why dance competitions are so freaking long


Parents, grandparents, aunties, uncles, friends, Romans and countrymen…okay maybe not Romans…but the rest of you, you know how when we are all gathered at pretty much any and every event in the life of our children where they aren’t the only children there like concerts, awards ceremonies, games, graduations, competitions and other stuff where the emcee has to stop every once in a while to remind us all of the rules of the event…the rules that apply to us all at the event. Have you ever thought how much time is wasted when the emcee needs to stop and remind us more than twice, three times, four times..six times…in an hour…of every hour…of every day of the event you are attending?

Have you?

Well I did this weekend, at the event that started Friday afternoon and lasted until Sunday night.

People, THIS is why the emcee at the dance competition we attended Friday afternoon and evening, all day Saturday and all day Sunday had to stop to remind us at the very least four times every hour…in very clear, concise, simple language. At dance competitions like these, public events with our children performing copyrighted choreography on stage it is very clearly prohibited for anyone in the audience to video record a dance…with our children on stage. But that rule must apply to everyone but ME says pretty much every parent, grandparent, auntie, uncle, random stranger who might wander into an open, free, public event.

Ew, to the thought of some random stranger wandering in to a dance competition and taking pictures or recording young dancers on stage!

Ewww!!!

So this is why there is this rule prohibiting photographing or video recording the children on stage and YES it applies to everyone which is why they had to keep stopping…to remind all of us parents, especially the self important ones who were certain that they could not possibly mean THEM, or their iPhone and who were genuinely irritated when kids, my kid actually blocked their view and even more irritated when a staff member of the Rainbow Dance Competition came up to her and told her to stop recording or her kid’s dance would be disqualified.

Yeah, I was clapping. Because self-entitled dance mom you so deserved it.

Seriously, lady, just put down the 12 bucks and buy the damn dvd of your kid’s dance! You want have some person’s shrill voice shouting “You’re actually going to ignore the rules and video record this, aren’t you? Well, aren’t you special!“  and you won’t have people walking into and out of the shot blocking your little darling as she pirouettes across the stage. It is quite good. Note the previous blog post.

my curses are for real


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.

Oh wait!

Soon to be five year old Hazel does not pray daily, out loud for a baby sister. I am pretty sure her mommy has pointed to my children to show her what happens when you do something like that. But everything else about Hazel is so much like her mommy at that age it is a little bit scary…and pretty cool because Hollie was a pretty awesome little girl. Then she grew into preteens and teens…oh dear…sorry Hollie.

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!

the truth about motherhood that no one ever (always tries to) share


Confession time: I never wanted to be a mother.

I know!

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.

I told you so.

I did.

Happy Mother’s Day!

a cautionary tale


Parents, isn’t it fun to dress up your little darling children? It is. It is indeed.Oh the oh-so cute little dresses and sailor suits and t-shirts and shoes and hair styles and…if you have more than one darling child…the match-y, match-y siblings look.

A total win! People can totally tell that they are all sisters. And the first born isn’t resentful at all over the fact that she is dressed just like her barely-potty trained sisters because she is a mature, confident third grader and totally trusts her Mom’s fashion choices…like dressing her kids exactly alike.

Heh!

But it gets better. At least Mom imagines that it gets better.

No, we are not match-y, match-y but we are awesomely Gap coordinated. Weren’t the 90s just too stylish?I think so. Hollie, on the other hand, believes that this is just photographic evidence that her mother dressed her funny on purpose.

Whatever!

Oh, and in case you are wondering, Bill is smiling in this picture. He is smiling on the inside. Don’t believe me? Ask him. He’ll tell you.

But I digress…

Parents, while it is truly, truly fun to dress up our children not unlike the way we used to dress our Barbies…or our GI Joes.

Did boys dress up their GI Joes? I don’t know. Maybe they did, maybe they didn’t.

Whatever…

Parents, be careful how you dress your babies because it will come back to haunt you with all of your babies’ judgement and angst and bitterness when they are all grown up.

This.

This is evidence enough.

 

from PTA reject to Joe Biden


So there I was minding my own business happily snapping pictures of happy, beautiful teenagers all dressed up for Prom when one of the parents comes alongside of me and tells me that the first meeting for the Class of 2014 Sober Grad committee will be in two weeks and she really hoped that I would be there.

Me?!

She doesn’t know me very well, does she? Me, the PTA reject, the piss-poor cheer mom and the slacker soccer mom, basketball mom, volleyball mom and dance mom…yes, it was me she was inviting.

I pull up my calendar on my phone and mark the date thanking her for the invite.

Me.

I was invited to join with the PTA moms. I’ve never been invited before. Oh sure, I got the first day of school invites every year since 1992…because they HAVE to send out invites to all the parents…I’d go fully intending to offer what I can to support my kids’ schools. I’m all for that. But soon enough I’d see that I just did not belong, did not fit in, not at all. So I settled into the role of paying the annual PTA dues (five bucks) and participating in fundraisers and the rare field trip or class party. And I was okay with that. The circle of moms who do everything at school was too tight to fit into. Sure, they would call out for volunteers and even complain at the drop-off and pick-up how it’s always the SAME parents who volunteer but over the years as our kids grew up in school together they really liked their tight little social circle that did everything for school…and I became content as a PTA reject. My plate was full enough juggling the raising of my 5 clowns and all the craziness they brought to my circus anyway.

So as I planned to attend the Sober Grad meeting I wondered was the invite sincere…or was I being punked in some sort of Mean Girl kind of way. yes, I was mostly joking. But then again. Even Hollie joined in teasing me because she knows…I don’t fit in.

Turns out I wasn’t being punked. I was welcomed…after all these years. Still feeling awkward not knowing what to say or do I kept my head down and took notes…lots of notes….mainly because I really have no clue at all what I’m doing here….unlike the other parents at the meeting who seem to be on every single parent group or committee that supports every single program at our kids’ high school…I mean all of them.

We discuss at length budgets from years past, venues, fundraising ideas…the irony that a few fundraiser ideas that have worked years past involve alcohol, for the Sober Grad event didn’t escape me. I’m quick like that. Yeah.

It is then decided that we must put in place the executive board for the committee before the next meeting…you know President, Vice President, Secretary, Treasurer…

Do you hear the crickets?

Is this how it is at the PTA meetings?

Finally, one by one people offer just how over extended they are chairing the athletic committee or the events committee or the grounds committee or all the other parent groups and committees in place at our kids’ school. Then a few step up saying they will be secretary…hey, wait! I want to be secretary because I take great notes but I am the super newbie here so I stay silent. Finally we have a secretary and the parent who invited me agrees to be president. Another reluctantly volunteers to be either treasurer or vice president reminding us how over-extended she is. Others nod their heads murmuring their own over-extensions. I’m the only one who is quiet. And then, feeling guilty because I do nothing but sign a few checks for our kids’ school, open my mouth and say I could be willing to serve wherever I would be most useful adding I have no experience whatsoever…zero, zip, zilch, nada. The newly appointed President jumps on this saying I would be perfect for the job of Vice President describing basically what will be her sidekick/helper.

Why did Joe Biden’s smiling face immediately flash in my mind?

She brightly explains what my duties would be. I am pretty much her flunkie. Another parent, who knows our family circus life well, adds this would be a perfect fit for me with everything else I juggle.

I think I have been punked.

Yeah, I am the Vice President for the Class of 2014 Sober Grad Committee.

My Class of 2014 darling daughter is more than pleased.

Honestly! The things we do for these kids of ours!