My kids had their first school dance. The theme was “Spring Fling” and students were required to have an adult chaperone in order to attend. My youngest thought this was great and we billed it as our Girls’ Night Out. However, I was not surprised that the older child had no interest in attending. Very few teen boys want to hang out with their little sister and mother on a Friday night. In public. Surrounded by their peers.
I’m a member of the parent committee so my intuition was confirmed when the staff agreed that most of the older kids had not purchased tickets. I bought a couple hundred light sticks, made sure I had plenty of room on my phone for pictures and took my ridiculously excited, and angelically clad, daughter and headed out for an hour and a half of terrible music and even worse snack food.
The kids were adorable. From the five-year-old in a suit, replete with fedora and wing tips, to the sixth-grader dressed like Sporty Spice (ok yes, I know that she probably has absolutely no idea who Sporty Spice is and would be justly horrified if she knew that’s the first thing I thought of when I saw her, but let’s be honest, kids are not reading my blogs. And most of you who are reading it know full well who Sporty Spice is, whether you like to admit it or not), you could feel the exhilaration. They were shaking it off and uptown funking, totally enwrapped in a false sense of maturity that I remember quite well.
With only a short window to be dancing queens, my girl and her friends took to the dance floor, leaving me behind like a bad habit, exactly how it should be. And as I took my baby girl’s coat, camera, water and snack and headed to the parent section, I couldn’t help but smile and even giggle a little. Particularly at the six-year-old who had clearly had about 27 times the legal limit of sugar and was using the high to dance himself into a sweaty tizzy.
So imagine my surprise when I noticed a couple of my son’s friends. They were not actually dancing, but they were there, wandering around in a tight group, dressed better than usual, cell phones omnipresent. Not to be outdone, I texted my son.
“Your friends are here. Do you want to have dad drop you off?”
“No.”
“LOL. OK, LMK if you change your mind.”
“No.”
I got the feeling he had not quite come around to the idea of mass socializing so I let the issue lie. I chatted with teachers, laughed with parents, continued to be ignored by my youngest and otherwise did all the things any good chaperone at their child’s dance should do. With about half an hour of dancing to go, the older kids approached me and actually inquired about my son’s whereabouts. I explained, verbatim, what he had said and they laughed, shook their heads and walked away. I broke out my phone.
“You’re friends were asking for you.”
“Oh.”
“Why don’t you just come for a few minutes? It’s almost over.”
“I guess I don’t have anything better to do.”
With five minutes to spare, he arrived, wearing the same clothes he had been in all day. I was so impressed that he had actually arrived, that I said nothing about the attire. I started to point him in the general direction of his friends, but before a word could escape my mouth, he said, “I immediately regret my decision.”
“What? Why?”
“There are far too many children here.”
My son is an introvert. As a born and raised extrovert, it took a long time for me to acknowledge this behavior trait and even longer to understand it. As a toddler, after about half an hour in nearly any non-familial social setting, my precious child would stand up and, completely unannounced, run across a room and tackle the least suspecting child.
I quickly realized that this was going to make me the least popular mom in the playgroup (after the mom of the kid who bites) and stopped going out of the house. For about 18 months, we only went into group settings when I knew we could be out in less than 30 minutes or else my wee child would subtly make his displeasure know in the form of assault and battery, and assure a grand exit.
And lo these many years later, as he stood next to me at the edge of the dance floor, I started to realize that perhaps I had made a terrible mistake. However, since he is no longer a toddler, instead of trying out some fight club moves, he just stood there and texted his friends. Who were standing on the dance floor. About 25 feet away.
Progress.
As I struggled to extract his polar-opposite sister from the frackis, the boy continued to look like a trapped, wild animal. When we finally broke free, into the cold night air, he immediately began to relax. Once safely in the car, I tried to make light of the situation and asked if he’d had at least a little fun for the five minutes he had stood next to me.
“The adrenaline rush caused by the intense social anxiety of that situation should be enough to cover my exercise needs for about a week.”
At least he’s self-aware.
It was a very short evening of dance and merriment and I thought a little post-dance snack was in order. A very simple berry smoothie was the perfect fit; cooling down the fancy, dance-y one and putting a few necessary calories into the one suffering from an adrenal crash.
Berry Smoothie
2 cups frozen organic cherries
1 1/2 cups frozen strawberries
3-5 cups of cold water (until desired consistency)
1 tablespoon honey or agave (optional)
Put all ingredients into a blender and blend on high until smooth, adding water as needed. And once you’ve served them, feel free to make a wine smoothie for yourself (substitute a favorite, light wine for the water. You’re welcome).
Laurie Nigro, a mother of two, is passionate about her family, her community, and natural living. Laurie resides in downtown Riverhead and is co-founder of the River and Roots Community Garden on West Main Street.
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