When I’m not busy worrying about my career, my love life and my abject inability to put my laundry away in a timely fashion, I like to worry about having kids. I love kids, and I know I’m good with kids, but from what I understand, there’s more to being a parent than reading stories and doling out stickers.
As such, I was tickled pink when one of my five year olds told me, “Miss Kat, I wish you were my mom!”
Now, I was careful to nip this in the bud—the last I want is for said five year old to go home and repeat this to his real mother, thereby giving the poor woman some sort of complex—but it was nice to hear.
“You don’t want me to be your mom,” I said. “I’d make you eat vegetables all the time.”
“And do yoga?” he asked hopefully.
“And would you read us yoga stories?”
“Well, yes. Probably.” Huh?
This conversation wasn’t going quite the way I’d hoped. And even though I don’t know of any “yoga stories,” I do have a deck of colorful yoga cards depicting various poses with kid-friendly descriptions. I also have a growing collection of children’s book on dance and I’m sure by the time I do have children of my own, someone will have come out with a series of children’s book on yoga and either I or my mother (or both) will buy them.
I managed to segue in our warm-up dance, but not before three other students jumped on the “Miss Kat, can you be MY mom?” band wagon.
A few hours later, after I’d finished teaching my classes for the day, one of my three year olds caught me heading towards the front door.
“MISS KAT! Are you going HOME???”
“I am,” I replied.
“Are you going to eat lunch?”
“What are you having for lunch?” (I neglected to mention that this particular three year old has the vocabulary of sixteen year old knee deep in SAT prep textbooks and talks essentially non-stop. Unfortunately he also has a habit of running around in circles when he talks so his monologues are a bit difficult to follow.)
“Soup,” I informed him.
“I want soup! Can I come home with you?”
Now, I’m not sure if it was me he was interested in or simply the prospect of a nice, steaming bowl of soup (which was in fact made by my mother), but either way, I’m hopeful for the future. Granted, I’ll have to learn how to make my own soup between now and then…
Have you ever wished someone else was your mom, and if so, who?