June 22, 2012
Berlyn has a dance recital this weekend. And if you follow me on Instagram, you’ll be able to see the 1 billion photos of her in her tutu. Because it’s awesome and partly culturally symptomatic. I love her in ballet, I think it teaches poise, discipline, and grace, plus it’s always nice to be able to properly toundu on a whim. But I worry that more exposure to dance will turn her into a sex object at a young age, and then there’s make up and body conscious clothing, and I think next year I’m going to enroll her into shop class instead.
I held Hudson like a baby as I carried him upstairs for his nap and asked him, “When did you become such a big boy?”
And he answered, “last night.”
We did a secret photo shoot for Father’s day in a tunnel.
It’s times like these that I wish I had a real camera and not just my phone. One day I’ll grow up and use real photo equipment…maybe then they’d be less blurry…sigh…
We were in the car the other day, we’re always in the car, and I turned on a song, I don’t remember the name of it, but Hudson and Berlyn were kicking the seat in front of them in rebellion because they wanted Disney songs. Disney songs to float in and out of the windows, to remind them of their youth, and their sappy melodies always coerce me into singing along. But I wasn’t budging. I was happy with my music that was streaming through the airways.
But then, Berlyn proclaimed that my song made her belly hurt.
I rolled my eyes at her.
Then I changed the song, because I knew that feeling.
The feeling of having so little control over your life that it made you physically ill.
And the importance of good music, and writing the soundtrack to your life.
I understand you, Berlyn. And I remember feeling the same way when my parents would listen to total crap in the car.
I have one more week until Berlyn’s school gets out for the summer. One more week of early mornings, and shuffling out the door with napkin wrapped bagels, and travel cups of milk. Then I can do this, lots and lots of this:
But in all reality, I’ll probably be here:
In my community water park that is only a short walk from my house. Every day Berlyn and Hudson ask me if it’s hot enough to go, and every day I say no. Not because I want to deprive them of all the fun they might be having, but because this is the place where nightmares and chaos collide.
The other day I gave in to their endless pleas and I packed up my mom bag, and took them, and they played in the shallow water and splashed their knees and floated on their backs, and I actually had tiny flickers of peace.
So maybe we’ll come back.