So, the not-graduation preschool thing happened last night. It was an evening filled with interesting costume choices ranging from sequined tank tops, leggings and four inch heels to camisoles (didn’t we used to consider these underwear at some point) and short shorts that revealed all the body art a Mama can (Side note: the children were all dressed tastefully, save the rub on tattoos. Nice work, ‘rents! At least appropriate translates into children’s clothing easier than yours). There were inexplicable visors involved, but I’ll give you a pass, preschool teachers, because I am sure they were cheaper than mortarboards (right? cheaper?).
Before I get too much into Joan Rivers’ skin, I’ll focus on the main event: my kid singing on a stage. Kind of. He doesn’t get too into that sort of thing, aka Group Activities (seems appropriate to capitalize. I don’t know why). If everyone is doing one thing, he will probably just make a face that communicates his desire to crawl out of his own skin and be somewhere else, preferrably where these people are not. What can I say? He is his father’s son.
Once he got off the stage and was able to come sit down with us, he told us about the CAKE! DOWNSTAIRS! CAKE! This was great news because if you are going to pretend to graduate four and five year olds from something, you better be as legit as possible. Nothing says legitimate like cake.
Here’s the proof it happened:
Hand motions = Conforming
Happy to Sing Along (Whoa. Who is this kid?)
Shaking Hands
Peanut Gallery
