Recital II

 We have all seen the posts about how parents "don't pay for dance" (or insert whatever sport or activity your child is involved in).  Most parents recognize that their child is not going to go pro at whatever childhood "thing" they do.  We put the kids in these activities for a variety of reasons...sometimes it is to relive your childhood through the kid (in which case, I will see them in my office shortly due to their neuroses...).  Sometimes, it is because the kid really enjoys the activity.  Sometimes it is because, goddamnit, you will not be on your phone all day long and get the fuck up and DO SOMETHING.  But whatever the reason, these posts go on and on about how they are learning all kinds of lessons about teamwork and hard work and heartbreak and successes.

But what about the parents?

I have been a dance mom since 2009.  Fifteen years in a row.  If you count my time with Elizabeth when she was in dance, that total goes up to 18 years.  I've been around, so to speak.  I own a bedazzled and have purchased butt glue and nipple petals and hair mascara and enough bobby pins that I could have probably started a retirement fund from all the recycled metal. I can put eyelashes and a full face of makeup on a sleeping child. I have sat through countless competitions, put thousands of miles on various vehicles, and have an extremely large tote of costumes in the attic as well as an entire room full of trophies.  I have videos of dances from 3/4 of my children.  I have purchased dozens of bouquets, have years of dance programs, and know the local high school's backstage area like the palm of my hand.

There is so much more to it, though.  There were lessons that I learned as a parent.

I learned that I could genuinely care for a group of other people's children like my own.  That I could get super excited for wins and commiserate with their not-so-great performances.  I learned that their successes, not only on the dance floor but in other areas of their lives, could make me burst with pride just like it was my own kid.  That their sadness and grief when life was not so good to them would be mine too.

I learned that there are terribly rude people out there.  People who will try to sneak all kinds of shit over...sitting in seats not their own at a recital.  People who will walk in front of other people when there is a dance on stage.  People who will deliberately stack a dance number to put an advanced group in a younger age group or even a lower level to increase the odds of winning.  People who will go so far as to steal parts of other studio's costumes.  People who will leave a recital early because their kid has already performed.

But I also learned that there are some really great people out there.  People who raise their children to cheer for other studios when they win.  Strangers who will stop to help when you have a child who is injured.  Strangers who will help you when you have two garment bags, a rolling duffle bag, a purse, a portable refrigerator, a huge ass mug of coffee, and a full flight of steps to carry them up.

I learned that it is ok for other women to mold my daughters.  To call them out on their bullshit when needed.  To push them.  To take them to the next level, when even I, their mother, who thinks they are perfect and capable of anything, would not have insisted on it.  That some of these role models would influence every aspect of my children's lives.  That I would cry with these role models when it was all over because it is so bittersweet and that part of our job is over.

I learned that I can arrange multiple bouquets of flowers into various vases, too.

I learned that my husband is the ultimate "girl dad", as much as that makes my teeth hurt to say.  He was a steady fixture at the dance studio until Alexis learned to drive.  I'm pretty sure most of the teachers and staff liked him better than me.  Some of the girls really looked up to him as a father figure and would talk his ear off.  He even once got conned into doing a pushup contest at a comp because he can't tell these girls no (mind you, only a few months post-surgery from a bicep tear, to boot...).

I learned that I paid for dance as much for me as for them.  Because it does take a village.  And bitchez, that village has helped me to raise some phenomenal daughters (and a granddaughter, too, because Delilah is up on that stage as well).

So to my dance family: Thank you for all the memories.  Thank you for helping me to raise my girls.

Thanks.

Letters V

Dear Bitchez,
I'M BAAAAAACCCKKK!!!

Took a bit of a hiatus from things here because life just got crazy.  Again.  That and I needed a break from feeling as though I have to come up with content for this blog.  I act like I post so often but goddamn even monthly was a lot.  How do people do this for a living? I mean I guess if I got paid I'd be making my ass think of shit to post....Do people even actually blog anymore?  Well, I was also the girl who french rolled her pants for a solid year after it became unfashionable, so...IDGAF. 

