That's-Not-My-Kid Thursday

It's high time for a That's-Not-My-Kid Thursday Link Up, don't ya' think?


Here's mine. After you read it, make sure to post your mortified mommy moment on your own blog and link up at the bottom. Or just share in the comments. Whatever floats your boat.

On Tuesday evening Dee (5), Elle (2), and I sat in the lobby of Jeigh's (4) dance studio while she was in her ballet class. Parents and siblings aren't allowed in the actual dance rooms, I assume to allow the students to completely focus on the teacher.

They have placed a screen in the lobby so that parents can watch from a distance. The TV screen has four smaller screens within: One for Jeigh's dance class, a second dance class, a piano class, and an empty room that has two bathrooms leading off of it.

My five-year old son Dee is enthralled with the concept of this monitoring system. He's clever enough that he's figured out where that empty room is and realizes it's being monitored.

This particular day, he asked if he could go to the bathroom.

Me: "Sure, do you know where it is?"

Dee: "Yep!" and runs off to answer the call of nature.

Elle is asking me to read to her so I get a little distracted. Before long, I refocus on the monitor to watch Jeigh's class when to my horror I see my son on the bottom left hand of the screen, walking out of the bathroom with his pants down around his ankles. He's hardly paying attention to his clothing situation. He's intent on finding one thing: the camera. Which he does and begins waving like he's in a parade.

Knowing I can't get back to him quickly enough or yell loud enough to be heard, I send a wish up to the Northern Star that he'll get his pants pulled up before he turns six, or at least before the lobby full of moms see him and make the connection who's streaking child this is.

After awhile he finally gets his pants back up {whew} but then begins break dancing...or seizing (I couldn't really tell) on the floor. Do I dare hope the other moms still haven't seen? Nope. I hear the snickers behind me.

So now I ask myself: Do I claim him or pretend he belongs to the bored looking dad standing outside the building?

I never get the chance to salvage my own dignity, never mind his, when he runs down the hall, hops on my lap, and says loudly, "Mommy! Did you see me waving?? DID YOU?!"