Twerking

I didn't need Robby's teachers to tell me that he has been working hard in school. The fact that he comes home each afternoon exhausted is all the confirmation I need. My little scholar has dedicated himself to his academic work with an intensity and dedication that I haven't seen in years past. I suspect the fact that his best friend is in his class is the impetus for his motivation.

Each afternoon when I pick him up his teachers give me a brief report on the day's activities. The debriefing is mainly because I manage their Facebook page, but it has proven invaluable as I try to pry the information out of Robby. I'm so tired of hearing "nothing" or "stuff" when I ask him what he did in school. At least now I have conversation starters, and my questions can be directed towards what I know he learned that day. 

When I picked him up yesterday I was chatting with the teacher while Robby was playing in the entrance way. Hamlet was in his car seat, set towards the corner of the room. His teacher was in the middle of telling me how well Robby was behaving and how hard he was working on his reading when I caught something out of the corner of my eye.

Without breaking eye contact with his teacher, I emphatically said, "Robby, stop twerking your baby brother right now." I thought that his teacher was going to spit her coffee across the room as she tried to keep from laughing! So much for my well-behaved, hard working student. Robby Rotten arrived in the form of a Miley Cyrus style stripper, theatrically gyrating (with his hands clasped behind his head) over his infant brother looking up from his carrier. 

I was mortified by Robby's demonstration but was relieved that he obeyed. He must have sensed the purpose in my demand because lately his listening to a request the first time is a rarity.  As he unstraddled the carseat he loudly, albeit innocently, asked, "Momom, is twerking the same moves that are used when making a baby?" Taken aback but wanting to end the exchange, I quickly said yes before trying to usher him out of the school. By this time his teacher's face was turning red from trying to contain her laughter.

"Oh, I didn't know that. I won't twerk my brother anymore because I sure don't want to have a baby with him.  That would be awkward."  At this point his teacher lost the battle with decorum and started to roar with laughter.  There is really  no graceful way to end that type of exchange, so I just said goodbye and grabbed the baby carrier.  In retrospect, I doubt that his teacher heard my departing words over her giggles.  Definitely not my proudest Momom moment!