So let's see...where to start?  I'm now solidly in my new private practice and even hired someone.  I don't think she's figured out the level of crazy she is involved with yet so I'm hoping to kind of ease her into it.  I am still at my other place, mostly because I like my clients and my coworkers there, but also because it's currently a steady stream of income.  I'm doing well enough that I bought an expensive vacuum cleaner vs the cheap one.  But in the cheapie vacuum's defense, that fucker lasted over 14 years so yay for the Dirt Devil Jaguar?

Charles continues on his trend of being surgery free this year which is great.  We also decided that we were going to re-side, re-roof, and re-gutter our house after some crazy wind storms damaged the old, really shitty siding.  Let's just say, the roof and siding probably needed to be replaced the year before we bought the house and we just kept putting it off and putting it off because denial totally makes your problems disappear like Democratic votes in North Carolina.  Let's also say that insurance sucks monkey balls and their decision to only pay for 2 sides of the house in the old crappy siding despite there being 3 sides damaged (or, at the cost of the old crappy siding) when all four sides of the house in newer, prettier vinyl siding was only  slightly more ranks up there as a mystery of the times right along with who was Jack the Ripper and what was in the briefcase in Pulp Fiction.  The house now looks amazing but dear sweet baby Jesus having those people here working on the house was incredibly anxiety provoking for me, and therefore terrible for Charles.  We soldiered on through and have put off any additional house projects until next year because of the trauma.

Elizabeth, to my knowledge, continues to get through school without being a functional alcoholic or resorting to selling drugs. I like to think, though, that if she were dealing that she is smart enough to not get caught cause Mama didn't raise no fool.  She completed her internship in New York City at a high end jewelry shop and really solidified for me that my baby girl is likely not going to stay in Ohio.  Which, as much as that would suck monkey balls, means that I will get to travel to visit her.  I am sure her boyfriend would LOVE having the mother in law come to stay.

Alexis continues to barrel on towards adolescence.  She is excited for her 13th birthday, which means things like being allowed to wear makeup and sit in the front seat of the car.  She does occasionally warily emerge from the lair  bedroom to interact with us mere mortals.  She's still dancing and we still continue to root for dancing to evolve into stages vs poles.  She also got bumped up to freshman algebra because she's a fucking rockstar, but now I get to relive my freshman year of math with her.  I told her once she gets to Calculus, though, she's screwed because I only went through Pre-Calc in high school, then somehow convinced my undergrad college that I should take that AGAIN for my math credit.  Again, not a fool here.

Charlie also continues to barrel through life head first, but that's nothing new for her.  She decided to re-join the competition team this year, why, I don't know, but she did.  She is dog-obsessed and once told me "if three dogs are good, mom, five are better."  She has discovered YouTube and that her mother is incredibly mean and abusive and makes her do things like go outside to play and wear clothes without holes in them.  She also tries to get me to play Roblox with her, which is incredibly entertaining for everyone who is not me.  We really should video that shit and go viral, but I like my privacy too much.  Just trust me when I say, it's super entertaining. 

The animals are pretty much status quo, though Roman has decided that he hates all dogs not in his family so we have to work through that with him.  I blame it on spending too much time with Charles, because that man pretty much hates anyone who is not family.  The girls are trying to convince me to get a cat, but hell the fuck no because a.) Charlie's allergies, and b.) our last cat was psychotic and quite possibly plotting my death on the regular.  The chinchilla is just kinda quiet, as are the rabbits.

Oh, and Delilah is perfect as usual.  Duh.  Gigi does not get nearly enough time with her, but Gigi and her mama are both incredibly busy. 

So I guess this makes more than a tri-decadely letter.  Fucking sue me.  You'll get a house with really nice siding and that's about it.  Oh, and crippling student loan debt.  Enjoy!

Love,
Me

Letters IV

Dear Bitchez,

Time for my tri-decadely Christmas letter.  What, Christmas is over, you say?  Huh, funny that...people bitch at me for taking my decorations down the day after Christmas, but I try to extend the season by putting out a Christmas letter three days late and all of a sudden I've suggested the equivalent of torturing nuns and drowning puppies.  I'm trying something new, bitchez, as apparently I definitely can't be arsed to do anything on any kind of regular schedule.  Or even in a timely fashion anymore because late for me is now the new on time.  Which is incredibly anxiety-provoking for me and super awesome for my mental health.

