Oh my, oh my, what a week again. Isn't this supposed to be summer vacation? Aren't I supposed to be sleeping in, hanging out at the pool catching a good dose of skin cancer with some baby oil and my friends listening to Prince and Van Halen? Oh wait, I am an adult now. I have to work and be semi-responsible. Oh dear.
So between strained necks, getting ready for the dance recital, Grandmas falling in doorways, getting ready for the dance recital, numerous cardiac rehab referrals (enough with the chest pain, people), getting ready for the dance recital, teaching ACLS for the first time, and oh, did I mention getting ready for the dance recital, it has been a busy week and a half. The blog has been ignored - not for lack of material, just time.
Dance recital. I really have a love-hate relationship with the girls dance recital. Let's make that a HATE-LOVE relationship, because first I really HATE it. I HATE the preparation, the make-up, the costumes, (and where are the gloves and the hairbow and the tan tights layered under the pink tights and the ballet shoes, versus the tap shoes and where did your jazz shoes go?) I am not good at this - not one of my strengths to say the least. Both the girls are in dance, so that makes four costumes and their various and sundry accessories to keep track of. I realize I shouldn't whine because there are moms with three daughters in dance with costumes to the nth degree (pass that woman a xanax and a gold star, please), but it really seems to throw me for a loop or at least a skip-ball-chain.
Then comes the part I LOVE. Seeing Sweet Marissa and Princess Maren up there on stage makes it all worth it. I sit a little straighter, smile a little bigger, and I am just so darn blessed to be their mother - even if I am a somewhat disorganized and frantic one during dance week. They both LOVE the recital and totally get caught up in all the excitement. As we were pulling out of the parking lot Friday night after that night's recital was over, Marissa sighed, "Life is great, isn't it mom." Yes, honey, it sure is.
I firmly believe that world peace could be attained by having all current world leaders attend one pre-dance number. Three and four year olds in tutus and tuxes? Resistance is futile. It is too precious. Then there is that number danced to the Steven Curtis Chapman song "Cinderella". It is sweet and touching, and THEN, the girl's fathers come out and finish the number with their daughters. I am a slimy ball of sobbing mush up in the upper right balcony. Thank goodness they keep it dark in there. Here's the song via YouTube if you want to check it out. See if you can make it through without tearing up. You'll wish you were in a dark balcony too, guaranteed.
I try to keep it in perspective. These are the days. Like Steven says, all too soon they will be gone. I shouldn't let a forgotten pair of tube socks to go with the jazz costume with the tan tights and the jazz shoes and the pink hair bow ruin it, should I? Sorry Marissa. Momma loves you.
Until next year, then. Maybe.
Until next year, then. Maybe.
(All photos by Mauer Photography)