Dance of the Sugarplum Wildebeest

I've always wanted to be in the Nutcracker. Ever since I caught a glimpse of some dance company performing excerpts of the ballet near the elevator at the mall when I was tiny. I remember watching them slowly and gracefully execute the haunting Arabian variation and thinking, "I will do that some day."

I did not do that some day.

Dancing daughter. Dancing in her craftily-
obtained pink dress with "Guacamole" the
(probably haunted) creepy doll. 

Once I finally did start dancing, it became evident that my dancing style was more...erratic and flailing. More "Dance of the Fleeing, Wounded Wildebeest" than "Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy." Sure, I had oodles of stage presence and could tap dance like a pro, but slow, graceful and haunting Arabian dances were clearly out of the question. Every year, I would go and watch my friends dance in the local Nutcracker and secretly imagine myself onstage in sparkling costumes not wincing in agony at the pain of my curly toes' knuckles rubbing themselves raw inside of my pointe shoes.

I have an active imagination.

Anyway, the Nutcracker was clearly out of the realm of realistic possibility. My choir sang during the snow scene for a few years and that was about as close as I got. My senior year of high school, a couple of my friends talked me into auditioning for another company, farther from home and easier to get into. I don't count that as a real experience, because while I got wonderful parts, I was awful at them. Chalk it up to the curly toes. 

But that's okay. Because all the while I was hatching a top-secret, highly diabolical plan.* I would dance in the "real" Nutcracker yet. I just needed time. And a daughter. A dancing daughter.


Now, many people live vicariously through their children, and that's all well and good, but I don't think those people dream big enough. Why simply bask in the glory of your children's accomplishments? Why not use your children's accomplishments to sneak your way into living out your childhood dreams? And so I waited. Patiently. And I put my plan into slow, deliberate action.

The Dictator as Angelina Ballerina.
Evil Plan step numbr 3.

1) Have a child. Done. And with time to spare, I might add.
2) Ascertain that said child is a girl, and more likely to have ballerina-aspirations. Done.
3) Have girl-child watch Angelina Ballerina like it was her job. Done. (Bonus points for girl-child asking to be Angelina Ballerina for Halloween. I am an overachiever.)
4) Enroll child in bitty preschool-person dance classes and hope it sticks. Done. With child number one. Child number two, not so much. But I have other dreams to live out. Other children to exploit. Her time will come. Her time will come.
5) Take girl-child to see local Nutcracker Ballet. Done.
6) Buy girl-child small souvenirs and refreshments at Nutcracker, creating an association between the Nutcracker and toys and candy. Done.
7) Allow child to audition for Nutcracker. Done. She begged to and all I had to do was say yes! I win.
8) Wait for request for parent dancers. Sign up. Muah ha ha!
9) Dance awkwardly/poorly as the confused (drunk?) party guest in the "real" Nutcracker! Childhood mission accomplished!

Yeah. That's right. Who needs to audition? Just wait 15 years, and you can get into the Nutcracker right through the backdoor.  They practically beg you. For real. Granted, it's not exactly my childhood dream of Arabian variations and Snow Queen solos, but whatever. Also, just wait until they see the secret pas de deux the Ballerina Bureaucrat (who wants this even more than I do) and I plan to bust out during the final act. It's going to be amazing. They'll totally cast me as Thirty-Something Clara next year, I can feel it!  Which is good, because if this evil plan had failed, I was going to have to resort to Wildebeest dancing in harem pants near the elevators at the mall, and I think we can all agree that no one wants that. 

So, I cordially invite you all to see my adorable Dictator  me, me, me (and the Ballerina Bureaucrat) in our Nutcracker debut. We are not good. We are phenomenal. Depending on your definition of "phenomenon." It will be the experience of a lifetime. In advance: you're welcome. *jazz hands*

* I didn't actually give birth to my children as part of a grand scheme to do ballet poorly. The Dictator actually wanted to audition for the Nutcracker all on her own. We signed up to dance in the party scene because the other parent volunteer options, such as "sell tickets" or "move scenery" seemed scary and intimidating. But "dance poorly and confusedly," strangely, did not. Also, you should definitely go to see the Dictator in the Nutcracker. She is going to be the world's cutest mouse. If you happen to glimpse the Ballerina Bureaucrat dancing with me, so much the better (or worse, depending on how things go). Maybe we'll provide comic relief (I think my character's back story is that she is ill-bred and maybe a little slow, and maybe a lot drunk...which will account for her confusion and propensity to crash into pieces of furniture and other dancers). But anyway...Dictator. Dancing. Adorably. Go see it. Get tickets here: http://plymouthcantonballet.org/

A lot cuter than I am. Also a lot
less likely to crash into things
while dancing.

