There's one in every class.

You know the ones -- the class clowns, the kids who just can't quite conform and be like everybody else. Well, apparently, that is my kid. Wouldn't you know.

Yesterday there was a little "Mother's Day" program at school. The 2-3 year-olds class and the 3-4 year-olds class both got in front of the room to sing a few songs to their mothers. Before they came in, the school director reminded us all that "preschoolers are not performers" -- that many of them might cry or want to come sit with us in the audience or stand there like bumps on a log. We had also gotten a call the night before from our son's teacher asking us to send a rain jacket or rain boots to school with him to be used for one of the songs they were singing. Knowing we had neither of these, I sent him to school without either. My husband ended up taking him to school for me since they were going to be stopping by the post office beforehand to apply for my son's passport, which we will be needing for a vacation later this summer.

Well, my son's class was marched in first to perform, ready to start singing a rousing rendition of "Rain, Rain Everywhere". There they all stood in their little rain jackets and rain boots, and trailing in last was my son, dressed in a life jacket. I kid you not. My husband dropped him off at school with a life jacket. Every single mother in that room was trying their hardest not to bust out laughing, and you could hear the constant giggles the entire time. It was absolutely hilarious, this I could not deny.



But, oh no, the hilarity did not end simply with my child's costume. The teacher began singing softly, and as we had all anticipated, only one or two tiny voices joined her while the rest of them stood there too shy to sing along, including my son. But instead of standing there like the rest, he decided it would be a good time to add his own "soundtrack", if you will. Throughout both songs, at a constant every five seconds, there was a lovely snorting sound coming from my child. With the most stoic face devoid of expression, that kid snorted like a pig every five seconds. Since the situation was completely out of my control, there was nothing I could do but laugh. And it was like the fits of laughter that come in waves that you can't control, that you are trying to keep inside and quiet, but it is next to impossible -- like when my brother and I were kids and would have to sit quiet as church mice through many a sermon, and we would try our hardest to make the other laugh, knowing full well that would mean a possibility of getting dragged out of the sanctuary by our mother and ending with a spanking in the church foyer for the poor child who couldn't keep it in. 'Cause you know I didn't want my son to see me cracking up and think that snorting during a performance was a fantastic idea. Yep, it was bad. I was laughing so hard internally that tears were forming in my eyes. And so was everyone else.

Like I said the other day, this kid is going to give me a run for my money.