Whoa, whoa, whoa Miss Lippy. . .

Do you ever wonder if you could’ve been a rock star?

Ok, maybe not a rock star, but just something different from what you have become.  You know, if you would have grown up in a different city, attended a different college or been exposed to just one more sport?

Sometimes I do.  Wonder, I mean.

It’s not that my parents didn’t let me try out a million different things.  In fact, I would like to publicly thank my Mom and Dad for the thousands of dollars spent on piano, swimming, tennis and dancing lessons, in addition to providing me with all the sporting gear needed for basketball, track and cheerleading over my adolescent years.  But sometimes I wonder. . .if I had been given ice skating lessons, could I have been the next Kristi Yamaguchi?

So fast forward and I am now a 31-year-old mom.  No real exceptional talents, just a normal parent hoping to expose my child to just the right thing to give him some self-confidence. 

So at the ripe old age of 18 months, cue the first exposure.

Art class.

My grandfather was an insanely talented artist (that gene was unfortunately not passed on to his youngest grandchild) and Mark has some pretty amazing artistic skills himself, so it seemed to be a good fit for Lakes first “classroom” activity.

I might have been wrong.

Over the course of this 10-week art class, the sequence of events typically unfolded like this:

• Arrival.

• A Miss Lippy-esque teacher gives directions for each project to be completed for the day.  Meanwhile, Lake has meltdown #1 because he’s itching to get into the paint sitting on each of the tables and I’m desperately trying to sit him quietly in my lap like all the other parents have successfully done.

• Start our projects. Lake eats blue paint.

• Meltdown #2 when Lake realizes he has paint all over his hands.

• Lake spends 5 minutes splashing his hands in a tub of soap and water.  Dry.  Repeat.

• Easel time.  Lake finally starts enjoying himself as he moves from easel to easel painting on every piece of paper he can find, regardless of if another child is already painting there.

• Meltdown #3 occurs as “Miss Lippy” calls us over for music time. His hands need washed.  Again.

• And then, this happens.

Seems I inadvertently exposed him to just the right thing.  Next up:  music class.  Maybe he will be a rock star after all.