It's Not That I Hate January 23rd, It's That January 23rd Hates Me

Screw you, January 23rd.

And screw you again.

Picking and Choosing Her Audience

This video, which was sent to me by one of our daycare teachers, has been in my possession for a few weeks. We've watched it something like 2346241.41 times. Each time it cracks me up, althoughy really my response should be more like OMG! How rude! followed by a stern lecture and maybe a stint in prison. For her, not me. I'm not that rude.



I think the most amazing part of this little display of cute followed by obnoxious followed by OMG! How rude! is that it took place in the midst of the absolute chaos that is 20+ three and four-year olds running loose in an enclosed space. It's like Alexis was standing in the middle of a pinball machine while multi-ball was in effect. She is completely unphased by it all and magically manages to avoid getting smashed in the back of the head by a shiny silver ball. That may very well be because the short people are crazy, but not crazy enough to go near the kid with the floppy hat and dangerous purse.







Fickle? Yes. Bossy? Yes. Mine? Definitely yes.

Sigh.

If you had asked me yesterday what I thought I would be posting about today, I would have guessed that it involved violent thoughts, threats, frustration, and maybe a spork or two. OK, maybe a whole box of sporks. After multiple concerts and shows and programs, I've come to expect this:

It doesn't matter how early we get there. It doesn't matter where we sit. It doesn't matter how nice we are. We ALWAYS end up sitting right behind at least one bobbleheaded gooberface who makes it impossible for us to catch even a glimpse of our kid. It's like a law, or something. (FYI--That's the BEST photo I have from Alexis' Christmas show because it's the only one where I can find so much as a strand of her hair.)

Today was Alexis' dance show, so I walked into the building ready to bore holes in the back of someone's head with my eyes.

It didn't happen, because this was the view:

Alexis sat off to the side, not participating, swimming in a puddle of self pity for the entire hour.

It sucked.

It's not a secret that she's a shy kid. She keeps her heart in her front pocket, but clenches it tightly when there is a large group of strangers. That's actually why she's in dance in the first place. I don't care if she memorizes First Position or can do a Shuffle Step or knows the difference between Tap Dancing and Square Dancing. She's there to work on her confidence and to become a little more comfortable in groups.

All semester, she's done really well. Really, really well. So well, in fact, that I had actually forgotten that it was a problem. We've gone to make-up classes comprised of nothing but total strangers, and she was fine. We've had a couple of shows, complete with parents in the room, and she was fine.

And then today she was not fine.

It was my fault.

Work was chaotic today, the kind of chaotic that makes you wish you could hit the reset button and start the day over just so you can get a few extra hours. It was also the kind of day when leaving early just wasn't a possibility. It was beyond my control when I left 15 minutes later than I would have liked. It was beyond my control when I picked Alexis up 15 minutes later than I would have liked. It was beyond my control when we walked into the dance center right on time.

I know we need to be early. I know Alexis needs those extra minutes to mentally prepare herself to deal with strangers. I know it would have been much different if we just hadn't been the last ones to come rushing in, just before the program started.

I hate that I set her up to fail.