A Rain Dance

There sits a decorative block on the dresser I share with Balthazar, that I picked up several years ago. It reads, Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass, it's learning to dance in the rain.

I don't usually buy home decor with inspirational quotes. It's not really my style. But we were going through a rough patch at the time. Balthazar was working in Vegas, coming home weekends only, and I suddenly found myself a single parent from Monday to Friday, in Des Moines--while we waited for the house to sell, so we could get on with things. Things being our new lives in the desert, where he had a new job. 

This went on for a long time, until the job wasn't new anymore, and our situation was just old.

It was hard. We began to lose faith in one another, and in ourselves.  Money was tight. Time was tighter.  And life was hectic as all hell.  Then, when finally we found buyers for the house, our basement flooded to chase them away.  In ten years, the basement had never seen water, but the Iowa rains were unusually heavy that spring.

Anyway, it was right about that time, on another cloudy day, when I'd been waiting for a full year for Balthazar's plane to land, and the house to sell, and our lives to continue, that I came across this inspirational knick knack, probably in a Hallmark store. 

I set it front and center in our bedroom, and I quoted it often to Balthazar when he'd hold his forehead in frustration, or hang it in misery. I said it to myself, sometimes my morning mirror mantra, other times while I cried myself to sleep, alone in our bed. It helped.

Then the storm passed. We finally sold the house and came together as a family in our new home in Vegas.  Balthazar and I have grown close again. (God, I love that man!) And life is a little easier for us. For now.

But I keep the Hallmark block around anyway, not so much as a source of inspiration anymore as a reminder of who we are and how we persevered. Of how hard it is to dance sometimes . And how important it is to cup your ear, listen for the beat in the thunder. Sway to the rhythm. Move your feet.

Anyway, there arrived a fantastic storm on our desert doorstep this afternoon. 

It made me smile to find Hollywood dancing in it.

Life is short. Drink it up!

And dance!

A Jack-in-the-Box Remedy

June was busy with activities (soccer, lacrosse, junior guarding, acting, the ballet performance) that weaned off in July. Now, August has arrived to leave us in the thick of the Vegas summer with hardly any structure to our days at all. These dog days set me on edge.

I'm annoyed by late mornings and pj's at lunchtime. And each time one of my little darlings flops on the couch to point the remote, I seethe a little inside.  I find myself scrambling for chores and projects to fill their days.  In Iowa, I would have sent them outdoors, but Vegas is too hot, and it's not that kind of place, anyway.

This lack of commitments has Sunshine floating in freedom, so that she's barely in the door before she's asking to go back out again. Outings and sleepovers turn marathon while her dinner chair sits empty, and we see less and less of her.



I know this is the way of things, the way it's supposed to be, the way it needs to be for her to develop the independent life that it's my job to groom her for. But, I don't like it.

I miss her. 

I want to scoop her up on my lap, tuck her curls behind her ear and read her another fairytale. 

I want to lock the doors and ban her from going out. Again. Ever again!

"But, you just got home...."

"I need you here," I say, which is the heart-filled truth, but I get pragmatic, turn it into an excuse--to clean your room; to help with chores; to play with your sister while I work.

At the very worst of times, I'll snap at her, "No. You're staying home. End of story."

Sunshine's never been one to snap back, but suddenly she is... snapping back. 

I thought to blame it on her quitting dance. Partly this might be true. Without a physical outlet, she's moodier--more like me, if I'm honest.  But this push back, this teenage rebellion that has arrived, jack-in-the-box like, a few times already, this summer, must be instinctual, self-preservational, a railing at the bars.       

In any case, it's exactly the remedy for a mother who wants to stop time, turn it back even: How about Peter Rabbit? It's one of your favorites, isn't?

On an Ordinary Wednesday

Is there anything more wonderful than a teenage sister to whisk you up to her bedroom on an ordinary Wednesday evening and turn you into a princess, just because?

I think not.

Dress, hair, makeup, photography and, especially, magic, by Sunshine.

Stormonopoly

In Vegas, summer is the indoor season.  When temperatures are nearing 120 degrees, even the pool water can be warm.  To entertain ourselves, at just such a time, The Storm and I embarked on a game of Monopoly--Littlest Pet Shop version--that would last several days long. 

On day three, when work required me to call another break in play, determined to have my kitchen table back, I recruited reinforcements.  Sunshine and her Tweedle partnered up to take over my little green lizard's slither around the board.

The Storm took ten minutes to raise dog houses on Biggest Littlest Pet Shop and Round-N--Round Pet Town, the equivalent of Boardwalk and Park Place, then another two hours to drag the teenage girls through a slow and agonizing finish. 

Just glad it wasn't me.

The upside: When I'm old and frail and without a penny to pinch between my arthritic fingers, perhaps my baby girl will set me up in a nice little corner unit with a view.

Free Parking Grin!

Ballerina Blues

I'm in mourning, which is why I haven't been attending my Haphazard Truths, lately.  Don't worry, nobody died--except maybe a little piece of the me.

I'm being melodramatic.  I'm firmly intact, but I am sad.

It's complicated, or maybe it just feels complicated because I'm in the middle of it right now. Anyway, it really isn't about me.  This is about Sunshine.

Maybe it's a little about me.

I'm just going to say it: Sunshine quit dancing.  June marked her last class and her last performance, a beautiful presentation of Giselle. She danced the role of one of the ghostly Wilis. It was magical!

Sunshine is the third ballerina from the left.

