This week, Leya and I joined one of those child stimulation classes, mostly because I have run out of ideas to keep her occupied. Even I no longer laugh when I walk her from mirror to mirror saying, "Who's that pretty girl in the mirror there? That's right - it's mommee!"
So off we trundle. We arrive at our class late, so I knock politely and apologise. "That's! Alright!" exclaims the teacher, who sounds as if she's high on Rainbow-and-Fairy flavoured Redbull. "And! who! do! we! have! here!?" You can practically see the exclamation marks, pink and glittery, bouncing through the air. I just know that, were I to encounter this person early in the morning, I would hate her. And yet, when I answer, I find the same creepily over-enthusiastic voice coming out of my mouth. "This! Is! Leya!" I boom happily. It sounds like a CeeBeeBees audition with a whole lot of try-too-harders.
Now I notice that Ms. "I can airpunch with my voice" has strapped on a clown-shaped full-body apron, kind of like a mask that starts at her crown and ends at her feet. "Leya, say hello to Tommy!!!!!"
"Umm, I think that Leya may have a genetic fear of clowns," I admit. I feel bad because I can see that she really, really wants Leya and her alter ego Tommy to be friends, but facts are facts and I would rather spend a night with a tarantula than shake Tommy's hand. "BUT TOMMY IS A FRIENDLY CLOWN!!!!!!!!!!!!!" she excitedly insists. I remain sceptical, remembering that "But I am a friendly clown" were the very words that came out of the mouth of a clown I met at Gold Reef City, whom James had told about my clown phobia. Shortly after making this promise, she proceeded to chase me around the theme park on her unicycle. She was particularly scary because she was wearing stockings that had little bits of wool embroidered on them to make it look like she had hairy legs. Such attention to detail mught be admirable in other instances, but here it just seemed especially threatening.
Leya looks at Tommy, aghast. It is clear that she, too, is thinking that, somewhere, there is a serial killer who enjoys making people into scatter cushions and lures them by wearing much the same get up.
Nonetheless, we survived. Leya had a natural talent for all the activities, winding the bobbin with alacrity and snatching beanbags with the speed of a mugger outside a tourist hotspot. I was amazed that the teacher did not comment on her obviously superior skills, and even made an oblique invitation for her to do so, saying, "I know her father will want to know how she performed. What can I tell him?" I figured that Iwould sound less like a freakily competitive stage mom if I implied it was James who was interested in these things. I'm not sure that the teacher was fooled. When she replied, her voice gave nothing away - except that this is definitely a woman who should stay away from caffeine and helium.
So off we trundle. We arrive at our class late, so I knock politely and apologise. "That's! Alright!" exclaims the teacher, who sounds as if she's high on Rainbow-and-Fairy flavoured Redbull. "And! who! do! we! have! here!?" You can practically see the exclamation marks, pink and glittery, bouncing through the air. I just know that, were I to encounter this person early in the morning, I would hate her. And yet, when I answer, I find the same creepily over-enthusiastic voice coming out of my mouth. "This! Is! Leya!" I boom happily. It sounds like a CeeBeeBees audition with a whole lot of try-too-harders.
Now I notice that Ms. "I can airpunch with my voice" has strapped on a clown-shaped full-body apron, kind of like a mask that starts at her crown and ends at her feet. "Leya, say hello to Tommy!!!!!"
"Umm, I think that Leya may have a genetic fear of clowns," I admit. I feel bad because I can see that she really, really wants Leya and her alter ego Tommy to be friends, but facts are facts and I would rather spend a night with a tarantula than shake Tommy's hand. "BUT TOMMY IS A FRIENDLY CLOWN!!!!!!!!!!!!!" she excitedly insists. I remain sceptical, remembering that "But I am a friendly clown" were the very words that came out of the mouth of a clown I met at Gold Reef City, whom James had told about my clown phobia. Shortly after making this promise, she proceeded to chase me around the theme park on her unicycle. She was particularly scary because she was wearing stockings that had little bits of wool embroidered on them to make it look like she had hairy legs. Such attention to detail mught be admirable in other instances, but here it just seemed especially threatening.
Leya looks at Tommy, aghast. It is clear that she, too, is thinking that, somewhere, there is a serial killer who enjoys making people into scatter cushions and lures them by wearing much the same get up.
Nonetheless, we survived. Leya had a natural talent for all the activities, winding the bobbin with alacrity and snatching beanbags with the speed of a mugger outside a tourist hotspot. I was amazed that the teacher did not comment on her obviously superior skills, and even made an oblique invitation for her to do so, saying, "I know her father will want to know how she performed. What can I tell him?" I figured that Iwould sound less like a freakily competitive stage mom if I implied it was James who was interested in these things. I'm not sure that the teacher was fooled. When she replied, her voice gave nothing away - except that this is definitely a woman who should stay away from caffeine and helium.
No comments:
Post a Comment