Goldfinger

Last week I moved Malia's dance class to a place called the Freckled Frog. It's super cute and best of all... parent participation is not required! There were 6 girls in class with 2 instructors. All the girls were of course as cute as cute can be. I had Taede and Kael with me as it was MLK Day, along with parents of the other 5 girls. So essentially it was a packed house.

The girls line up on their heart place markers and they start doing their dance thing. Malia for some god forsaken reason decides it's time to pick her nose. She couldn't pick at home? In the car? Why now, in the dance studio, when class starts?? Ugh. How embarrassing.

I tell her to stop.

She's still picking.

"Malia! Get your finger out of your nose!"
I'm sort of hissing this at her, trying to be sly about it, hoping no one could hear me. Which is impossible since all the parents are in the little foyer.

She's still picking. But this time she's got her finger turned up, for a better angle.

"Malia! Stop that right now! Get your finger OUT!"
Still trying to be sly, talking through my teeth.

Linda starts to laugh at me.

So now I figure I'm only drawing attention to myself and the situation so I ignore her. And hope that she stops sooner rather than later.

But nope. She's knuckle deep, seriously digging for gold. Does it get any more embarrassing than this? Does it?!

Why do I even bother asking myself that question. I already know the answer.

She finally dislodged what she was picking at and (with her little pointer finger standing straight up) calls out: "Mommy! I got a booger!"

I do the ignoring thing but it doesn't work. She thinks that I can't hear her and so she says even louder: "MOMMY! I HAVE... A BOOGER!" And sticks her arm out with the finger up, showing me the booger.

Linda is about to pee in her pants, she's laughing so hard. And I don't know what to do. I've got Taede in my arms. She's in the middle of the room, surrounded by the other dancers. The class is in the middle of the lesson. All the parents are probably looking at her finger, their eyes unwillingly drawn to the booger. So in desperation, I tell her: "Just wipe it on your shirt!"

And she does. Finally she's able to concentrate on her dance lesson. Thank goodness.