Crazy Dance Mom

I vowed I would never be one. I used to make fun of them at recitals.  And today I realized, much to my chagrin, that I have become one. I AM a crazy dance mom. Now to be fair, I think 90% of it is just being a mom being driven crazy by my tween. BUT since we happen to be at events involving dance a lot these days, I think I can officially be classified as a "crazy dance mom". I am pleased to announce, however, that every other mom at today's competition could easily fall into this category as well. Moms trying to get their daughters' make-up perfect, daughters arguing that it looks good enough.  Moms sticking in just one more hairpin, God forbid a stray hair comes loose, daughters grabbing at their heads screaming out in agony. Yes, these are the things we do.  We don't try to annoy our children, well at least not ALL of the time, but we do.

At today's event, the competition was offering a "special". Though not nearly as "special" as it would have been coming home with more money in my wallet, but I digress. All of the girls on the dance team, were getting the "special", which included a program, A PEN , a t-shirt printed with the competition name and all of the dancers' names, and a pair of embellished black sweat pants. I wish we moms could somehow form a pact, vowing to not buy the extras at the competition. Instead we all cave, because we don't want our dancer to be the odd one out. Well, the sweatpants included in the "special" came in Child Large and Adult Small.  Skipping entirely over the very crucial Child XL size.  You learn to buy big, but not too big, at these events so that you can get the most wear out of the purchased item, and hopefully bypass the "specials" offered next year. After wavering, I decided on the Child Large.  However, I wanted my little dancer to try them on before we left the competition, because if they fit perfectly, then I wanted to exchange them for the larger size. We had time to kill before her first performance, so I asked her to try on the sweats.  I did not consider this an unreasonable request, though I received quite a lot of grousing and complaining about it from my dancer. I informed her that I could just return them altogether then if this was too much of a hardship. Finally, with this threat on the table, she tried them on, and they were sufficiently large. I did not need to exchange them. We slid the sweats back off and I grabbed her costume skirt to hand to her, and noticed IN HORROR, that her pink tights were now covered entirely with black fuzz.  It looked like she had some unsightly growth of black hair pushing through the tights. Nice.  I frantically began picking it off, because no one had tape with them, and I couldn't find anyone with a lint roller either. Two new "must haves" for the dance bag have now made my list.  Our window of "plenty of time" before her dance was now shrinking. Have you ever tried to pick large quantities of black fuzz off of pink tights?  Enter crazy dance mom. Some of the older girls that did not have to dance took a leg, another mom and I took the other leg, and we picked and picked and picked.  Did I mention that there was grousing and complaining? Finally we had her de-fuzzed well enough for the performance, thank goodness, and I learned a valuable lesson today.  Wanting to save other moms the grief of what I endured I shared the experience with those that were not around to witness it.  I am glad to report that all of them said that they would not have thought about that either.  At first, I thought they were just trying to console me, but then one of moms that I told about the fiasco had her daughter try the sweats on with the tan tights! I wasn't there when she had her daughter first put them on, but I did arrive in time to see the frantic de-fuzzing process.  I said, "What were you thinking?  Did you not learn from my mistake?"  She answered, "But you said it was the pink tights! I didn't think it would stick to the tan tights too!"  This logic completely escaped me, but it did make me feel better.

It's A Great Day for a White Wedding!

Every girl, at some point, enjoys a fairytale.  I am no exception.  30 years ago, I saw a fairytale wedding take place between Prince Charles and Princess Diana.  As we all know, it was a fairytale wedding, but not a fairytale life in the least. That, however, did not stop me from joining nearly two billion other people in the world witness yet another such wedding today, and hopefully a more promising future for these newlyweds.  Granted, I am not so into fairytales that I get up at 4am to watch them, BUT I am committed enough to at least DVR 5 hours of the event, and skim around until I get to the best bits of footage.  My own children were able to indulge in this event with me, as I did with my own mom so long ago.  Why, you might ask, was it such a big deal to me?  My answer is simple. This is not something one gets to see everyday.  It feels a little bit like I get to witness history in the making. Besides, if you can't stomach watching a royal wedding on its historical or romantic merits, then cynics can at least enjoy mocking the parade of hats and odd fashions that were showcased  Some hats defied gravity, and some were large enough to encroach on a seatmate's personal space. And while hats in general add a sort of festiveness to the occasion, Kathleen Kelly said it best, in the movie "You've Got Mail".  "Once I read a story about a butterfly in the subway, and today I saw one. I couldn't believe it. It got on at 42nd -- and got off at 59th, where I assume it was going to Bloomindale's to buy a hat that will turn out to be a mistake. As almost all hats are." Yes, I am talking about you, Princess Beatrice and Victoria Beckham. But, once I was able to tear my eyes off of the ridiculous get-ups of some of the guests, I was enthralled. With a batch of younger royals growing up, we might be treated to more royal weddings in the not too distant future, but since this was for the future king of England and the most widely televised royal wedding in about 25 years, it held a certain distinction from the rest that may follow. At least, that is how I felt about it.

How Much is Too Much?

