It can be hard sometimes. Like when the competition is being staged this weekend at UC Davis while three of the colleges here are also staging their commencement ceremonies. There is traffic, crowded hotels and at least one hotel manager who seemed to be super annoyed with the arrival of guests who want to check in and prepare for graduation ceremonies and dance competitions.
Putting on stage makeup in the hotel lobby because your room will not be ready for another couple hours, around the time you have to be at the competition ready to take the stage, is just one more thing that will annoy the hotel manager.
Whatever!
You do what you have to do and you don’t let it break your concentration.
Not at all.
And the reward for being patient and fine and balanced and kind is a platinum for your solo and a platinum for your tap duo.
How cool is that?!
Oh and this picture, that smile of my darling dancing daughter’s…I am so glad for all the orthodonture we paid for over the years for her because that smile is perfect.
Congratulations Jodie. Two dances down, four more, plus Hazel’s, to go. You’re off to a great start.
So I have this friend who has cerebral palsy which affects his brain in such a way he falls down on occasion. He actually used to refer to himself as the FallGuy because he was known to fall down, especially when forced to negotiate stairs. Years ago, he and I both found ourselves working as high school camp counselors at a small Seventh Day Adventist College in the Napa Valley with lots of rolling hills and lots and lots of stairs all over the campus…everywhere. I’m pretty certain that J thought that he was in Hell except we were counselors for a Christian Church high school camp and how could that possibly be Hell except for the fact that we were surrounded by teenagers who couldn’t find their own toothbrush at a college campus that had absolutely no caffeine or meat because it was a Seventh Day Adventist college campus in a Seventh Day Adventist town and there was no caffeine or meat (or alcohol) to be found anywhere, at least on that campus in that town. Oh, and did I neglect to mention that it was summertime and it was over 100 degrees every freaking day. Perhaps it was pre-Hell. It sure as hell felt like it.
Still J managed in spite of the obvious pain it was for him to get around and try to keep up with the kids we were in charge of. But he did. So I kept my whiny, bitchiness to myself and felt deeply ashamed of myself for wanting, more than anything in the world, a coke…a damn coca-cola! J was climbing a mile of stairs everyday in the 100 degree heat in spite of his obvious physical disability and pain. How could I possibly bitch about the fact that I couldn’t find one damn Diet Coke? Then we were granted a free afternoon and we jumped into J’s car to find a burger and a coke. I’m sure we both would have loved a beer but this was a church camp and J, at the time, was under 21. Still we had free time and we were on a mission…in his beater car with no ac in the 100+ degree afternoon in the Napa Valley. Thankfully the burger and coca-cola gods were smiling down upon us and we found that which we were searching for…
an In-N-Out in nearby St. Helena!
:::cue the heavenly host of angels that truly wanted us to have caffeine and red meat because they did want that for us, they did:::
The parking lot was packed and there was but one parking spot available…a handicapped spot. J reached over into his glove box and pulled out his totally legit handicapped parking placard and placed it on his dash as he whispered to me, “don’t tell my mom I did this.”
Are you kidding me? I’m getting a diet coke and a burger. I’m good. Wait a minute. J has every right to park in a handicapped space because living with cerebral palsy he is indeed handicapped. He is the Fall Guy! But his mom raised him differently. Yes CP mangled his limbs in such a way that walking was painful and sometimes impossible. Yes he did fall down a lot as a child, as a teen, as a young man. Whatever! She raised him to not rely on that which limited him rather to rely on that which freed him…his brilliant mind, his wit, his story-telling, his incredible strength that gave him the ability to try to keep up to those high school aged kids we were in charge of as he tried to navigate all those freaking stairs at that Seventh Day Adventist college in the Napa Valley.
Seriously, my respect and admiration for J and his amazing mom (who is also a friend) doubled, tripled and even quadrupled that day. This was a man of integrity…raised by a women of integrity. They both could very well rest on that which twisted and tortured J’s body into something that was a little to the left of what is “normal”. But they did not. At least J’s mom did not and raised J to not. Yes he did from time to time fall back on the “privilege” oif being physically limited…handicapped. He had the handicap placard which he rarely used then and now. He has “enjoyed” the privilege of navigating Disneyland and Great America and Magic Mountain in a wheelchair and he has been known to include friends and family who have been with him to enjoy the privilege of handicap with him.