I am still working two jobs, but my new practice is picking up more so now I am in the awesome position of not quite being able to reduce hours at the first practice but needing more for the second and therefore working all the fucking time.  Being a business owner is awesome...if you are a business person.  I am not so it pretty much sucks monkey balls.  Thank God for people who invent electronic health records that pretty much idiot-proof the whole process of insurance and billing.  I  never would have been able to figure out how to open my own practice before the Google was a thing.  I also decided that it would be super fun to occasionally teach a crafting class at a local wine bar, which then led me to being asked to teach a crafting class at the Senior Center.  Oh, and don't forget that I am trying to get EMDRIA certified for my practices which entails occasional (expensive) consultation and that I am trying to get Roman certified as a therapy dog which requires (expensive) training classes. I also recently slipped and fell and gave myself a concussion, which forced me to take off work so now I get to try to make all that time up somehow.  My therapist tells me that I am running away from my crazy because I keep myself so busy.  I then tell her that I don't like her very much sometimes, and we laugh and laugh because a.) we know that's not true, and b.) we know she's right.  It might be time to up  my meds, perhaps pursue that imaginary Xanax prescription...or, you know, learn to say no...

Charles only has three more days left in 2018, and has thus far avoided any kind of surgical procedure.  Go Charles!  He briefly had a stint with a very entertaining albeit incompetent HR lady at work, but alas his employer only enjoys rewarding incompetence in dangerous situations, like while using a crane to lift metal parts that weigh thousands of pounds or whilst handling a machine that melts wire at thousands of degrees.  She was soon let go, so no more entertaining stories of someone potentially more insane than myself.  Now he is back to having that look of desperation in his eyes, and as I've said many times before, this may or may not have a lot to do with to whom he is married.

The girls are all doing well.  Elizabeth continues on at school and working for the same practice I do.  She has been faced with a lot of adult shit this year, like friends with seriously ill mothers, a best friend's pregnancy, (and my resultant becoming a grandma, named Gigi.  Delilah picked the name out as she smiled when I asked her if that was what I should be, and had no reaction to Lala or Mimi. No more GmaL #itspronouncedjamal), and lots of car repairs and the resultant crippling debt.  Oh wait, that's from her student loans...She has handled it all well and as far as I can tell has not resorted to utilizing substances to make her forget how much being an adult sucks.  At least not on a regular basis.  Alexis continues to dance and grow at an unacceptable rate.  She appears to have adjusted to middle school and we do occasionally get her to look up from her phone to interact with us, so all is well there I think.  Charlie's teacher wants her tested for the gifted program, which is OK as long as "gifted program" does not entail throwing more busy work at her like some schools do.  Charlie has also decided to expand her dance repertoire to include tap and hip hop, as well as the acro and ballet, and is now on the Company team for dance, which performs locally.  Charles got upset a few weeks back as the studio owner posted the fees for the competitions in a place he could see them...he said ignorance was bliss and now he can't unsee those numbers.  I say I am looking at this as an investment in our future...if nothing else, to guilt the girls into putting us into a really nice nursing home because of how much we spent on dance for them growing up.

The animals are all cool.  Asher the chinchilla has gotten a new cage and is doing well.  Maximus recently ate 2.5 dozen Christmas sugar cookies and was on my shit list for a while.  Lucky for him they were undecorated.  Fucker also managed to get the lid off the tupperware container without destroying it.  Roman continues on in puppy classes.  We've taught him to fist bump because we need a dog who is cooler than we are, natch.  Deogie could also benefit from a prescription for Xanax, but also does not have one.  The rabbits just kinda chill and do rabbit-y type stuff.  They are pretty unexciting. 

We ended up NOT selling the house and discovered that our realtor was the WORST EVER.  Like, not showing up to show us a house worst.  Like lying about showings coming over worst.  Like having paperwork done incorrectly worst.  Needless to say, we ended up not getting the house we put a bid on and did not renew our contract with her, nor will we be using her in the future.  Back to the plan of building.  That is, if we ever get out from under MY crippling student loan debt.  2018 did nothing but show me how much fun it is to be an adult while not being independently wealthy.  Yay for no surgery though?

