Yesterday Raff had his nursery summer concert. They did She’ll be Coming Round the Mountain, The Owl and the Pussycat, Walking on Sunshine and something in French. It was heaven and all the kids were adorable. Though not as adorable as Raff, obvs. And herein lies a Very Worrying Realisation: I’m basically a Stage School Mum. And although I’ve never claimed not to be pushy, overbearing, or deluded about my children’s many, MANY gifts, it wasn’t until the end of the show that I realised what I’d become. I’d spent the entire concert with my thumbs up, a weird rictus grin on my face anytime Raff’s smile dipped below megawatt, doing inspiring, exaggerated ‘actions’ and loud singing. The only words I knew from the entire repetoire were the first verse to She’ll be Coming Round the Mountain. This did not stop me.
So of course, Raff was now doomed. The only way he could ever win his mother’s love was to become a PERFORMER. A bit like Lord Snowdon marring Princess Margaret to please his mum in The Crown. Thankfully, by tea time, it was all ok again. When Bear asked at the dinner table what Raff wanted to be when he grew up, he did not say an actor, singer or spoken word artiste.
He said a carrot.