Update (12/5/2014): 

Guess what! They're letting us all back onstage! They must be desperate. I get to wear an amazing bright red dress and try not to trip on people. The Bureaucrat gets to wear harem pants and carry people (I'm jealous of the harem pants). The Dictator gets to dance in the party scene this year. She gets to be a girl at the party and not a boy. She managed this by conveniently "forgetting" the boy choreography every time it was rehearsed, while diligently practicing the girl choreography at home, school, church, the grocery store, etc. She is also thrilled to be costumed in a pink dress. We think she managed this through some manipulative scheme, but she claims that she was the smallest child and that the pink dress was the smallest dress. Maybe she's been deliberately stunting her growth so as to fit into the pink dress? I wouldn't put it past the child. The Anarchist is being farmed out to various relatives all weekend with the promise that she can audition to be a mouse next year. The Dictator has been coaching her in "mouse runs" and "scared-mouse knee trembles" for the occasion. And it's all coming together. And so far no one is sick. I was convinced someone would be sick. (To be fair, I'm always convinced someone will be sick). So you should come watch my pink-clad baby, and my harem-pant clad husband dance their hearts out in a Christmas classic. Also, there's a 50% chance one of us might do something super-awkward on stage (and a 100% chance that I will try to work in some jazz hands). And that, my friends, might be well worth the price of admission.

Even MORE updated Update (11/30/2016):
Uh oh, they're letting us dance again. Mike is the only one of us who gets to live out my dreams of being in the Arabian dance. Sylvie gets to be a green flower (a role she's been dreaming of since...last year). And it's very likely that one of us will be awkward onstage, or that my hoop will totally fall off of my skirt, creating a hilariously scandalous wardrobe malfunction). And as an extra bonus, at least one of the dolls in the party scene is DEFINITELY haunted this year. You don't want to miss it!

Eight Things I Love About My 8 Year Old

Minutes old. Angry at
the world.

The Dictator turns eight tomorrow, and I've been thinking about how much I like the person she is becoming. I know I generally tend to be all snarky and sarcastic here, and so maybe I don't paint the most flattering picture of my beloved family members, but the fact is I'm crazy about them. Therefore, I'm going to go and get all sentimental about how much I love the Dictator...in honor of her birthday. And not because I have an easy time writing with any level of sincerity.

8 Things That I Love About My 8 Year Old

The Dictator, at one, shows
musical inclinations.

1. The Dictator is an unabashed nerd. I tend to worry about what her penchant for Magic cards and chess means for her social life, but I really just need to get over it. The Dictator loves these things, and My Little Pony-themed Dungeons and Dragons game, and computer games with wizards. She likes to discuss these things at length and in great detail with perfect strangers who could not care less that the rewards for leveling up her wizard's pet after a battle in round four means an extra two lives and a ring of power. While this horrifies me (because I always assume that it's my job to make everyone like me even if this means compromising who I am--and I totally project that assumption onto my poor children), it doesn't phase the Dictator in the least. And that's awesome. Nerd it up, Dictator. If that means Comicon and cosplay in your college years and rolling a D20 for initiative (whatever that means) in an epic monster-slaying D&D quest on your weekends, good for you. I love that you know who you are and that you refuse to change for anyone.

Two years old...developing
a flair for fashion.

2. The Dictator is an unabashed girly girl. In addition to a laundry list of totally geeky pastimes, the Dictator loves all things girly. Ballet, pink, Paris, romance, sparkly clothes, hair accessories, pop music, Nickelodeon tween shows, kittens, American Girl dolls, glitter. You get the idea. Basically, the Dictator winds up looking and acting like a future popular girl. She doesn't worry deciding between the girly business and the nerdy business. She passionately pursues both and to heck with anyone who tries to make her pick. Yes, her wizard in the computer game has a pink cloak and matching hat, 16 fluffy pets and a well-designed bedroom, but she can also totally defeat the Skeletal Warriors in any battle she enters. My child is a lovely, lovely paradox.

At three, as Arthur the aardvark.
She wore this every day for months.
The Dictator is awesome.