J is an amazing young man. J has cerebral palsy which has twisted and distorted his limbs in such a way that walking, much less standing is painful and sometimes nearly impossible. He might not always rely on this privilege that is being handicapped but when he does need it, it is there for him and he will use it.
all I can say is welcome! Welcome to your very own special place in hell! You so deserve it! You might not be enjoying it at this very moment…then again given recent news reports you are likely in the thick of it. Still you might not be so privileged to be reaping the rewards that you so richly deserve, but trust me, you will. You most definitely will. Lucky, lucky you!
I’m starting to regret cursing my children with children JUST LIKE THEM someday. Hazel is just like her mommy at every age and stage that she has been through so far. Soon to be five year old Hazel is just like almost five year old Hollie was…just in case anyone is ever wondering what Hollie was like when she was a little girl.
Fallon, on the other hand, is nothing like her mommy at age 18 months. No. Fallon is actually her mommy when she was around age 14…except for the fact that Fallon isn’t potty trained.
I’m thinking since she has spent the last eighteen months raging against the world she has maybe three, maybe four more years of rage left in her…wishing…hoping…praying. I’m sorry Hollie. I am so sorry that I ever cursed you. Then again, your rages often drove me to curse you.
Hang in there baby! If I survived, you can too.
You too, Fallon! I mean your mommy survived. Hurray for being so gosh darn cute!
While everybody else is getting out of bed
I’m usually getting in it
I’m not in it to win it
And there’s a thousand ways you can skin it…
I confess you are the best thing in my life…
If it’s love
And we decide that it’s forever
No one else could do it better…
Then suddenly I hear something else…
Chirp…chirp…chirp…
I walk through the Big Top listening carefully…
Chirp…chirp…chirp…
Damn these smoke detectors!
Chirp…chirp…chirp…
Found it!
It’s in one of the kids’ bedrooms. No problem. I grab the step ladder and a 9 volt battery and (BOOM!) I replace it.
Chirp…chirp…chirp…
Seriously?!
Honey, can you please check the smoke detector in Daniel’s room. It’s chirping.
Now?! (it’s 9:45 at night, bedtime for someone who has to get up at 4AM)
Yes, now.
I replaced that battery two weeks ago.
Well I just now replaced the battery and it is still chirping. Maybe I put it in wrong or something else. Can you please check it?
:::grumble:::
Seriously, honey. I know you’ll have no problem sleeping through that chirping all night but I know that I won’t and neither will Daniel. Can you please just check?
So he checks…with a little bit more grumbling…but he does check and it chirps no more.
Thank you.
Yeah…
Where was I? Oh yeah…
If it’s love
And we’re two birds of a feather
Then the rest is just whatever
And if I’m addicted to loving you…
Getting ready for bed, my little ear worm is interrupted yet again. There’s a damp bath mat on the floor in front of the shower.
UGH!
Really, how hard can it be to pick it up and hang it over the shower door, I grumble to myself as I pick it up. I want to shout it and wake up my darling husband but…
And you’re addicted to my love too
We can be them two birds of a feather
That flock together
Love, love
Got to have something to keep us together
Love, Love
That’s enough for me…
For thirty years now we have been loving and annoying the hell out of each other. That’s a very long time…a lifetime…our lifetime.
If it’s love
And we’re two birds of a feather
Then the rest is just whatever
If it’s love
And we decide that it’s forever
No one else could do it better
And if I’m addicted to loving you
And you’re addicted to my love too
We can be them two birds of a feather
That flock together
Love, love
Got to have something to keep us together
Love, love
Got to have something to keep us together
Love, love
That’s enough for me
Oh dear glob they are bubbling up…and they ain’t no female, pms-y kind of hormones either!
My sweet boy, my beautiful son is 11 years old and the hormones are starting to bubble up. No, they aren’t a raging, rolling boil…yet. But they are just at the boiling point and…
I’m not liking it.
Not.
One.
Bit.
I have survived four girls through the transition of child to stinky pre-teen to raging adolescence. This can not possibly be hard for me anymore.
