The Ballet

I took Lakeland to see "The Nutcracker" last night.

We arrived a bit early, even though I had to drive around in an endless loop searching for parking and, finding nothing within a mile vicinity, pulled a 'Hoort*' and parked right next to the curb by the front door of the community theatre. 

Once inside the theatre, among the parents and kids milling about stood people behind folding tables full of fundraising items. You could purchase a wee toy nutcracker for $15, but since I recognized them from one of those dollar stores, I passed.  The other option to show support for NOVA ballet was by purchasing room temperature bottled water and candy, each for $1.  I gladly threw down $3 for Skittles for LL, a Twix for me, and one pint of water.

Off we headed to our seats, which were exactly in the middle of the row.  While the location provided a great view of the stage, you do, of course, have to have balls of steel to sit in the center with a four year old, because the chances that you'll have to leave in the middle of the performance and crawl over people while wearing a dress and heels are fairly high.  Thankfully, she was sufficiently entranced by the dancers and content to crunch her way through a whole bag of Skittles for the entire first act.

At the beginning of Act II, Lakeland spontaneously jumped out of her seat and commenced imitating the every move of the Sugar Plum Fairy, including pirouettes with arms gracefully reaching toward the heavens.  I could hear the delighted tittering and hushed "awww's" of audience members behind us as I gently tapped LL on the shoulder and motioned to her to take a seat.  "But mommy!" she whispered in that kid way that's not really whispering, but more talking at their regular decibel level only more gravelly, "If I don't practice right NOW, I won't remember the moves when we get home!"  I reassured her (in an actual whisper) that we could watch the ballet again at home and she responded by yelling "WHAT WAS THAT, MOMMY?"

Once seated, she motioned furiously to me that she needed a drink of water.  I clawed around in the dark for the bottle of water, found one that I hoped was ours, and handed it to her before returning my attention to the Arabian dancers.

Then, just as the Chinese dancers were tip-toeing on stage, Lakeland choked.  She choked on water, and was loudly coughing, sputtering, and burping.  And then, all of sudden, she puked water and an entire fucking rainbow of skittles onto both her lap and mine.

I guess most parents would have packed up their stuff, grabbed their dripping, vomit-covered child, and high-tailed it (as much as you can high-tail over people's knees, purses and water bottles while shuffling awkwardly sideways in a dark room) out of there.  But not me.  My mom and dad paid $67.00 for those ballet tickets, and I was not missing the Waltz of the Flowers, because that's the best part...unfortunately, it's also the second to last scene.

While Lakeland steadily questioned me in her special whispering way about the ending location of her spew ("Dress, mommy?  And tights?  And shoes?  And you?"), I grabbed her faux fur coat, hastily swiped it across my own lap, and then tucked it tight around her now vile crushed black velvet dress, hoping to somehow sort of seal her up because she smelled an awful lot like an elementary school bus.  Then I ignored her continuous pleas to go home and waited for the Waltz.

During the final scene of The Nutcracker, when Clara's parents rouse her from her sleep, I gathered our things and prepared to haul ass out of there.  Because not only were we both covered in sour fruit smelling Skittle bits, but I was also illegally parked.

And isn't it nice that during the holidays people are so thoughtful?  The crowd magically parted to let us though, as if they somehow sensed we were in a hurry.  Magical.

* "Pulling a Hoort" means you park where ever you feel like parking... named after the late Ron Hoort, who I miss very much.  Fortunately, he bequeathed his gift of doing whatever he wanted to his elder son Todd...

Santa vs. Elsa

Today I chaperoned a field trip for preschool kids.  Lakeland and 87 billion other 4 and 5 year olds were all invited to a high school production with live music and costumed characters like Mickey & Minnie, Tiana, Ariel, Aladdin, Rudolph, Frosty, etc...

When the band started playing "Let It Go", the auditorium just about got its top blown right off.  And then the MC's of the show, dressed as Peter Pan and Tinker Bell, announced that Anna and Elsa were in the house, and the high pitched roar from the children was deafening.  I can't even hear myself typing right now.

There was a literal mob scene, as all the once seated children bum-rushed these two poor teenage girls in the aisle.  I simply cannot imagine that either Anna or Elsa could have anticipated such a colossal reaction from such teensy people.  I'm surprised those princesses were able to remain upright.

"No, Santa.  I haven't seen your cell phone.  Ugh."

A few minutes later, Mrs. Claus, who is used to being second best, and probably just has a running dialogue in her head to cheer herself up this time of year...

"Yeah, who do you think cooked all that pork roast that made Santa's belly so round?" 

"Guess who fed and walked the reindeer every damn day, kids?"  

"Santa constantly misplaces his toy sack, and if it weren't for me, all of your presents would come in big, black Hefty bags." 

