Centre of attention

There are a few truisms about parenting:

- There will always be food around your house, particular in hard to reach corners of the floor.
- Despite saying "that's why we can't have nice things" you will continue to buy them and hope they won't have Sharpie graffiti on them.
- You are always proud of your child.

I don't know why we are proud of our children. It's not like they have done anything we haven't. My daughters can't outdo us in math for 3 years at least.

Perhaps it's a hope that they are partly us but without all the issues. To that I say "just wait".

Occasionally your child will be the centre of attention. Sometimes it involves states of undress in public assembly, or them quoting you verbatim on sensitive issues, or they decide to hold you hostage through public shaming via a temper tantrum.

Those are not good times.

The other times, times where they are cute or showing off their development that is weeks ahead of average children their age, it is kind of nice.

I'm not sure which one it was the other week.

We were at my cousin's wedding. The food was eaten, the speeches told, and the dancing began. I instructed my children that they were not to touch the wedding cake, presents, or go on the dance floor until everyone was called. I may or may not have made comments about the well being of favourite toys if they failed to do so, but memory is a funny thing.

They were good and waited until we could all collectively humiliate ourselves by thrashing about in a controlled fashion in an attempt to follow the downbeat of the music.

My older daughter didn't even try.

I wanted to have a dance with each of my little girls. A sentimental thing where you dress them up really nice, do their hair, and pray to heaven that someone will photograph you when you're dancing with them and not when you're uttering threats into their little weepy faces.

The older one refused my offers, begging, and pleading for a dance. What a flashback to grades 7 through 12 for me.

Instead she stood by herself, grooving through a repertoire of 12 moves she picked up from Mamma Mia, Hairspray and Elmocize. She was so into the moment she didn't notice other people dancing around her, or even the tempo of the song that was playing. I began to believe she could hear the music about to be played and was keeping time to that.

Her enjoyment of it, and her immersion in the music brought what amounted to a small paparazzi to film and photograph her. Yep, I love the 21st century where everyone is a budding photographer for National Geographic. Myself included. I know at least 6 settings on my $300 camera.

I couldn't tell if I should be proud or ashamed of her, until I realized that the only reason people would film me dancing is to give Johnny Depp someone else to emulate when portraying Captain Jack Sparrow. I think it's time to watch Elmocize again.