No way!
I’ve got this.
Totally.
I believed that.
I truly did.
I thought wrong.
Oh my goodness! My sweet little boy suddenly is one big gloomy, grumpy, irritated, annoyed person and he is directing that flood of emotions at me…complete with heavy sighs and eye rolls.
WHAT?!?
What indeed, son. We both are wondering what right now. Although I have to confess that my “what” is actually a three word “what“.
Then this comes on.
Oh my darling boy! Not a day goes by where I am not reminded just how fortunate, how so damn lucky we are…
you are.
Yesterday was one of those days. My heart breaks for another family, another amazing, brave and strong one like you. So I close my eyes and cry hot tears while I offer up a quick thanks for you…and say a prayer for the other. Then I say thank you for these hormones that are just beginning to bubble up to a boil because I get to experience them…again…with you.
Mother of FIVE children, Mima of two gorgeous babies never wanted to be a mother.
Then I fell in love…HARD. I got married and a few years later the stick turned blue and OMG, I was going to be a mother! Yes, after a brief moment of “oh crap! I’m going to be a mother!!” I melted all over the place because I was going to have a baby…I was going to be a mommy!!
And the first thing someone told me was you’re going to be so fat! Hollie was told the same thing years later…by the same person. I didn’t believe it. Neither did Hollie. But yeah, I did get big…as a house…at least in my mind…while I was pregnant. Good god, who knew one’s belly could stretch THAT much without the skin ripping. But nine months or a little more later after the birth of that beautiful baby who made me as big as a house, I was wearing clothes I wore before I was impregnated. Except for bras. People tell you that your boobs will never be the same again and of course you don’t hear that because who is going to hear such negativity but it is true. Your boobs will never be the same again. In my case, I went from pre-pregnant barely an A cup to a C cup. Funny how I finally got the boobs I always wanted but now I didn’t want them. Take note your mileage may vary, er your boobs will be different after having babies but might not end up like mine.
No one ever tells you that you will never, ever want to go to the bathroom ever again after you push out a nearly nine pound (in my case the first time) human being out of your body…they also don’t tell you that you will likely poop when pushing that human out of your body…at least you don’t hear people telling you that…at your baby shower…at church…in the supermarket. So when your post-partum nurse comes in and happily suggests that you get up soon after birth and go to the bathroom you are thinking “OH HELL NO!!!Did you see what just came out of my now bruised and swollen bottom?1?! That human nearly ripped me apart!!! I am never going to pee or poop ever again!!!” What you don’t realize is that you kind of, sort of predicted your own future…you will never be able to pee or poop ALONE, in private without someone wanting to talk to you right now.
Somehow you manage to pee and poop and survive sleepless nights and cracked nipples and vomit and potty training temper tantrums and snot…so much snot. And if you are a fool, like me, you forget everything everyone told you and that you have lived through and you do it again, and again, and again. At least I was able to go to the bathroom with no trauma after Daniel was born. Eventually, you get to the point where that precious human is ready for school and you think, “Hurray! I am going to be free!”
Heh-heh!
You foolish, foolish mother!
There’s the school drop-off and the pick-up and the PTA (that just might judge you and reject you) and T-ball and soccer and homework…so much homework. You thought you were done with math homework…heh-heh. The added bonus is that small human who changed your body and disrupted your bathroom habits and sleep yet you adore because you are the center of their universe replaces you! You, my dear, are no longer the center of that child’s universe…and you never, ever will be again. There will always be a teacher or a coach or a best friend who they will worship before you. Yes, you were told this. I’m telling you this now. But you won’t believe it.
Just you wait.
Then when you finally have adjusted to life with a school aged child and all that comes with that even managing to eek out some time to yourself something else happens.
Dun-dun-dun!!!
HORMONES!!!
You thought pooping and peeing right after giving birth was traumatic.
