Finding That Happy Ending

I don't know what there is to be all pissed off about when you are six years old, but Alexis found it at school Friday of last week. She then took that pissery and shoved it in her heart where it festered and grew and exploded into A Very Miserable Attitude.

She and her Very Miserable Attitude stomped off of the school bus, walked up the sidewalk, and glared at me when I asked her how her day was. With a snap and a growl, she stormed into the house and began to complain about everything.

"It's too hot."

"Penny is bothering me."

"I don't waaaaaaaaaaaaant to change clothes."

OK, then. Go ahead and stay in your school uniform, CHILD. And while you're at it, JUST GO TO BED.

I didn't say that to her, by the way. There's really no point at yelling at someone who has a Very Miserable Attitude. It's like throwing gasoline on a fire (these are the things that you learn when you are old like me). Instead, I asked Alexis the question I ask her every time she tries to wallow in a vat of misery and whining.

"Alexis, do you want to have a good day or a bad day? It's your choice."

She hates when I say that, but it usually works. (Oh, how I wish it worked on grown-ups.)

She glared at me some more and mumbled something under her breath. If she knows any curse words, I'm sure she used them.

"Seriously, Alexis. The story of today isn't done yet. Do you want it to have a happy ending or bad ending?" I said.

She glared and glared and then finally broke from the stare-off we were having. "I want to have a happy day, I guess," she finally mumbled.

"You guess or you do?" I asked.

"I DO," she snapped.

Five minutes later, she had shrugged off the Very Miserable Attitude. We decided to help her write her happy ending by hunting down a little carnival in a mall parking lot.

And then she slapped some pink cotton candy on top of that happy ending LIKE A BOSS.

I'm Totally a Dance Mom

Alexis' survived the second "real" dance recital of her life this past weekend. The fact that I'm just now getting around to mentioning it is an excellent sign. It means nothing exciting happened. And by "exciting," I mean "traumatizing/annoying/frustrating/earth-shattering/etc."

Nothing exciting is good. Very good.

 

Our seats to watch the performance were something far worse than horrible, but they were better than last year's because they were up in a balcony with hardly any other people. I'll take looking down on my kid over having to listen to nonstop whispering, grandmas laughing, and people moving around and around and around any day of the week.

This year Alexis took both a ballet/tap class and a jazz/gymnastics class. I was a little concerned that it was Too Much For Her To Handle, but I needn't have worried. She didn't always love having two hours of dance class every week, but she couldn't have picked one over the other if I had paid her.

She's already started having deep thoughts about what classes she wants to take in the fall. Creative Moment gets added to her selections at this age, so she's going to have quite the decision to make. She isn't ready to quit ballet, tap, jazz, or gymnastics. She loves them all in different ways.

She made it through all three of her performances without any major mistakes. It's kind of mind-blowing to me just how well she knew each of the dances. She didn't have to look at the teachers off-stage for hints ... she just KNEW. She kept her eyes on the audience and smiled throughout it all.

The absolute only snag of the event was when I went to pick the short person up from the dressing room after the show. She burst into tears when she saw me because she was sad that she didn't get a trophy. Trophies are given to dancers who have been with that studio for at least five years. She has three years left to go.

One of the girls in her jazz/gym class did get a trophy, so Alexis was all about fussing at me for not sending her to that studio all along. The thing is that the kid has been taking dance and/or gymnastics lessons for five of her six years, but the first three were somewhere else because there is no way that kid could have done the big stage thing even two years ago. She was simply too shy.

Now she struts out in front of 500 people like it's no big thing.

Good job, kid. I may not always like all that comes along with being a Dance Mom, but I sure do like watching you enjoy all that comes with being a Dancer.

Shattered Peace

As I sat at the patio table across from my most favorite little girl, I thought about how perfect it all was. The weather, the company, the scenery . . . all of it. Perfection.

The garden is starting to look positively amazing as the perennials have started to sprawl and meander and layer themselves. 

Penny was mercifully quiet as she sat playing in the grass. The floppy little pup recently discovered that she has a voice and has been practicing using it entirely too often. Her moments of silence are worth cherishing.

It was a beautiful, sunny evening. It was neither too hot nor too cold, as evidenced by the happy little frog that was hanging out in the pond just feet away.

 

As Alexis and I sat enjoying a particularly delicious batch of Potato and Tomato Bake and some grilled corn on the cob, we chatted about our plans for the weekend. Her loopy curls bounced as she excitedly reminded me that her dance recital was just "one sleep" away.

And then Mr. Husband joined us out on the patio. My blissful peace was ripped to shreds in an instant.

"Daddy, my tooth is REALLY loose. Will you pull it for me?" Alexis asked with a grin on her face.

"Sure," he replied as he reached into her mouth and gave a good yank.

Words jammed in my head as I tried not to gag. I WAS EATING, PEOPLE.

Flappy teeth are always gross. They are extra gross when I'm trying to eat my dinner.

Moments later, Alexis cackled with glee as blood dripped from the new hole in her smile. She sat that nubby little mass of discarded human matter on her napkin, just inches from my face.

They were both mighty proud of themselves.

I still haven't forgiven them.

That's two. How many more of those disgusting little flappy baby teeth am I going to have to survive?

Wait. Don't answer that. It's better that I just don't know.