Happy Holidays, bitchez!  Looking forward to a 2019 wherein I continue to not be rich and remain just as crazy as I am poor, effortlessly.

Love,
Me

Letters III

Bitchez,

Time for our yearly Christmas letter!  Well, not really yearly, but there's not a term for 3 times in 5 years.  Like, tri-half-decadely?  IDK.  I make shit up half the time, so let's just go with that for now and accept the fact that I can't be counted on to consistently write a Christmas letter.  It's tough work maintaining this crazy, I tell you what.  I can't be expected to maintain my crazy AND a yearly letter AND to publish it on this blog.  One has to prioritize, you know.

Speaking of priorities...Charles finally decided that he should maybe make his health a priority and went to go get his knees looked at.  Of course, they are pretty fucked up and he desperately needs a knee replacement, but quality of life means nothing to insurance companies so they keep shelling out for bandaids for the amputation here and keep doing more minor surgeries.  In this case, it was repairing a torn meniscus (he likes to do that to his knees for funsies, I think...he had the other one done a few years ago) and cleaning up what little cartilage remains in his knee.  The surgeon told me that the knee wasn't as bad as he expected, which considering that the knee he DIDN'T operate on is bone on bone probably isn't saying much.  But, we at least got to work out the disability insurance we are paying for again this year, though for not quite as long as last year's surgery.  He has been informed that this is not a trend that needs to continue into 2018, but no one ever fucking listens to me around here based upon the number of clothes that make it thisclose to being inside the laundry hamper vs on the floor.  Other than that, he is enjoying being employed by a place that prides itself on increasing the level of desperation and despair in its employees eyes exponentially year by year whilst simultaneously wrecking his physical health and forcing him to dream of someday being a kept man.

I am continuing at the private practice, and have started up my own here in town because God forbid I should ever have things like free time or relaxation or reduced stress.  I continue to try to run, not because I enjoy being lapped by the power walkers (which, let's be honest, probably would happen) but because if I don't, I tend to get incredibly cranky and turn to unhealthy coping mechanisms and a dark sense of humor in times of stress...wait, that happens anyways...so why do I run again...?  I also participated in the Minimalism Game again this month and was again shocked by the amount of crap I threw away or donated, this time mainly from the little girls' rooms where they were hoarding miscellaneous puzzle pieces and random plastic pieces of various playsets like their very lives depended on it.

Elizabeth continues to do well at school.  She has moved into an apartment with her boyfriend and cousin and two cats, who are now my grandkitties and I am enjoying being a grandma to because she better not fucking make me a human grandma before I am 40, goddammit.  Plus I haven't thought of a cute name for the kid to call me because I'll be damned if I'm going by Grandma.  My grandchild will be a bevy of originality and awesomeness, naturally, and my name should reflect this.  So I'm not ready to be a grandmother based solely on my lack of an original name.  Of course, there's the whole she needs to finish college first thing too...but I would hope that given that she pretty much went to college with me, that would be a no-brainer.  She also continues to work for the private practice I am at, doing their social media stuff, and everyone loves her to pieces because I somehow have not fucked her up so much she is unable to be a productive member of society.

Alexis continues to dance and I continue to shell out extraordinary amounts of money for this.  She is starting to run into the whole school activities vs dance thing, and I will tell you what, she certainly did not learn stress management from me!  She decided to NOT do Student Council this year because she felt that she could not give it the proper amount of attention between 4H, dance, and band, plus maintaining her good grades.  High five me, parenting WIN with her not picking up on my unnatural and unhealthy Superwoman complex!  She also is continuing to barrel full speed towards adolescence and I'm continuing to hoard my imaginary Xanax to get through it as my anxious to please baby is starting to get some serious sass here.  Imagine that, a child of mine being sassy?  Must get that from her father.

