On the way into the show tonight, my daughter read aloud to me from her novel, slipping across the icy parking lot and never taking her eyes out of her book. On the way out of the show tonight, her twin caught up to me en route to the car and then exclaimed, You look like a mom right now! (Baseball cap and coat zipped with hood up, if you must know).
I spent the same amount in pizzas tonight that I used to spend on groceries in three weeks. This is not a brag. Those pizzas were costly and I can’t be making decisions like that every week. It’s just that now, there is enough money to move around between allocated areas. There is not as much stress as there used to be. This is what I wish to remember.
I spent the first two decades of my life performing. From living room concerts with family held hostage, to dance competitions in faraway places, to high school musicals and halftime cheer routines, to aerial silks class in college. I came of age on the stage and under the lights.
I’d like to thank my mom for teaching me to love my body, and for encouraging me to pursue the arts. I’d like to thank my dad for securing my false eyelashes in place with precision, and for cheering me on like he wanted nothing more on a Saturday than to sit in an auditorium for hours and hours. And hours.
I haven’t revisited that part of me since becoming a mom. But this season, my three daughters auditioned for the Homer Nutcracker Ballet. And then my husband joined in. Finally, my son hopped on the stage crew.
Me? I am delivering food and monitoring halls and securing buns in place with bobby pins and so, so, much hairspray. My heart is swollen with pride; my face, with happy tears. I get it now. There is something terrifyingly, beautifully powerful about watching your people cultivate and share such gifts with the world.
Opening night was a blast.
Happy December. May I finish this year stronger than I started it, saying real things and loving folks as best as I can.
Each year when the weather turns, our family writes down their best guess on when we’ll get our first snow. The winner gets $50 to spend on something for the family. Last year, Ames won and bought a red metal sledding disk. Haddie won today. Maybe I can convince her to take me to dinner.
Tonight began tech week. Our run of seven Nutcracker shows begins this weekend. We were in the theater, all six of us, until 10pm on a school night. I could not stop crying, the tears starting over each time I saw my kid or someone else’s kid present their hard work on stage. This is something else.
There is something very powerful — healing, almost — about fighting with the person you’re still choosing to spend the rest of your life alongside.