Little Tigers are, of course, the wee little ones and they are so stinkin' cute, it just makes your whole face fall off from all the grinning. They're like little wind up toys, just wandering all over the place on their little stiff legs and sounding like they've been sucking on helium balloons. Last week, Master Kwon did some exercise with them where he laid down a series of squares in a path and the kids had to jump from one square to another. The squares were, like, 2 inches apart, and the kids approached each gap like it was a cavernous gorge, pausing before each one and dancing on their little toes until finally making the not-a-leap-just-a-really-big-step to the next one. Meanwhile, the line is piling up behind them and everyone is in danger of pushing the whole group down.
That's the other thing that's fun to watch: they fall over A LOT. Feet are a serious deign flaw in small children. What creature can be expected to remain upright on such round little pudge packets? Kids don't get enough praise for the time they manage to stay upright. Of course, they get a lot of positive feedback from me when they fall down.
The parents all sit in rows of chairs off to the side since we're the audience this is all intended for. Not that we're paying that much attention. Most parents are trying to keep the other kids they have brought with them occupied and quiet. Or at least occupied. Some are just happy with "breathing and not kidnapped and the second is negotiable." Some of the dads actually do pay attention and want little Triscuit or Schooner or whatever they're naming kids now to know that he is doing EVERYTHING WRONG. These are the dads that will eventually say, "This report from your school counselor says you have low self-esteem. What the hell is wrong with you?"
It's when I'm around other parents that I wonder if my kids know just how good they have it with us. We're pretty freakin' laid back around here, most of the time anyway. But then I get around other kids and I realize just how good we have it. I volunteer in my kids' classrooms at school and the first graders are a band of total lunatics. No wonder Devon hates school. I'm supposed to be helping during something called "Workshop" but I can tell that this is just a way for the teacher to split off the insane children and make someone else deal with them for an hour while she does something productive with the calm children. And it's not like my presence accomplishes anything—they know I can't do anything to them, so it's pretty much just an hour of total chaos. I can only imagine being the parent of a kid like that, and I suppose after a while, your only recourse is to just try to impress upon other parents that, despite appearances, you really are a hard-ass disciplinarian. "Quimbly! Stop licking that lady's leg! Do you want me to come over there? Good, because I wan't going to anyway."
I'm just glad that my children occasionally allow me these opportunities to observe other people and other children and not only become more grateful for my own family, but also squeak out a blog post when I have nothing quilty to write about.