3. The Dictator has a fabulous sense of humor. Sure, she likes the typical elementary school fart jokes, but she also gets subtle wordplay, comic timing, innuendo (not the sexual kind though, never the sexual kind, not even when she's 40), cultural references, irony and the like. The one type of humor she's not into is my favorite kind--self deprecation. I can't tell you how happy I am about that. Her lack of self-deprecation may just correlate with her complete lack of humility, but that's okay. I'd rather let her keep her gigantic, healthy ego than have her turn into a self-loathing neurotic like somebody I know...

Four years old and classy.

4. The Dictator is self-aware. This is crucial, because I've recently discovered that I really appreciate people who are self-aware (isn't that self-aware of me to realize that about myself?), and it's important to be able to appreciate your children. She knows what she likes and why she likes it. She knows who she likes and why she likes them. She knows her own flaws and weaknesses, but she's equally aware of her strengths (and is sometimes prone to overestimating them). Also she's into personality typing, which is just really, really cool. She makes up her own personality quizzes and administers them to unwitting victims. I now know that if I were a chipmunk from Alvin and the Chipmunks I would be a cross between Jeanette and Theodore and that if I were a My Little Pony I would be Fluttershy mixed with Twilight Sparkle, which is crucial information if I'm going to become a fully self-actualized human being.

She turned five on the first
day of kindergarten.

5. The Dictator is hungry. She's picky about what she eats, but boy does she appreciate what she does eat. This tendency of hers really satisfies my inner-Italian-grandma (I'm not Italian, so this elderly nonna living inside me is a little disconcerting). "Eat! Eat! You're all skin and bones!" And the Dictator gladly obliges.

Pretty six-year-old
dancing Dictator.

6.The Dictator is creative. And prolific. So prolific. We really need to add an extra room or three onto our house to all of her art/writing projects. We have novels, comics, drawings, plays, musicals, songs, sculptures and architectural projects. The kids a regular Da Vinci. Too bad she's also a hoarder...because that means we never get to throw any of it out. Ever. EVER.

"Fancy" Dictator at seven.

7. The Dictator is strong-willed. You don't get the name "Dictator" by letting other people push you around. She's always very polite about it, but the Dictator gets her way. She has told the swimming instructor how to run her swimming class, her orthodontist how to put in her spacers, me how to parent her (when she was like, 6 months old...she didn't need words...Dictators don't need words), and her sister how to do pretty much everything in existence. Small Central American country with a volatile political climate, you're next. The Dictator is benevolent, but she knows what's best, and questioning her is not in your best interest, I assure you.

My lovely Dictator
is a third grader.

8. The Dictator is sweet. I was a little worried early in life when she was born all angry and suspicious. I was worried when she spent the first eight months of her life wide-awake and screaming infantile profanities at anyone who would listen. I was worried every time she pitched a raging fit when we missed a word in a book at storytime, drew a Yo Gabba Gabba character with the wrong amount of eyelashes, or set dishes out in the wrong order. I was worried when she growled at the Anarchist for the first year or so of the Anarchist's life. But I shouldn't have worried. The Dictator is strong-willed and demanding, but she's also kind, compassionate, sweet and utterly lovely. And I love to watch her grow into an amazing person who is exactly and perfectly herself. Her nerdy, pretty, girly, creative, hungry, dictatorial, self-aware, funny self.


Happy Birthday, dear Dictator. I want to be just like you when I grow up. You're delightful and we're so thankful for you every day of our lives!

Introvert Bill of (Totally Reasonable) Rights

Lately, the internet has been overrun with helpful "How to Understand Your Introvert" memes. You know the ones. They usually feature a picture of a retiring individual pulling his/her head into the neck of a sweater like a tortoise in a shell. They contain introvert-related propaganda such as, "It's not our fault we don't want to spend time with you. Please just understand that we are way smarter than you so we have much more interesting things going on inside our brains than small talk with you could ever hope to compete with. Also, we are humble."

Introverts are profound. Not aloof. We're never aloof.
We're too amazing to be aloof. And also we are humble.

With all this introvert-awareness-raising going on, it almost seems as if there's a introvert-revolution afoot. I mean, when else would an entire people defined by its hesitancy to speak audibly suddenly find a soapbox and voice its assertion of rights unless...well...there's a change a-comin', my friends. The quietest 1/3 of the population apparently no longer wants to be ignored (unless they're burnt out, socially, and then you must ignore them).

