Crying at the Yellow Submarine

Who would have thought that being a parent would instantly turn me into a big crybaby? 

Being a sensitive woman in touch with my inner feelings, I expected to cry at the big stuff of parenting- the birth of my daughter, her birthdays, the day she left for college, her wedding day etc.  Those are all justifiable circumstances, in my opinion, for “happy tears”- you know, the ones you can get away with without your husband making fun of you?

When my daughter began attending Burdick Elementary school last year, we were introduced to their Fine Arts program, which includes several concerts throughout the year.  In the weeks preceding the big day, my daughter always faithfully practices singing her song over and over again for me, complete with motions designed to make the kids look cute and keep the parents interested (it also makes for some funny pictures). 

And then the big day arrives, and we dutifully dress our daughter in the required costume, take our seats in the gym, and await her big debut.  It never fails- the second a kid, ANY kid, not even MY kid or a kid close in age to my kid, sets foot on the stage I well up and have trouble breathing.  Seriously- I fall apart- and then for the next hour I try to discreetly wipe my eyes and blow my nose without looking like I am actually crying, because NOONE else in the entire gym seems to have the same reaction as me.  I do my best to pass it off as a cold, or allergies, or just really itchy, watery eyes, and compose myself before the lights come up and I have to go collect our daughter and bring her home.

Did I mention that I've now cried to Johnny Cash, the Beatles, John Denver, and a variety of Christmas carols?

But honestly, I am the type of person who has been known to shed a tear or two over the finale of a reality TV show, or a well-done pet food commercial.  I guess I'm just a sentimental softie with no ocular control- but that's OK, just call me Mom.