...showed up, with the ordinarily show stealing Santa right on her heels, and the kids kinda glanced at the dude with their heads tipped sideways, like 'Who's the schlub in the red suit?', and then resumed craning their wrist-sized necks to see where the Frozen princesses had disappeared.

Now, OK...I get that the kids liked the movie and all that.  But seriously.  The fervor for Elsa is completely unwarranted.  I mean, I know it's not her fault that she is such a miserable, cold-hearted, terrible sister.  Obviously that blame belongs squarely on the shoulders of her parents, who, when they discovered a birth defect in their daughter, opted to forgo treatment and instead locked her in a bedroom.  WHAT IS THAT?!??  Any other parent would be fielding calls from social services.

Anyway, I thought it was really weird that Santa got the shaft this year.  But I think I saw Mrs. Claus smirking. 

Question? Answer.

It was one of those perfect November mornings...bright and warm with the sunlit colors of fall folding over me.  I was driving in the Shenandoah Valley, the mountains on my left, so lovely in their modesty, the soft green plots of farmland on my right, dotted with ancient, dark red barns and brimming with animal life.

Lakeland was asleep in the back seat, and I had a few treasured moments of time to be alone with my thoughts, which I used contemplating the boundless beauty of the earth.  I had gratitude just pouring from my being.

During this unhurried drive west**, I had one reoccurring thought; one question that's been nagging me for, if I'm really honest, years.  It was something I had never shared with another soul, something that I had wanted to work out on my own, eventually.

But after so much time had passed, and I'd found myself unable to navigate this irksome desire to understand to a place that felt resolved, I called the one person I usually talk to about these deep, unanswered quandaries; someone who can always render a new point of view, or calm my questions, or put things right in my world.

Here's the conversation:

Ring, ring...ring, ring...

Seth:  Hey, babe.

Me:  Hey.  You got a minute?

Seth:  Sure, what's up?

Me:  Well, I'm driving, and thinking, and I have a question for you.

Seth:  OK.

Me:  So like, when MC Hammer said that he was "Too legit, too legit to quit", what exactly did he mean by that?  Did he want to quit?  Or did he not want to quit?  I just cannot seem to get a grip on this.  What did he MEAN BY THAT?

Seth (so completely unfazed by my asking about a wholly obsolete rapper who hasn't been in the peripheral of any one person's thoughts for at least two decades, who responded as if my question were anticipatory, who might as well have just been thinking about MC Hammer himself, answered definitively and without a moment's hesitation):  Yeah.  He meant, like, "Oh, what's up fools?  You want me to quit this gig?  Well, guess what?  I'm not going to!  What I'm gonna do is make millions of dollars, and then I'm gonna flaunt it all over the place."  And then, you know, I'm going to lose the whole wad.  Only he didn't say that last part out loud.  Does that help?

Me:  Yeah!  Well...kind of.  So if I said that I was too legit to, say, do the dishes, would that mean that I had to do the dishes?  Or that I didn't really have to do the dishes?   Or...?

Seth:  It means that you wouldn't have to do the dishes, but you'd still do the dishes, and then be like "Damn right, I did the dishes.  I do what I want."

I believe that this exact type of conversation, and the many we have had, and will have in the future, is one of the reasons we got married.  Because he never knows what thoughts are rolling around in my head and because I have no doubt that he has the answers.

**Yeah...I don't actually know what direction I was driving.  I'm assuming west, because we didn't end up in the ocean, which I believe is east of where I live, and it didn't seem to be colder, so probably not north, and when we arrived at our destination, everything was not covered in gravy, so maybe not south. 

Isn't this the time?

It took everything in me not to stop my car, roll down the window, and shriek to the mother of one of Lakeland's classmates, "Hey! Your daughter is acting like a giant BITCH!"

But I didn't.  Because I was in a preschool parking lot.  And because yelling at people while hanging out a car window is a little bit trashy. 

Oh, but I wanted to.  Because I am having conversations with my daughter that go like this:

Me:  How was your day, bug?

LL:  Mommy, Girl A and Girl B were mean to me today. On purpose.  We were all playing and then Girl A said I couldn't play with them anymore, because she and Girl B were friends first.  Then they only played with each other and not me.

Me:  Hmmm.  Well what did you do?

LL:  I went and found other friends and played with them.

Me (feigning excitement when really my voice was shaking with anger and a big wad of sadness was threatening to purge itself from my throat and splatter on the windshield):  I'm sorry that happened to you, but I'm glad that you found new friends!

Every time I pick her up, we have a similar conversation.  "Girl A and Girl B still won't play with me.  It hurts my feelings because we were friends before."
  
Okay, so this is heartbreaking, right?  And infuriating, yes?  Not just because some girl was mean to my daughter, but because girls, at the age of four, are rejecting, excluding and hurting the feelings of their female peers.  How is this happening??  And WHY?