I say "they," but of course I mean "we" (as much as any group of people who refuses to socialize even within itself can be considered "we"). I am a stark-raving introvert, as is my darling little Dictator, whose stock phrases include "I just want to be left ALONE!!!," "Not a hugger!" and "Don't TALK to me!!!" As an introvert myself, and an advocate for my precious offspring, I feel compelled to join the movement. The (super duper) silent minority is ready to overthrow the extrovert-dominant system of noisy oppression. Viva la Personal Bubble!

Thusly, I hereby present an List of Demands Introvert Bill of Rights for immediate adoption by the entire human race. Listen up. I'm only going to say this once (and then I'm locking myself in my quiet room to read Neil Gaiman for two days straight, and don't even think of calling/texting/knocking).

INTROVERT BILL OF RIGHTS

1) All introverts shall hereby be granted a five foot personal bubble that shall not be violated except  in cases of grave emergency (e.g., escaping large parties, fleeing overcrowded concerts, sharing an elevator in an attempt to leave a bar/club/room full of excited toddlers).

2) In cases where an introvert holds a service/public relations/sales/customer service/other job that deals with the public, said introvert shall be limited to a 20 hour work week, but shall be paid double what an extrovert working a similar position is paid. This measure is to compensate for the fact that when an extrovert leaves such a job for the day, the extrovert goes to the gym or the bar or a party. When an introvert leaves the same job for the day, the introvert goes comatose in a dark room, rocks in a fetal position while drooling, or searches out hard drugs to dull the pain.

3) Every introvert shall be granted one of those sweet turtle neck/hooded/hide-your-whole-head sweaters that keep showing up in all those introvert memes. Said sweaters shall be snuggly and amazing.

4) All terms previously used to define introverts--however true--shall no longer be used. Dorky shall become interesting. Eccentric shall become unique. Awkward shall become either charming or endearing. Instead of aloof, introverts shall be referred to as profound. Instead of standoffish, introverts are cautious. Instead of snobbish, introverts shall be called discriminating. And shy is humble. Oh so humble. The humblest.

5) Hereafter, any extrovert wishing to be "considerate" in the direction of an introvert is forbidden from providing unasked help, company, gifts, or hugs (unless the introvert wants a hug, in which case the extrovert must read the introvert's mind and provide a hug, for in no case will an introvert initiate a hug). The introvert definition of "considerate" shall be adopted in all cases pertaining to introverts and is as follows: Considerate is defined as being careful to avoid invading the introvert's thoughts/time/space with unasked help, company, gifts or hugs (unless mind reading has indicated that hugs are actually secretly desired).

6) No party or social occasion shall last for more than three hours. No more than 5% of party attendees shall be strangers, and only 10% may be casual acquaintances. No party may contain more than 10 guests. (Parties of exclusively extroverts are exempt from these restrictions). Introverts must be notified of parties and other social events at least 2 months in advance (to give introverts time to obsess about  get used to the idea). Parties shall be free from small talk. Snuggly-awesome turtleneck head-hiding sweaters are considered appropriate party attire.

7) Introvert parents shall be granted a minimum of three hours locked in a quiet room per parenting day without repercussions (except those to society, because you know those kids are going to be going all Lord of the Flies on you).

8) The inner thoughts of an introvert are sacred and shall not be violated. A glazed-over, daydreamy, zoned-out stare is indicative that an introvert is lost in glorious, glorious thought and shall not be disturbed. Introverts shall not be held legally responsible for any physical violence or destruction of property than ensues if said glorious thought is interrupted.

9) Plans for a nice day/evening out should reach a maximum at two events. For example, dinner and a movie. The eager exclamation of, "Hey guys! Let's go to a bar or seven!" after dinner and a movie is completely unacceptable.

10) An introvert is never required to answer the phone or to return phone calls. This is asking too much. Acceptable introvert communication may include: texting, limited emailing, subtle body language, knowing looks. Please consult with introvert to determine which method will not send him/her into a state of paralysis.

11) When asked of reluctant introverts, the answer to the (often rhetorical) question, "What are you waiting for, a personal invitation?" shall always be: Yes! Yes! A thousand times, yes! And handwritten, if possible. Calligraphy would be nice, just so we know you're serious. However, the introvert should not be expected to RSVP, as this would cause far too much social exertion terror.

12) No conflict shall arise from the adoption of this Bill of Rights. Introverts totally hate conflict.

And also, you aren't allowed to think we hate you. We love you oh so much. We just have a terrible special way of showing it.

Okay. That's enough revolution for me. I'm going to go find a nice place to lose myself in my super-brilliant, highly-personal, oh-so-humble thoughts.

*pulls head to into sweater and ceases to acknowledge the rest of the world*