Charlie is dominating first grade academics like the boss that she is and has not only continued her acro classes, but is also doing cheer.  She wants to do swim as well, but I am having a hard time finding classes for her around here that aren't filled up by the members and I refuse to pay $300 for a rec membership to *maybe* get first dibs at swim classes that I will have to pay extra for anyways.  She's already doing better than me in that department as she can tolerate, you know, actually getting into the water, and isn't that what parenting is all about?  Your children having better than you?  Well, she can sure as shit save herself from drowning and that is more than I can say for me (well, at least when I am trying to get out of swimming in gym as a freshman in high school...).

The animals are maintaining.  We had to say good bye to Gunner as he had bitten someone despite all of the training we had put him through.  Charles and Elizabeth had contemplated getting me another puppy, but honestly, I don't have the time to put into one right now with both practices and I am going to be semi-responsible and put the kibosh on that.  We had briefly thought Deogie had cancer, but when we got the lump removed the biopsy, much to the vet's surprise (and Dr. Google, at least according to the pictures...) it was benign.  He at one point did figure out how to get around the cone of shame to lick at his stitches, so he had to get a bigger cone, and it was really hard to not laugh at him as he continually misjudged the size of the cone and ran into shit.  I'm probably going to hell for this, but the little shit did it to himself by being too smart for his britches and getting around the (smaller) first cone.

Seriously, the cone is literally the size of his torso...

Maximus and Toby continue to do well, as do the various fish we have upstairs.  I'm still not convinced that the sucker fish is not going to murder us in his sleep one day as he is still unnamed and probably has an angry blog somewhere blasting the inherent unfairness of being a sucker fish, but I guess if it happens it will be well documented and I can say from the grave "I told you so."

Anyways, looking forward to a future where maybe my husband won't be going under the knife again and I will be only working one job, and not being a grandmother until I have an appropriately creative yet meaningful moniker.  I'm hoping for 1, maybe 2/3 in 2018.  Goals, amirite bitchez?

Merry Christmas!

Laura, Charles, Elizabeth, Alexis, and Charlie

Recital

It pains me to have to write this post.

Mostly because it makes me feel like the equivalent of the old timers in a barber shop lamenting the state of today's youth.  However, in this case, I am sitting in a theatre watching in disbelief as entire families, like literally dozens of people, got up to leave after their child's performance.  In some cases, before intermission.

What. The. Fuck.

Why do I have to write a "how not to be an asshole at a dance recital" post?

I am sorry, your child ain't that special.  It's not like they had a solo, because NO ONE had a solo.  The solos did not perform at this recital.  None of the competition families, who's children ARE that special (and also put hours of work in WEEKLY vs your one little 45 min class), got up and left.  They might have cheered very loudly, but they stayed seated unless it was to go do a costume change.  And even if they did have to go help backstage, they returned...leaving after your kid performs takes douche-baggery to a whole new level.

You go to a recital, you sit through the whole entire thing.  You may or may not make fun of all of the other children who aren't yours (*ahem* not that I've ever been privy to this happening...) but you sit there the whole time and you clap after each number and laugh at the kids who stand there and stare terrified out at the audience in a moment they are sure to re-live with their therapist as an adult.

You sure as fuck don't get up and leave and then stand out in the lobby and laugh and talk and ooh and aah over your preschooler while ignoring the fact that every other child in that recital worked just as fucking hard as your kid.  In the case of the competition kids, EVEN harder than your kid.  And that is not including all of the time and effort put forth by the teachers, and the support staff, and the staff of the theatre.

Your child is not the only one performing.  What a big "fuck you" to all of those other kids when you get up and leave.  The idea of being able to go get your kid after they performed was to bring them back into the audience...TO SUPPORT THEIR PEERS.  Not to be a douche bag like you clearly are.

It is a sad reflection on our society that people feel the need to make their little special snowflakes feel super duper special at the expense of other kids.  What does that sound like?  Bullying.  That is what that sounds like.  I no longer want to hear people wondering about where this comes from because they are the people who are leaving recitals early.  You learn this shit from home, bitchez.  And if you can't be arsed to sit through a fucking children's dance recital, you certainly can't be arsed to make sure you aren't modelling other bullying behaviors.

Take a good hard look at yourself here.  Children mimic what they see.  Would you be ok with another child treating your special snowflake like you are treating other kids?

If you are leaving that recital early...I doubt it.