Praise be to cake

Because I am a negligent mother who lets other people raise her children, Lorelei is in an after school program run by our public school district. She gets help on her homework (in kindergarten, but that’s another post entirely),  interacts with kids in other grades, and gets plenty of time to play.  I know.  Horrible, right?

Last night was their winter pageant, in all its adorably awful glory.  Kids sang Christmas music, interspersed with token Hanukkah and Kwanzaa themes. Parents took videos and pictures of their kids’ parts, and sat politely bored for the rest of it.

Rowan was chewing on my knee, I was so hungry that I contemplated doing the same.  Finally the K-1 kids did some Whitney Houston song that seemed vaguely too “a child is born” for public schools, and it was over.

Hallelujah!

A man goes to the mic, and I assume he is going to invite us to the after party (that sounds more rock than “go to the cafeteria and sit on small chairs”) where they feed a horde of elementary school children extra-frosted cake at 6pm, because who needs dinner anyhow.

Instead, he starts singing.

What in the hell is going on right now?  This beat feels like… Jesus music.  Surely not in a public school function, right?  I mean, no way.

Way.

He was joined by another guy, and they sang three songs about Jesus, and the Lord, and praise praise praise, tap your feet, because suddenly we’re in church?  It was surreal, as I felt the gym floor shaking with each beat, as the people around me – who seemed to have no problem with this – stomped and clapped and praised the Lord right along with them.

I literally can’t even.

When it was finally, finally over I stood in the cake line, dazed and wondering if I had just imagined the last 15 minutes of my life.  I tell Lorelei that she made an awesome angel. And then the little kid next to me is telling me about their field trip, and apropos of nothing he glances at my stomach and says, “Awww!  You’re going to have a baby?!”

What?!  No!  I’m being punked, aren’t I?  Where are the hidden cameras?  Can I throw this dress away?  Right now?  I’m obviously having some sort of weird dream, so standing around in my underwear seems legit. Or is this some sort of performance art to see how uncomfortable one after school program can make me?

Lorelei gets her piece of cake and we sit down.  “You can have my cake, mommy.  I like to do nice things.  You can have the whole piece.”

What. The. Hell. Is. Going. On.