You are knee deep in stinkiness and emotions and anger and eye rolls and heavy sighs and slamming doors and closed doors and on and on and on. You are also, clearly, the dumbest person on the planet…EVER. Wine and the fact that god made these children cute so you wouldn’t kill them are the only thing that gets you through this period. Take note if you have three teenagers at one time in your home you will need LOTS of wine. Trust me, I know. You are certain that you (and your child) will never survive this time and of course you don’t believe it when your friends with adult aged children come along side of you and promise that you (and your child) will survive and you might even be smart again. If you are really lucky, you will become the wisest person they know…the one they tell their young adult friends to talk to because you are the smartest person they know. They also try to tell you that when that child of yours turns eighteen and is an “adult” you are not done…that you will NEVER, EVER be done. Yeah, they tell you that but you don’t hear them, which is why you foolishly post on your Facebook page how you can’t wait until your little darling’s eighteenth birthday because then you will be done and free at last.
Heh-heh-heh!!!
Why doesn’t anyone tell you this, you wonder?
Why?
The thing is everyone told you this. Everyone. They tell you this maybe to prepare you but I think they tell you with wicked delight because they remember just how naive they were back before they became parents…back when they KNEW they would be so much better and never, ever go through any of this crazy joy ride that is motherhood because, for them it would be different. They tell you with a warped, wicked glee that foolish you have no idea what you have gotten yourself into for the rest of your life. You have no clue…no clue at all. Just you wait.
It is a wild crazy and ride.
Thank goodness for the joy…and, if you hang in there, the grandbabies…and the joy of witnessing your mother’s curse upon your child that they will have children someday just like them come true.
Last week under the Big Top it was hot. It was hotter than it usually is or expected to be the first week of May with temps in the 90s nearing the century mark. Yes, I am well aware that in other parts of the country people were shoveling snow…in May!
I know!
I’m sorry.
Unfortunately I can’t control the weather. It is not part of my job description as the master juggler around here…no matter what my kids might think.
Counter clockwise was the overwhelming consensus that a fan must turn in order to produce a cooling wind chill effect by the downward air flow.
As predicted it did not change the thermostat but the living room and kitchen area, as well as the bedrooms did indeed seem to be significantly cooler…oh, and I didn’t have to turn on the ac until the day we hit the century mark last Thursday late afternoon. I liked that. I liked that a lot.
And my circus clowns came home all week to a nice, cool Big Top after their long days at work, school, dance, Krav Maga and Tae Kwon Do.
Saving energy and keeping the Big Top comfortably cool; I win!
Thankfully, by Sunday there was a change in the weather and this week has brought temperatures that are 20-30 degrees cooler along with cool evening Delta breezes. As it should be here in the merry month of May. It is then that my darling husband wonders out loud if we should turn on the ac because he is hot.
Close the blinds and open the windows and let the breezes in, honey. It is only 75° outside.
But I’m hot!
Oh for goodness sake! (opening some windows and closing the blinds to block the setting sun)
Then looking up I notice that the ceiling fan is now turning clockwise.
Um, honey?
Yes?
Did you change the direction of the fan?
Yeah. I changed them all. They’re going in the wrong direction.
Um, no! I checked. They are supposed to be counter clockwise to cool the house more efficiently.
No, they are supposed to be clockwise in the warm months. I’ve got this.
No. Seriously honey, I did some research on this. In order to cool the house more efficiently and decrease our ac usage…AND save on our energy bill, the fans need to be turning counter clockwise. It helps to cool the whole room so we all can enjoy it.
When the fan turns clockwise it isn’t cooling the whole room. It does however seem to create a mini tornado under YOUR chair when you turn the fan up to high.
As it should be.
No, it should not be that way. Look, I’m just trying to save us a little off of our energy bill. It is crazy during the summer months and every little thing helps.
Fine! (he gets the step ladder and proceeds to change all of the fans directions back to counter clockwise)
A few hours later…
You know, I have been doing my OWN research and the direction the fan has nothing to do with cooling the room. It is how the blades are angled.
And so now the fans are turning clockwise…for now.
The moral of the story is it would seem that married couples are always arguing about directions.
Oh the life of a Dance Mom!
And the reward for being patient and fine and balanced and kind is a platinum for your solo and a platinum for your tap duo.
I’m thinking since she has spent the last eighteen months raging against the world she has maybe three, maybe four more years of rage left in her…wishing…hoping…praying. I’m sorry Hollie. I am so sorry that I ever cursed you. Then again, your rages often drove me to curse you.
