I have very little sympathy for my kids when I embarrass them, especially when the embarrassment takes place in the privacy of our own home over silliness and varied shenanigans. I also feel that occasionally embarrassing my children is a necessary action of parenting. It’s a public service really, because I am preparing them to deal with the insanity of the real world.
Last night, my husband and I had a date, and I was in my room getting ready. I was listening to the Journey station on Pandora and Bryce was laying on my bed talking to me. And then it happened.
Pandora began to play one of my favorite jams…Jukebox Hero by Foreigner.
I am not physically capable of restraining myself during that song. Every Midwestern, rock star wannabe cell in my body rises to the occasion and becomes the music. I ran to the remote and cranked up the volume. I did not care that Bryce had a slightly alarmed look on his face.
I sang. Loudly. I danced. I threw my hair around. (I grew up on 70’s and 80’s rock music, so my hair banging skills are exceptional). I rocked the air guitar and I embraced the moment. My guitar solo was totally badass. Or, I imagined it was as I rocked that shit all over my bedroom.
At one point I saw that Bryce had his hands over his ears with his face scrunched up and he seemed to be shouting something to me. His eyes were wide and his face was red with the tell-tale signs of mortification and agitation over my less than mature behavior.
I kept singing to him and playing my air guitar.
Then I heard Bryce shout to me, “Mommy, what are you doing? Stop it!”
He was embarrassed of his mother. It’s more likely that he was embarrassed for me, but regardless, he was clearly not appreciative of my sweet dance moves, less than perfect rocker voice, or my expert hair thrashing.
So I turned up the music and sang louder. 🙂