And here I am, three days into my blogging, and I once again am struggling with the honesty factor. I know what I want to write, but there is the distinct possibility that I will offend someone.  Do I NOT write about the topic at hand, or do I sit and stew about what is brewing and simmering in my brain?  I could be politically correct, but people that are pc kind of annoy me, and it would be a tragedy to annoy myself.  Such a conundrum.  I guess, I should preface this by saying that this information was relayed to me by a man (also known as my husband), and it could have been his interpretation of events. But the gist of the matter is this. A momentous family event is on the horizon. It has been planned already by other family members, and if we feel so inclined, we can contribute monetarily to said event, but if not, "whatever". First I must be clear, that I often organize the giving of joint gifts and events with my brother, so I am not opposed to that tactic in general. However, I don't plan a gift or event that I would like his monetary contribution to go towards, without talking options with him first. Second, I don't plan an event, and announce what it costs, and say, "If you can't give anything that is 'fine'." Which in woman language means it really isn't fine.  And which also indicates, I kind of assume you are a loser, and I know you won't help out anyway, so "whatever". If we give a lesser amount than what would technically be our responsibility, we fulfill the loser prophecy.  If we give the requested amount, when put in perspective, it covers quite a lot of expenses that we regularly have.  My husband and I did discuss fundraising activities: sperm donation, both from him AND the dog. Plasma donors, all four family members, but we figured that MIGHT be hard on our six year old. I have to be downtown this weekend anyway, so it was discussed that my husband could cover one of the highway on ramps and hold a sign that reads, "Will Work for Party Funds". We even discussed starting a business based around this whole situation. An insurance company of sorts that reimbursed monetary contributions for unexpected family gifts or events. Something along the line of George Costanza's brainchild "The Human Fund...Money for People".  Only ours would be a real fund,where people pay a minimum monthly amount, and can later withdraw funds up to the amount they are insured/covered, proof of receipts required.  Brilliant, no? In the end, I feel as though we are caught between a rock and a hard place.  We are damned if we do, and damned if we don't. It is just different levels of damnation.  Is that enough swearing yet?  Feel free to post any helpful fundraising activities in the comments section, and since this event is being generated on my husband's side of the family, if you come up with the suggestion of "selling your body" please note it will be his, not mine.

Just Say "No!" or "Maybe I can work it into my schedule if you really, really, need help, maybe."

It's such a small word, only two letters, yet I have the hardest time saying, "no". I guess I should make one distinction regarding that statement.  I have no problem telling my children "no", as my eldest has referred to my husband and me as the "no parents". But when other people want my help, or act like they need me, my black and white world of no becomes a very fuzzy gray.  When I instinctively want to say "no", but am struggling for a way to soften the rejection, I feel my face immediately catch on fire. Also, I look anywhere, but at the asker, and the last telltale sign that I really want to just say "no"...nervous giggling.  Anyone that knows me, KNOWS that I am NOT a giggler. Last night, was one of those moments.  In fact, the request was so outrageous, every fiber of my being screamed, "HELL NO!" My mouth, not so much.

Apparently, every year at my eldest's dance recital, there is a special number involving parents. I have seen these numbers.  None of the parents take themselves too seriously, but most of them show some sense of rhythm. To be clear, the extent of my dancing experience is restricted to car dancing and couch dancing.  No feet involved in either of those types of dancing.  And to be brutally honest, those types of dances are probably very much the same in either of those two locations, I can just list both types in order to broaden my dancing resume.  So, last night, I was cornered by several moms and dance teachers, "you will do the parent dance, won't you?" Giggling ensued.  It wasn't pretty.  Then the "we really need parents to participate, we are counting on you, yada, yada, yada...." I tried explaining that I don't dance. It was only met with "Sure you do.  And no one will really be watching you."  Then please explain to me the purpose of getting up in front of five hundred people and attempting to shake my groove thing?  Somehow, at this point, my kiddo got in on the conversation (bullying), "Please Mommy, everyone else's mom is doing it!" Insert pouty lip and clasped hands to signify begging.  Followed by all of her little friends begging me to dance as well. The peer pressure was coming at me from every angle. It didn't end well, and I don't think I was able to insert one FIRM "no" into the conversation. In an effort to take the attention off of me, I noticed another mom, stealthily making her way to the edge of the room.  If I was going down, I was taking her with me. "Have you asked her?" I pointed to the mom, who was now looking very interested in a picture on the wall. The predators had  found new prey, at least for a time. Desperate times call for desperate measures. In the meantime, I have approximately 24 hours to craft a well-worded refusal, or you might, just might, be able to see me "dancing" (I'm using that word loosely) to some 80's hit like Girls Just Wanna Have Fun with hair teased 8 inches high and something akin to spandex strangling my thighs. Perhaps they will bring a couch on stage just for me.

Blogging Again....

It has been nearly two years since I have written...anything. I used to write all the time, but realized that sometimes I could not write with complete honesty. My blog posts, had to be edited to not offend people in my life, and my fiction writing, well, I was afraid someone would infer my own life into my writings, so I steered clear of anything controversial. The last two years I have experienced a lot of difficult situations, and my stress levels actually began to manifest themselves in unhealthy ways. Not that stress is ever healthy really, but when it wreaks havoc on my health in a physical way, I have to seriously consider why I am falling apart. True, some of the things I have been handed in life lately have been challenging, but there is a small part of me that wonders if my abandoned outlet, writing, was a factor in my mounting stress. Even if I didn't have a completely honest release, it was still a release when I wrote something. And for me, there is a sense of escapism in my fiction writing. I can pretend. I surround myself with friends of my mind, and there is some comfort in that. Kind of like when I read a good book, but with my characters I can control what they do. For a control freak, that is an important component. So, merely for the therapeutic aspect of it, I am going to try and write again. I don't really care if anyone reads what I write, I can pretend I have an audience of thousands, not that I would REALLY want that. Okay, I JUST lied. I would love an audience of thousands regarding my fiction, though maybe not my real life. But if this means that I have a healthy outlet, than by all means it is worth a try. And before I get any lectures, yes, I am trying to exercise too, but that is a physical release, writing is my mental release.