Really? Oh, America.

I don't often get political. I have outspoken friends who fight the good fight while I quietly cast my vote and carry on.

But this shit is ridiculous.

And I'm not the only one who thinks so. Have you heard about the Bristol Conspiracy?

Seriously, America, COME ON! I'm not going to lie, the teabaggers scare me.

Be Careful What You Wish For

When I encouraged my husband to try ballroom dancing, I had something like this in mind...

Look at them. Sweet, romantic, cozy. Really, you cannot spend as much time in the ballroom as I do (with Carlie) and not get the urge to dance. It's just not possible. The energy, the glitz, the fun... it has an allure.

Tim went into this whole ballroom thing with zero dance ability. ZERO. Like, can't clap to the beat on a scale of "has rhythm" to "doesn't." As such, he also had ZERO self-confidence on the dance floor, which translated into ZERO interest in dancing.

But I'll hand it to my husband, he does tend to "go along" with things pretty well. So when I suggested we try some very affordable entry-level lessons through the parks and rec department, he got fully onboard. Wherein "fully onboard" = oh, my God, I think I have created a monster.

Fast forward a few sessions of lessons and he now wants to do stuff like this...

and this...

You'll note that I am the only one risking life, limb and panty flashes in these particular dance moves. Granted, he risks throwing his back out, but still, when it all goes horribly wrong, I am going to be on the bottom of this heap.

So we are now in dance lessons twice a week (east coast swing and foxtrot) and engaging in social dancing once a week (Friday nights). And practicing at home. Almost daily. And Tim is the initiating force behind all of it.

Sadly, even with all that practice, the reality is, we still look more like this....

Delinquent

How I spent my summer vacation... predominantly in the ballroom

*********

I've had so many things to write about, but no time to write them down. Which is, ultimately, a good problem to have, versus nothing to write about. I guess it's called "being present" in my own life, or some new-agey crap like that.

I did have a huge burst of creativity at about 4 a.m. recently, with an idea for a story so tremendous I was giddy. And when I woke up, the idea was gone. Gone, but it left a shadow that has nagged at my brain for days. I have a feeling that *the big idea* is just on the outskirts of the shadow, waiting to be rediscovered.

Do you watch Mad Men? There's an episode called The Color Blue in which Paul has The Best. Idea. Ever., doesn't write it down, and then forgets it. Paul, brother, I feel your pain.

*********

We are in our last week of summer vacation. School starts a week from tomorrow for Carlie and for Erinna. Ironically, it's currently a dark shade of winter gray outside and the temp is 56 with a high of 66 expected. I've been obsessed with the crazy weather all summer long.

To celebrate the end of summer... a roundup of what my kids are doing.

Maggy is winding down her two-year college program and starts her second-to-last semester of school today, in Texas. Iris continues to be unbelievably cute, even though we only get to soak up her cuteness through Skype. They were here to visit early in the summer, and it seems like it was a very long time ago.

Taylor is still living in Santa Barbara, firmly on the grid despite earlier rantings to the contrary. But in a bold showing of distinct counterculture behavior, he has just moved into an unconverted warehouse with two roommates. They have no kitchen and they have a shared bathroom with the rest of the building, with no shower. I asked where they would shower, and his answer was the beach. At least he has a plan. He has not been home since Christmas.

Erinna starts her senior year a week from today, and is embracing all that that entails. She is back to a good tennis practice regimen to get ready for the season after a summer of not playing. And she has her first job, bussing tables at a restaurant, where they pay her money! She has her senior portrait photo shoot scheduled for Thursday with the ridiculously fabulous Amy and a back-to-school shopping trip scheduled with Carlie for later this week. Because Carlie needs new school clothes. Clothes which are not uniforms. Because...

She was (finally) accepted into VSAA, aka, Vancouver School of Arts and Academics. Can I get an amen?

We spent Sunday at Carlie's third Ballroom Showcase. I've linked the videos and told the sad tale of how her dance partner was sick and couldn't make it on Facebook, so it feels kind of repetitive to retell it here. If you're not on Facebook, though, and interested in seeing her dance videos, here is a link to her Viennese Waltz. She did five dances, but I think once you get to You Tube for the V. Waltz you'll be able to see all five videos, right? I am many things, but You Tube savvy is not one of them.

