jazz hands

I'm at Hamish's preschool this morning, hosting another tour, and we're observing school in action, which in this vignette includes the pig-tailed tattooed teacher sitting on a chair facing the kids, who are sitting in rows on the rug before her, like obedient little pupils, until they start shouting, "poopy diaper!" which oughta shrink the wait list.

Rachel* introduces a new sign language word today, it's the sign for "wonderful," which consists of waving your open hands on either side of your head, kind of like how I might gesture if Nate Berkus rang my doorbell.

Hamish interjects. He says, "Hey! Rachel! RACHEL!" He's so good at remembering to raise his hand when he has something to say. He copies the sign, and says very informatively, "That's the sign for jazz hands." I share a knowing smile with Rachel, okay, actually I'm beaming, proud of what exactly I'm not sure, just the humor of the comment, and the prospective parents flanking me on either side giggle because they know how precious this moment is, and I decide right there, they're all in!

Rachel looks at me and says, "Maybe it's jazz hands in your family," and smiles because she doesn't miss a beat, jazzy or otherwise. And even though Hamish doesn't know why it's funny, does not understand the campy irony of jazz hands, it's one of those moments I pocket for the future, and practically speaking, now I know for sure that the impromptu dance numbers we do in the living room are not going unnoticed or being forgotten.