate this song! We sing about playing in the kitchen while 15 children all under 4 years old and their parents bang on various kitchen items. I guess I have some sensory issues- but this is the closest thing to what people of faith call "hell" as I can imagine. To complicate the picture a sweet little boy comes over to play with Simret and "Simret's sister". Simret doesn't accept this little boy's plea to play with them and actually starts swinging her spatula at him (the one she was using to beat against a cookie sheet). I intervene (which is actually frowned upon in this class) and explain to Simret that we need to include everyone and that I understood it was hard to share- especially our friends. Simret was already in a full-blown tantrum- raging that this guy would have the nerve to try to play with her and her sister.

I picked her up, still swinging her spatula and screaming-Simret could not be reasoned with nor soothed. She continued to cry for the following two songs about how she wanted milk... it went sort of this this "miiillk...milllkkie....millllky...milllk" over and over again. Fresh out of milk I resorted to bribery and every other bad parenting technique that I could come up with, as I had already tried all the ones that I have read in the multiple parenting books that plague my head with conflicting information - all with no results. Finally, we were on the last song and I was that much closer to sanity - which unfortunately I find in a glass of wine these days. Just when I thought it could get worse- well it did. Not only was she still crying about milk- which has now lasted over 10 minutes - she decided to pull down her pants- underwear and all and assume the position they call in yoga "down-dog". Yup, so there I was sitting in a circle of parents and children with my daughter in the middle bent over naked while continuing to cry. I start to laugh hysterically until I cry - so embarrassed that my body does not know what else to do. I grab for her and my grip on her tights slips - she realizes this and starts to run around the room naked. Everyone thought this was hilarious; especially the parents.

Class finally ends, I apologize to the teacher for "our" disruption of her class. With a look of sympathy on her face she says "see you next semester". I walk out of the building with Jen and make the comment "well that couldn't have gone worse". She has a great way of bringing me back to reality and states, "well she could have pulled someone else's pants down". "Good point". I go home to tell the Lance the tragic events of the evening and let him know that I deserve the "Mom of the Year Award".