The View From The Back Row

It’s a very busy time of year for moms. We’re wrapping up all of the school year activities and starting up all of the summer ones. I heard the other day that a good writer says all of the things that people feel, but don’t want to admit out loud. Maybe I’ll do that for someone today.
Admission: I wish I didn’t feel that I “had” to involve my kids in so many things. We run around frantic, we sacrifice for time together, and we spend a small FORTUNE and I’m not sure it’s doing any of us any good, but I don’t dare stop for fear my kids will get left behind. The bottom line is we have to do what we can to make sure our kids challenge themselves and become the best they can be… and we’re just doing the best we can at that.
My girls had a dance recital recently. Here’s something not many people admit: anything dance related is intimidating. You hear the horror stories of the fake-ified girls (yes, inventing more words now), of the compet-ified moms, and you feel that you’d better get your bum blinged out if you want to take it wiggling anywhere near the premises.
I had gotten myself psyched up for the whole affair. I had been watching the way the compet-ified moms operated. They drop their girls off early for the rehearsal and they save their seats. If you aren’t smart enough to figure this out, the joke is on you. You arrive ten minutes early, thinking you are totally ahead of the game, and you walk in to an auditorium filled with jackets.
I acquired this knowledge, but I still had one handicap. Two handicaps actually. One is five years old and one is three. They are little boys with messy hair and messy faces and a tendency to remove their clothing when I’m not looking.
We got the girls all glamified and sparklified, and I’ll willingly admit I do enjoy that,
and then we hustled the disheveled, but hey at least they're dressed, boys into the mini-van and we headed out. We made one u-turn about two blocks into our venture when something important had been forgotten.
We arrived, out of breath, but still coursing with adrenaline from the compet-ification. I had four jackets in hand, one for each seat we needed. One hundred tugs at the boys arms, one hundred times saying, “Shhh… just run buddy…” and I had made it from the parking lot to the front entrance. I directed the girls where they needed to be, while keeping my eyes glued to that auditorium door. My hand finally wrapped around the brushed brass of the handle, other moms were looking on, the boys were in tow, but all I could see was four prime seats with our family jackets atop them.
The door only moved half a millimeter and met with a “thunk”. Locked. I turned to one of the smug, compet-ified, successful moms. “Are all of the doors locked?” I asked.
“They are,” she said with what I perceived to be superiority, disguised as sympathy.
“You already have your seats saved in there, don’t you?” I asked.
She defensively explained that she did, because she had gotten there earlier.
I hung my head low and wiggled my non-blinged out and unsuccessful bum back out to the mini-van. I buckled the boys in and started to drive. Now was the moment where I might have started to cry. All of the effort, all of the hustle, I was sweating for crying out loud and I had to do the walk of shame back to the parking lot with my four jackets still over my arm.
Only I didn’t start to cry. I took a mental step back. I called Ryan Edward who was working right up until the starting time of the recital and was planning on meeting me there a little late.
“Baby,” I said when he answered his cell, “I put up a good fight today, but dancing won. Here’s the new plan…”
I went home and I packed two pairs of binoculars. I cleaned myself and the boys up. I stopped at Macey’s and filled my purse with snacks and treats. I picked Ryan up at his work and we had the most wonderful, leisurely drive to the recital. We walked in late. We sat on the very back row, far right. Our boys were loud and it didn’t matter at all. The binoculars were amazing! I could see the dancers better than I ever had. We took the boys out several times for bathroom breaks or just… “holy cow, I’m a little boy at a 3 hour long dance recital” breaks. Ryan and I whispered and texted and ate our treats and had a lovely date. It didn’t matter at all that my non-blinged out bum was sitting in the seat known as the worst seat in the house. To me- it was the BEST seat.
Try your hardest. Teach your kids to work for what they want. Be a strong Mom who does all that you can, priorities kept firmly in place, for your kids. But when you put up a good fight, and the world wins, relax. The view from the back row really isn’t all that bad. You just might like it.

Defying Gravity

For my birthday (this past weekend), Ryan Edward gave me a girl’s weekend out and a ticket to WICKED.
I’ve never been the type to be very comfortable with girls’ weekends. For one thing, I grew up with a Mom that never really indulged or spoiled herself, who "therapy shops" for gifts for others. :) So what it takes for me to indulge is usually being at the end of my rope, after quite a few days in a row of realizing that I keep putting myself last while everyone else seems to not even notice that I have needs… or it takes me being sickeningly fed up with dieting. Then I will march myself to Panda Express and the poor cashier will wonder why I hand her my debit card and snatch at my “to go” bag with such defiance.

For another thing, I’m an only girl. Three brothers. ALL. BOY. I’m ALL GIRL, including the part that isn’t entirely comfortable with other girls. We won’t even get into how, in anticipation of getting in a swimming suit with seven other women (5 of whom I didn’t know at all), I spray tanned my legs for the first time and ended up with tan and white stripes. I consoled myself with the reminder that vertical stripes are said to be slimming.

The women I spent time with made a forever positive impression. Each taught me something about themselves and each made me appreciate our differences and commonalities. In the end, I learned a lot about women, a lot about myself, and a little about tasting food off of other peoples’ plates. Apparently that’s common on girl’s weekends. :) I ate at the Cheesecake Factory for the first time. I couldn’t believe I paid $8 for a slice of cheesecake, but it was all part of the experience… and it was delicious. I also ate a Nutella and strawberry crepe at a farmer’s market. I saw some really neat walking sticks that reminded me of my Dad, and I walked through the crowded booths and I thought of how he’d be proud of me for being out of my comfort zone.
Though going on a girls’ weekend is not wholly “me”, and I was pretty nervous about it, all I kept thinking of was sitting in that auditorium when the lights went down and the crowd went quiet, and I didn’t have to say the right thing, or be the right kind of person. I could lose myself in another world, a colorful world with unique creatures, magical possibilities and messages that mean something to me. I knew the songs by heart, but I didn’t know the plot with all of its twists and turns. I’ve never seen a professional play at that level and I just knew it wouldn’t disappoint.
Uh huh.
It didn’t. I was entranced. What is it about the arts that can speak to our souls? I think it might be that people create. They create a sequence of words, a sequence of music, or a sequence of dance steps that cannot be uncreated. They change the world with their creations. Their creations speak to different people in different ways. That is so powerful! At intermission we pow-wowed at the ladies room and one of my new friends asked me what I thought so far. I said, “It makes me want to accomplish things!” That was it in a nutshell. The play made me dream, and believe in my dreams.
Also, seeing people who excel at anything is an inspiration! Ryan Edward has taught me to appreciate that. He doesn’t care if it’s fishing, or poker. If someone is excellent at something he stops and takes notice.

My focuses are writing and motherhood. They sometimes require a head in the clouds. They sometimes require a woman on her knees. They sometimes inspire dreams of a book signing. They sometimes inspire screams for a little peace and quiet. But they do inspire… and I am going to defy gravity... if not at motherhood or writing, I'll try fishing and poker...or world record for Panda Express, orange chicken consumption.