Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Tiny Dancer versus Mental Sludge

The great dance marathon has ended.  For now.  Fiona and her friends did a great job.  Mostly I'm impressed with their maturity and composure, but being 8-11 year-olds, they probably didn't realize what a big deal dancing with the Dance Theatre of Harlem . . . in a WORLD PREMIERE BALLET . . . actually is.

That's what parents are for.  I'm sure my Facebook friends are now saying, "Oh yay, Amy posted yet another photo of her daughter with a bun.  Surprise.  Yawn."  No matter.  I'm a-burstin' with pride.  I even sent a photo of the girls with the company to Fiona's principal!  Here it is:

Fiona and friends with Dance Theatre of Harlem
-->Let me just say that the ballet, "Gloria," was a tribute to church traditions in Harlem, but also symbolic of the Company's rebirth, with (I was told) the girls symbolizing the next generation of dance.  Chills.  The last thing you see as the curtain falls is the girls walking between the Company dancers, silhouetted against the fading light.  Hold on.  Tissue.

So, what now?  No rehearsals, no rushing to get from my classes to Fiona's school to retrieve her early and speed to the Kentucky Center for the Arts.  Dance Mom is still in business, my friends.  Nutcracker rehearsals have already begun.  In fact, I raced between Dance Theatre of Harlem rehearsal to Nutcracker rehearsal to DTH performance all on Saturday.  Sunday, I crashed until 10:00 (thank you, Husband) and then raced my girl to rehearsal and performance in Frankfort.  There is also my son who is on the chess team at school and taking drum lessons.  This morning, before he left for school - he's 5 - he reminded me that piano and karate are on the horizon.  My kids need benefactors.

My husband and I are assessing all of this busy-ness.  It's not working for us.  While I finally had a moment to clean off the dining room table and kitchen counter last night - booyah! - I also just discovered a leak in the basement that caused a box of dress-up of clothes to go bad (mildew, people.  It's serious.).  I had to secret away the spoiled Cinderella gown that smelled of year-old-urine to the trash while my daughter was doing homework.  Today, my husband realized he forgot his father's birthday.  Too much STUFF can include activities as well as material items.  It crowds the brain so that normal things like cleaning the bathroom occasionally and making sure your kids have clean underwear tend to slip beneath the moldy carpet, obscured from view.

I wish I could say that I'm spending my day taking the dogs for a walk in the park to relieve this case of mental sludge, but I'm still playing catch-up: grading, finishing work on my own graduate work, calling roofers (4 months after the hail damage, thank you) . . .  .   Yesterday, after class I couldn't even deal with obligations so I took my hungry, lunch-skipped self to Target and retail therapied clothes for the kids.  Dear Lord, I can't even retail therapy for myself!  Time for a metal douche.

What do you recommend?