The Aftermath

Well, we made it to the other side of this crazy year!

Summer has officially begun and the actual Rapture might not have occurred yesterday, but believe me, I feel like I just went through the Apocalypse.

Last week was true insanity.

The end of the school year. House Shopping. And Recital.

Oh, the glory of Recital.

By the way, I am ignoring House Shopping on purpose. As we in this household witnessed last week, thinking about buying a house brings on true, physical, not-making-it-up-or-exaggerating panic attacks. I can't talk about it yet.

Except for this. If buying a house, really is the American Dream, I mean, its supposed to be like real freedom, than why, WHY does tying yourself to hundreds of thousands of dollars in a mortgage feel more like a Life Sentence?

Thoughts? Anyone?

Ok. Back to The Seven Deadly Horseman and The Bowls of God's Wrath. AKA Recital Week.


It's always crazy. I mean, from last rehearsals, to costume fittings, to Picture Day(The Worst.), to Dress Rehearsal, to the actual Event itself, my mind was going a million different directions and I think I even ended the day smelling bad. Like I had just run a marathon.

Oh. My.

And even though the girls did Amazing on stage, my mind still just wants to shut down and fall asleep every time I think about the craziness I put us through.

Plus I have hives today!


I guarantee you its from the stress.

At one point yesterday this mom said to my girls, "Girls you look out of it." And I had to fess up. So I told her the truth: They just saw their mommy lose her f-ing mind and are expectedly a little shell shocked.

You might be asking yourself why I would put myself through all of the insanity and physical illnesses just for dance.

Well, I would tell you, that if you don't think my girls should be in it, you tell them they can't. And then tell me they don't love it.

But seriously, its not usually quite the caliber of crazy that yesterday was. I usually don't have to get two girls ready. And have Stryker hanging around. And do it all by myself. (Zach had to work. Like the whole day.) But most importantly, I don't usually make my girls do anything when they are... sick.

And sick they were.

Stella didn't have a fever. She had one earlier in the week, but technically wasn't warm yesterday. That didn't mean she felt good.

And Scar Baby. Well that child was sick. Like, I was pretty much the worst mother ever for making her go on stage. And the worst parent ever for exposing all of the other children.

So. Sorry about that!

So in my defense, let me just say, that That child has been wanting to go on stage for Two years. That's right. Two. Ever since she figured out what it was I was dragging her to with Stella three times a week. And she has been thrilled to the point of bubbling over every time we talked about the stage for the last month. She was in love. In. Love. With her costume. And if I was close to tears thinking about her not doing Baby Ballerina's, imagine what she was like.

So. Like. Any good mother, I pumped her full of Tylenol. Gave her a Man-Up Speech. Dressed her. Made her up. Patted her little booty and sent her on stage, crossing my fingers and trying not to tear up from Pride despite the circumstances.

She did amazing. Like the whole dance. Kept her focus. Kept her poise. Kept her grace. Even while two other little Baby Ballerina's fought it out on the other side of the line.

Not even kidding. Two Two Year Olds totally got into it on stage. Pinching. Shoving. Pushing. Cutest thing ever!

I can say that because I'm not their parents.

And in my opinion, one of the poor little things was just reacting in self defense.

Stella did her professional best in both of her dances as well. But that girl was born to perform, so I was never even worried.

Despite her breakdowns in between Miss America and The Father/Daughter Dance.

I have to say, Zach too performed well beyond my expectations! Pretty sure he missed his calling in life.... :)

Oh. My. They are gorgeous. Those little girls!

So we had a successful Recital. And once again I know why I'm at the studio I'm at. Even if I never envisioned a life of Dance Competition for my little girls, or lets be honest, even knew that it existed at all before Stella joined.... she is at a fantastic studio. Those girls are good.

Like seriously good.

Like, I had no idea you could teach kids to dance like that.

The studio I went to growing up literally worked on one dance the entire year. That's it. I never learned the names for jumps, or leaps, or anything other than first position, second position. And we did dances to Disney Movies and Show Tunes.

These girls dance to a sound track you could find on my iPod. Adele, Florence and the Machine, The White Stripes, Imogean Heap.... Love it. (Not the little girls of course. Those are still Show Tunes.)

I need to post a video of the older girls. Because they are amazing. A-Mazing.

And that's what I want for my girls. To be that good at something. To be talented. And work hard. And get full rides to Ivy League Schools, like one senior this year.

Just next year, I will be hiring a nanny. Or a hair stylist/make-up artist/personal assistant to handle all of the back stage stuff for me, so I can just sit and enjoy the show.

Dang it.

I can just rest in the knowledge that Stryker and I will never have to have The Battle Of Sit-Still-And-Let-Me-Put-Your-Dang-Mascara-On-Dang-It.

Hallelujah for that.

And now the world can end.

Oh wait? He was wrong?

I can't believe it! I already paid the Atheists to watch my pets! And the Agnostics to water my yard. Shoot. I even paid some Buddhist to drive my cars around the block every once in a while so the batteries wouldn't die.

Now what I'm going to do?

Oh yes, not worry about my things after the Rapture comes, whenever it comes, on the day that none of us know, that God Himself has designated and He alone keeps the secret.

That's what I'll do.


Phasellus facilisis convallis metus, ut imperdiet augue auctor nec. Duis at velit id augue lobortis porta. Sed varius, enim accumsan aliquam tincidunt, tortor urna vulputate quam, eget finibus urna est in augue.

No comments:

Post a Comment