Tonight we had a break from Nutcracker, only to return to the theater for the middle school winter concert. Being in a small town for these things is simply the best. Everyone you know is somehow connected to a 7th or 8th grader who has been required to join choir or band, often against their will, which includes a holiday showcase after hours. It was hilarious, it was joyful, and it was fun. The martini I had at dinner beforehand only enhanced the experience.
I spent the same amount in pizzas tonight that I used to spend on groceries in three weeks. This is not a brag. Those pizzas were costly and I can’t be making decisions like that every week. It’s just that now, there is enough money to move around between allocated areas. There is not as much stress as there used to be. This is what I wish to remember.
I spent the first two decades of my life performing. From living room concerts with family held hostage, to dance competitions in faraway places, to high school musicals and halftime cheer routines, to aerial silks class in college. I came of age on the stage and under the lights.
I’d like to thank my mom for teaching me to love my body, and for encouraging me to pursue the arts. I’d like to thank my dad for securing my false eyelashes in place with precision, and for cheering me on like he wanted nothing more on a Saturday than to sit in an auditorium for hours and hours. And hours.
I haven’t revisited that part of me since becoming a mom. But this season, my three daughters auditioned for the Homer Nutcracker Ballet. And then my husband joined in. Finally, my son hopped on the stage crew.
Me? I am delivering food and monitoring halls and securing buns in place with bobby pins and so, so, much hairspray. My heart is swollen with pride; my face, with happy tears. I get it now. There is something terrifyingly, beautifully powerful about watching your people cultivate and share such gifts with the world.
Opening night was a blast.
Ames joined the tech crew this week. Chris is editing music, shooting photos, and dancing as a Party Dad. I am delivering food and pinning hair and I cannot believe I get to do this with these people.
It’s taken me nearly two decades to figure out where I fit in as a mom of children who attend public school. Enter the academic policy committee, a parent-and-teacher committee whose main job is to hire (or fire) a charter school’s principal and help set the vision and direction of and for the school. I am having a blast, feeling both alive and at home in my bones serving in this way.
Another day, another shooting, another sit-down with my children who already know more than most adults the difference between the right to bear arms and the accountability that much accompany such privilege.
Have you ever associated a single task with a single thought just one time, and then the two are inextricably linked forever?
I remember talking with a friend in elementary school, soon after learning to shave my legs (it was the end of fourth grade, when a boy called attention to my leg hair and my mom conceded). Anyway, so I’m excitedly broadcasting the news to my friend and she goes, my sister says you should shave across your knee, not up and down, so that you don’t cut yourself. I filed that tip away and to this day, I cannot touch a razor to my leg without picturing an elementary school acquaintance’s wiser older sister. Thank you for your service.