I will not, no matter what anybody says, buy into the notion that this is just a case of "girls being girls", or that acting like a little snot is some rite of passage.  That's just bullshit.  Because I don't believe that it is inherent of female nature to be cattish and nasty.  I think it's inherent of female nature to be nurturing.  To exude strength.  Even in times of weakness.  To protect.  To love.  And to pretty much be a badass from toddlerhood to old age.

So the business of being a four old preschooler has been on my mind, and here's what I've been thinking...

Isn't this the time when differences are meaningless, if even noticed?

Isn't this the time when kids are fully delighted by each tiny similarity they find in each other?  ~Hey!  We both have on red shirts today!  Wanna play?

Isn't this the time for boundless encouragement?

Isn't this the time when scrapes and scars belong on elbows and knees, not heads and hearts?

Isn't this the time for authentic joy?

Isn't this the time when unmarred hearts are worn, adorned with neon lights and sparkly glitter, on sleeves?


Isn't this the time when expectations are irrelevant?  Nonexistent?

What I know is that nobody's daughter should have to worry about protecting her little heart from preschool friends.

What I know is that if some kid walked up and hit my daughter, I wouldn't hesitate to intervene, but that emotional taunting feels far more difficult to handle than aggression of a physical nature.

What I know is that my little girl understood just enough about what these two girls were trying to accomplish, to walk away with her feelings bruised.

What I know is that four is too young to worry about what others think.

What I know is that this is, and should be, the age of innocence.

What I know is that I shouldn't be having grown up conversations about grown up stuff with a tender-aged and light-filled girl.

What I know is that nobody needs to grow up faster.  Kids grow up so fast and with such fury; they're like a wild storm running up the coast.  I just want to surround my daughter with good and kind friends who want to hold hands with her and jump with her in the puddles when the rains ebb.

Girl A is failing.  She's failing to live up to the gifts with which she was born.  Failing to be tolerant, loving, kind, caring, thoughtful and accepting.  Somewhere along the way, she learned to go against her nurturing instincts.  She's failing to be a badass.  Which is so, so sad because being what she was born to be is so much better, and so much more fun, for her and everyone around her.  So I really just want to tell her mom that her daughter is acting like a bitch, and get this whole storm turned back in the right direction.

I'm not interested in THAT point of view.

(***see below)

I've spent a fair amount of time in ladies' locker rooms.  Enough to sort of...well...not care much about any of whatever goes on in there.  When I was younger, sure I was probably a bit curious, but I'd say that now, I'm impervious to the various states of undress. 

I don't care if you make yourself a terrycloth tent out of 12 towels and cover up everything but your elbow.

I don't care if you are completely naked and swinging your towel around your head like a helicopter. 

I don't care if you are flip-flopped or bare footed or walking around in wet, squishy socks.  
I don't care if you come into the sauna nude.  With no towel even to sit on.  I don't think it's particularly wise to slow roast your labia on a slab of 197 degree cedar, but that's entirely your own business. 

If you, in all your naked glory, want to sit across from me in the sauna, I don't care. 

But here's where I'm gonna go ahead and take exception.  When you pull one knee up to your chin and just sit there, like your crotch isn't waaayyyy too close to my face, and waaayyyy too exposed.  To this I say "What is wrong with you?  Did your mother not teach you about keeping your knees together and ankles crossed when you are wearing a skirt (or, you know, nothing!), or were you just not listening?"

I don't think that I, or anyone except your highly-paid gynecologist and maybe your waxologist, if you so choose to exercise that option someday in the future, should be privy to THAT point of view.

Am I wrong here?  Did I miss something in the locker room etiquette handbook? 

***Oh. My. God.  I googled ladies locker room images, and my eyeballs are burning.  BURNING.  Google, you are a perv.  No women's locker rooms look like that.  What is wrong with YOU?

Captured

Just a plastic dinosaur...

There is a small, plastic dinosaur that lives on the rim of my kitchen sink.  I love that stupid dinosaur.  Lakeland put it there one day and said it was "to keep me company while I do the dishes". 

While I am scraping plates, washing the coffee pot, rinsing out whatever needs to be rinsed out, scrubbing pans, or just standing at the sink talking, that little dinosaur looks up at me with his indents-for-eyes, shimmering green and brown skin, and one streak of red paint that was accidently splashed on him during the millionth time I cleaned preschool-size paintbrushes, and reminds me to:

Be Kind.  For no particular reason.

Notice stuff.  Especially little stuff.

Let there be a little clutter.  Everything doesn't have to be perfect.

Gift the things I have to give.  Affection doesn't need to be wrapped up in a big, fancy package.

Feel Love.

Now go forth and spread joy.  Hand out wads of your own version of trinkets.  It'll be so fun.