I knew, sitting in the audience, that this would probably be her last performance.  She'd been talking for months about giving it up.  There were a few factors spurring her decision and I'm not sure one deserves more weight than the others, but here they are:

First, during her freshman year Sunshine discovered Forensics, which is today's term for Debate Team ("Debate sounds geeky, Mom.") and her gift for public speaking.  It's her newfound passion and her commitment to it often conflicts with her rehearsal schedule. She chooses debate.

Two: Speaking comes naturally to her. She's winning awards without much effort. Ballet is harder.  Even with training ten and twelve hours a week, after ten years, she isn't earning solos. It's frustrating for her, and breaks her heart a little with every audition.

Three: She never wanted to be a professional ballerina. She just loves ballet, and performing, and the thrill that pushing herself to her limits brings. Balthazar and I were hoping she might land a dance scholarship to help us with tuition cost. That was our goal, but we assumed she would go on to pursue a professional career in something other than dance.

Four: There was a bully amongst her dancemates. A mean little girl with the ability to persuade many of the others to ostracize Sunshine (Sunshine is just her latest victim--others have fallen before her.)  This was Sunshine's first experince as the target of a bully.  She's a personable girl and savvy so, in school, she could hold her own, if ever there was an occasion to--but in a dance class of maybe ten girls, who ignored, snubbed, giggled and whispered about her, five days a week, for six months. Well, they wore her down.

"I  just want to quit," Sunshine said, finally and firmly, in May.

We've talked at length about what this will mean for her, and about her real motives for quitting.  She assures me that she's ready to be done with it. And what can I do? To be a ballerina requires as much passion as it does intense commitment, and if her passion has been compromised....

In the meantime, the quality of my own life has much improved.  Her decision has earned me twelve to 24 more free hours in my week. Now, where I used to drive and hang around the dance studio, I'm cooking, and writing, sitting out with Balthazar, walking the dog, playing family games and eating family meals.  It's really rather wonderful--except that I'm really very sad.

A part of me hopes she'll change her mind, and another part of me doesn't. So far she's seems content with her decision.  She's reveling in her lazy summer days, sleeping late in the morning then sprawling across the couch--"like a normal teenager," she tells me--so that I have to busy her with chores.

Today, I sent her to clean out her closet and drawers. "Inventory your clothes," I said, "so we can plan some back to school shopping."

"You should see how clean my closet is, Mom," she said, after an hour.  "And I have all sorts of clothes that don't fit me, to put away for The Storm."

"Great," I said, "I'll come have a look."

"Oh, but there's a big drawer of dance clothing I'm just going to leave, because I don't feel like cleaning it out right now."


 

To be continued.... Maybe? Maybe not.

Beeps

Dinner time yesterday had Hollywood, The Storm, and me driving around Van Nuys, California looking for a MacDonald's, or some other fast food that would hold us until we made it back to Vegas. (We'd made a fast trip in and back out again for Hollywood to do a quick audition.)

When low and behold we came across the pinkest diner I've ever seen.

"Want to eat there?"

"Anywhere," said The Storm, "just please feed us."

Every now and then, when you're simply looking not to perish, you stumble on a rocking good time.

Such was our case, yesterday, when we chanced upon Beeps, a 1950's diner on the corner of Sherman Way and Woodley Avenue, serving traditional steakcut fries, burgers and shakes, as well as salads and avacado turkey burgers, and pretty much everything in between.

I had the avacado turkey burger and a chocolate shake that was so delicious, I pushed through several brain freezes and loud unladylike slurps to get every last drop.

Speaking of unladylike, the paraphrenalia that covered the walls kept us entertained throughout our meal.  With a point and a mouth-covered snicker, The Storm directed me to this particular postcard that a year ago she wouldn't have understood--only because its in cursive. (As the youngest, she's so much more educated than her siblings were at her age.)

A few things that I discovered, during our hour at Beeps, while the kids swiveled on their high stools:

1.  The Storm, having only every seen photos in black and white, believed that Marilyn Monroe and Lucille Ball were one and the same.

And she couldn't name either of them. "There's that lady again." 

  

 2. She's never heard of the Brady Bunch, and thought it was weird that amongst all this memorabilia was a regular family photo.

3. Hollywood is familiar with The Beatles, because Big Time Rush has introduced him, but he can't name them. 

 "Kendall, James, Carlos, and Logan," said The Storm.

"This is terrible," I said, and put down my burger down.  Once I opened the who's-who door, I couldn't get the answers out fast enough, before a glance in another direction inspired the next question.

"Who's Audrey Hepburn?"

"Who's John Wayne?"

"Who's James Dean, and why is he so special?"

"Who's Gumby?"

"Why is Elvis such a big deal?"

Anyway, the fun just kept on coming!

Surely, they won't retain half of what they learned at Beeps: We visited John Wayne's home in Madison County, Iowa, just a few years earlier, but they can't remember that--and why should they, he's just an old cowboy to them.

The lessons that stick are the ones that matter to us, personally.

"Thanks Mom," said Hollywood, from the backseat, several hours later when we were somewhere near Barstow, "for always doing my laundry for free."

"You're welcome, Buddy."

Rainy Day Bloopers

The skies have, finally, let down upon us, here, in the desert, and while everyone is happy for the cooler temps, there's been a lot of complaining about the lousy road conditions.  Rain sort of has the effect that snow has everywhere else: Even though it arrives a few times every year, people tend to forget how to drive in it. It's crazy!

Anyway, there were errands and appointments on our Friday morning schedule and, since it was raining, we gave ourselves a little extra time to contend with all the accidents we thought might slow us up, which, thankfully, turned out to be none. 

Having arrived early, with twenty minutes to kill in the car, Hollywood had The Storm help him with a piece that his acting coach recently gave him to start working on.

What better way for a mother to be entertained from the front seat? I've got my own travelling show!