Can you imagine Grit - cold, unemotional, unwarm, depressive Grit; misanthropic Grit, the Grit who takes comfort in gallows humour ripped out of a daily trauma of struggle and misery - singing I'm A Little Teapot?
If not, read on.
This morning I take Shark, Squirrel and Tiger to a 'music and movement' session down at the old people's sheltered housing park. They have this community room which looks like it could serve as a chapel of rest, all dimmed lighting, underfloor heating and arrow slits for windows. They get me in there, these crazy home educating people who've organised this session, and they lock the door behind me.
Oh my God. I thought I was going to die. I'm locked in this room with a bunch of toddlers and kids and mothers and everyone's being so nice to each other. I mean Really Nice. Everyone's smiling and holding hands like we've never had a war. And it is led by this woman who sings everything. Now this white-haired old woman has walked straight out of apple pie lane. She's not human. She's so nice, she's some sort of caricature of nice. She even has pure white hair like your favourite storybook grandma and a soft lilting voice that rhythms and rhymes its way through everything she says. And she starts singing things like 'Why that's a really nice idea! and 'Thank you Shark, that's a really lovely way of standing' and she's smiling, all the time, and I wonder what I could possibly do or say to break that nice smile, and realise there probably isn't anything.
It gets worse. Crazy apple pie woman gets everyone in a circle and we all have to dance round a flower and sing Polly Put the Kettle On.
I'm sorry? I'm aged 48. Oh my God. Now it's Incy Wincy Spider. Hang on, I never even did this stuff when Shark, Squirrel and Tiger were aged two. I scan the room. I can't get out. Then it's Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. The windows are too small and the door's locked. It's Lord of the Dance. I want to kill myself. In my mind I can see my own body, clawing at the walls. But it never stops. Because after I have to dance round the flower some more holding hands, it's Baa-baa Black Sheep. And then the crazy woman makes me sing I'm A Little Teapot. With the actions.
That's it. I can't take any more. I'm in a cold sweat. My entire left leg becomes paralysed and I have to break out of the circle and prop myself up against the wall. Everyone else sings Wheels on the Bus.
When the torture ends, and crazy nice lady has thanked everyone with a voice that sounds like sugar stars, I can feel the life flood back into my leg. I make a break for it. Squirrel, Shark and Tiger say they had a lot of fun and would like to do it all again next month. Mummy Grit says weakly 'Would you? That's nice. Of course I'll bring you. Can I sit out?'
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5 comments:
"Music and Movement. Clo loved it. I did not at all. I had to be involved! Far too much hand holding with people other than Clo for my liking too. I was very uncomfortable."
from 18th Nov 2007
As usual, your description is much funnier. I haven't been brave enough to go back.
and there was Grit thinking it's just me! I'm the only one! XX
You really need to stay away from those types of people. I think it could have a negative effect on the girls. See how easily they were lured in ?
As my mother said when I was young and had listened to the local 'Youth Ministeries' Pastor in the neighborhood about all the 'fun' they had in thier programs:
"Stay away from those people, there strange"
dammit ! - 'They're'
OMG Sounds like my idea of hell.
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