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Dancing in the Rain
Dancing in the Rain
I lost it this morning before I even realized I had it. Ha. I am not sure what was going on with me, but I awoke this morning full of venom. The first being I had any dealings with was the dog. And she had pissed and shit in her cage, making for a not so good start to my day. I hissed obscenities at her.
I was getting Grace’s clothes picked out for her first day of dance class and trying to rouse Da Man from the bed. I believe that I wrote just last night that he seemed to be doing better. Scratch that. *scowl*
Mak was up, yelling at me because I hadn’t yet gotten around to giving her the top o’ the morning bottle. And then the dog jumped on Grace, waking her up. Again I tried to sound all sing-songy and cute when getting Da Man up, and again it didn’t work.
I was still mumbling nasties as I headed into the kitchen to get Mak’s bottle. And then I had to take an unplanned for bath because I had to clean out the dog’s cage and was completely grossed out. I fought Grace off the whole time I was in the tub. She was insisting that I needed help bathing and I, just as stubborn, was insisting that I was grown and didn’t need help bathing.
It was when I got out of the tub that I really lost it. Da Man was supposed to have been up and getting himself and Mak ready to leave the house. He hadn’t moved. Okay, he had moved--to roll over before he fell back to sleep. For some reason that was the last straw. I sent Grace downstairs before I started bellering at him.
See, at two this morning I had made sure that he and I talked about the way things would go this morning: I would drop him off at physical therapy and then take Grace to dance class. We were to leave the house by 9:30. And that should have worked. In fact, there is no reason why it didn’t work except that he had his Monday Case Of The Ass.
I, in my not so nice voice, told him to get his ass out of bed and spare me the trouble of getting three kids ready to leave. Yeah, I know, probably not the best way to handle it, but I was done. D-O-N-E. He immediately fell into his immature mode. Nothing was accomplished except that I turned into this ugly name calling, cursing freak of a woman who informed him that before I had to trouble myself with three kids instead of two, he would be told to leave. Except the word “leave” came out at a very high volume and echoed throughout the bedroom.
He, of course, informed me that he would be gone when I got home. I countered that with an “oh yeah? And where the fuck are you going to go? Oh no, wait, how the fuck are you going to go?” And then I informed him that instead of taking Mak with me, she was staying here with him because he wasn’t her fucking playmate; he was her dad.
He could walk, he said. Whatever. I reminded him in trucker verse that he was unemployed and ass broke. I reminded him of a lot of things in trucker verse. I simply wasn’t nice.
And then, with Grace downstairs with mom to get her shoes, I went into the bathroom, sat on the toilet, and started to cry. Until I realized that Grace was going to be late for her first day of dance class. I saw Da Man in the hallway. I apologized for “not exactly everything I said but the way I said it,” and I left.
Grace’s dance class is at an art center. It is a very high end place. And it’s filled with very high end people. I was told that I would have to provide her with ballet shoes (those $18.01 ditties that I bought the other day), but I wasn’t prepared for her being the only child without a fucking leotard and tutu. So there I am, hair in a ponytail, t-shirt and denim shorts. And there she is, hair in a haphazard ponytail, long sleeved cotton tee and a denim skort. And there they are: pink or black leotards and fucking tutus.
“Why don’t I have a tutu,” she asked.
“I wasn’t told you needed one, Grace. I’m sorry.”
“But everyone else has a tutu.”
“I know, Grace, and I’m sorry.”
“Well,” she said, hands on her hips and an over-the-top-of-her-glasses glare, “maybe you should have asked if I needed a tutu and they would have told you yes.”
“I asked what you needed, Grace, and they told me ballet slippers.”
“Hmphf.”
I escorted her into the dance studio. The other mothers moved out of our way while eyeing us up. We didn’t fit the bill, you know. It wouldn’t have surprised any of them to know that we had won the $10 an hour class as a door prize. It didn’t help that my daughter was the only one in class not dressed the part. Why it never occurred to me to buy her a fucking tutu is beyond me.
It began to storm as we pulled out of the parking lot. I drove down the road and made the familiar left turn into Tim Horton’s drive thru lane. And, because my driver’s window is broken, I opened my door to place my order just as the rain began to pound down, soaking me.
We had already pulled out of the drive thru lane when I noticed that they hadn’t given us the right donut for Grace. Luckily, mine had chocolate icing on it and that seemed to pacify her. And, luckily, I am making it my goal to dance in the rain instead of thinking about the storms. As we made our way up the side of the house, she and I performed the ballet moves that I had watched her do in class this morning. We *raising my arms above my head* grabbed the sunshine and *lowering my arms* put it back. And we were even able to catch a couple of rain drops on our tongues before we reached the door.
Mom handed me a large envelope when I walked in, and it was a gift from a friend who probably doesn’t realize how dearly I hold her cyber hugs. Inside were books for the girls, which, by the way, tickled Grace to death, and two books for me. They were books to help me let go of it all and stop the codependency. And they were right on time.
So was her beautifully handwritten note, reminding me to let it go and take it one day at a time. Thanks, sister. I have always believed in elves and fairies. I just never thought I would have the privilege of being friends with one. *tearful smile*
posted on June 16, 2008 10:33 AM ()
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