WARNING: This post contains a fair amount of Mum bragging. Yup, I’m Bragley Cooper. Dame Braggie Smith. Made in Bragenham. Braggie Dunlop. Sir Bragley Wiggins. Brag Pitt. Melvyn Bragg (ooh didn’t have to change that one). I am all these and more as my kids performed in their first dance show last weekend and they were SHITTING AMAZING!
As a true Brit I never celebrate my own accomplishments. My upper lip is pretty stiff, which is more than I can say for my lower belly. These days my main accomplishments mainly consist of getting dressed and brushing my hair (overrated). Honestly, I could win the Nobel Prize for Literature (surely a given after this blog?) – and I would definitely try and play it down. “What this old thing? It’s just a big chocolate coin…. Bob Dylan won it last year you know… (classic subject change)”
But when it comes to my kids, I want to shout from the freaking rooftops. THATS MY KIDS! LOOK AT THEM! THEY ARE GRACE AND BEAUTY PERSONIFIED! And on show day – despite the ill fitting costumes or lack of a dress rehearsal, they bloody nailed it. I genuinely don’t think I’ve ever felt such pride, love and overwhelming urge to scream “I LOVE YOU!” Apart from when my hub cracked out a tub of Ben and Jerry’s last week unprompted.
Anyway, like Katie Price and her ‘singing’ career – I’m getting a bit carried away (bless her). Let me give you some context. My kids attend a street dance class at their nursery and a few weeks ago, we received a letter to say they have been invited to perform in the yearly show put on by the performing arts school who run the class. “Oh look!” I exclaimed with glee, someone else recognises their raw talent. I am of course convinced they are destined to be the next Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, Gene Kelley and Debbie Reynolds or Ashley Banjo and the ‘was little now big fella‘ with the massive hair from Diversity. Either way, clearly the rhythm is in them. So we signed up with no idea of what to expect.
I asked LB last week what he’s going to do in the show, and he pulled apart his bum cheeks and let rip – so my expectations weren’t high. And as for LG, she wasn’t really aware there was a show. But dutifully we dropped them off at the stage door, took our overpriced £15 seats (for an amateur show! It wasn’t bloody Joseph!) and waited to see whether said ass dance would occur.
I say waited. That’s an understatement. We had to watch fifteen, yes fifteen dances and songs performed by kids we don’t know. It would be a test of anyone’s stamina. And apparently it’s frowned upon to watch Jeremy Corbyn’s Glastonbury speech on your mobile even if it is live (lit up like a bloody Christmas tree). So we watched patiently, my husband and I exchanging nervous glances, then bored eye rolls, then ‘oh FFS hurry up’ stares.
The show had the usual traits of an amateur dance show. One kid pushed another onto the stage because she missed her cue, a bit too aggressively. The boys had a standalone number to James Bond and Men in Black and all the stereotypical shit they make boys do because heaven forbid they might like to rock out to a bit of Britney. One little girl stood and waved at her parents for her entire number before curtseying and running off (too cute). And then the oldest dancer came out and did a solo number which in all honesty wasn’t appropriate for a kids dance show. I later found out she’s 16 but even so, no one wants to see that amount of hip gyrating at 3.30pm on a Saturday. I sat there for 3 minutes with an unimpressed look on my face that clearly said “Chill out Miley.” I later found out that Miley is the daughter of the the manager of my kids nursery, who for the purposes of this post I will call ‘Sybil’ as she sounds just like Mrs Fawlty herself. Good job I didn’t ask Sybil who the stripper was. I already embarrassed myself asking for the WiFi password….
Anyway it was time. I sat forward in my seat, ready for my kids to own the stage, and out they trooped to flashing lights and the pumping sound of ‘Ghostbusters’ – HOLDING HANDS. So I obviously started crying and watched the rest of the performance through a mix of snot and happy tears. And for the most part they followed the routine! No farts were visibly ejected and LG finally realised she was in a show. They stepped side to side. They shouted ‘Ghostbusters’ when they were supposed to. They did the typical breakdance spinning move which means I was right – destined for Diversity. And to finish they did a kick and then fell to the floor in a move which looked like it would break my knees, but was nothing to a 4 year old. I say they, only LB did the kick, LG was still enjoying the spotlight and stayed standing while the other 17 kids on stage hit the deck. A chorus of ‘Ahhhhhs’ filled the auditorium and I beamed and thought ‘That’s my girl, SHES MINE!’ And as they all shuffled off stage, bumping into each other, LB stood at the front of the stage and gave the audience a huge thumbs up.
That’s right my little petals, you’ve done it, and you’re going to the big time. And joking aside (obvs I would never push my children into anything) – they loved it. Every second. And in the second show (they had to do it twice) LG even did the kick. More ‘Ahhhh’s.’ More pride. So much love gushing through me I was nine miles high (gangsta trippin). Oh I love these kids. They make me go all BoastBusters.
Until next time, peace out. N ♥