It's time for me to go to work on my stack of transcripts that need finishing. Thanks for sticking with me to the bitter end of the most boring blog post of all time. I'll do my best to recapture that elusive big idea and come back to dazzle your asses soon.

Meet my daughter, Veruca Salt

Do you see the resemblance?

Alternate title to the post: "I hate summer vacation."

Fifth grade is over, which means elementary school is over. Which means my list of "nevers" has expanded to include: I will never be an elementary school mom again, I will never have to buy blue plaid uniforms again, and I will never have the luxury of on-site after school care again. But, wait, I have a middle schooler now. I shouldn't need after school care, right? Because middle schoolers are mature and self-sufficient?

Bwahahahahahaha

Side note: significant "nevers" in my life have included never change another diaper, never have to strap a kid into a car seat again, never lug a stroller along and never pack another diaper bag. But guess what? PSYCHE. Because when my "baby" was 10 years old? I got pregnant again. Boo yah, aka natural planning fail.

But I digress. Back to the mayhem of summer scheduling. This summer was supposed to be pretty laid back on the Carlie front, because, hello, middle schooler, you can hang out at home while I am a work. We don't need no stinkin' camps. Still, we made a few selections of age appropriate camps that she really wanted to do for fun. These are babysitters boot camp, "make a music video" camp, choir camp including a production of "Sound of Music," and be a helper at VBS.

Carlie has gone to VBS every summer since preschool (minus one when it conflicted with an out of town trip.) That's six sessions of VBS at our church (plus a few at other churches, which I'll tack on at the end of this post because? OMG, holy cheap child care). Last year, fourth grade, she didn't really want to go to VBS, but then decided at the last minute to go, because "next year, I get to be a helper." Why those two are connected, I don't know, but the "get to be a helper" aspect of VBS has been on her mind for at least a calendar year.

All of this build up to get to the inevitable point: of the few measly camps she was wanting to do, VBS and "music video" are the same week. OF COURSE THEY ARE. Have you met my life?

Let us compare, from Carlie's standpoint:

Music Video - work with a hip hop choreographer and vocal coach, record and tape in a professional studio and get to have a copy of the video on DVD at the end of camp

VBS - get to be free child labor doing the grunt work for the teachers. But you get a free tee shirt!

Music Video - of course someone will notice her raw talent and untapped potential and within months she will be the next Disney flavor of the week

VBS - brownie points with Jesus.

But let us also compare:

Music Video - noon -2 x five days a week. Noon to 2? That's convenient for a working parent!

VBS - 9 am to 3 pm, enough time to actually, I don't know, say, GO TO WORK

Music Video - $125 (ish, don't feel like looking it up fo sho right now)

VBS - $30 fee waived, because you're helping (generous!)

And of course, I got her signed up as a VBS helper before realizing the scheduling conflict, so she is committed to that now.

Fast forward to Friday night. I am laying on the couch, hacking up a lung, spewing green phlegm all over the place (not really, but kind of ), and at 8:30 pm Carlie runs into the room and shouts "I'm going to be late for dance!" Oh, son of a... that's right, she has a dance class at 8:45 pm on Friday nights, followed by practice dancing from 9:15-10:30. How could I forget? Said class has sucked the life out of my Friday nights for a year now.

So I haul my sick ass off of the couch, brush my teeth and hair, put on a bra and shoes and schlep her ass to dance, feeling like total crap. I get her there, and even dance a few times, you know, to make sure I spread the plague to everyone in the joint. And did I mention the part where I pay $7 billion per year for dance?

And at 10:30 pm, with my throat swollen shut and my lungs collapsing, I get in the car with my little sweet girl, who I know is oh so appreciative of the sacrifices I make for her, and she gets sad and teary-eyed. ME: Oh, honey, what's wrong? HER: I really want to go to that music video camp.

Are you fucking kidding me?

So I, sick and full of martyrdom, commence to have a melt down about appreciation and commitment and blah de blah blah blah.

And she, over-tired, up too late and channeling Veruca Salt, commenced to have a full blown fit about NEVER getting to do ANYTHING that she wants to do.

Scroll up and re-read the part where I just crawled out of my death bed to take her ungrateful ass to DANCE CLASS.

I am so jacked up on sudaphed (the real kind) and dexamethorphan that I can't even remember where I was going with this story. Oh, wait. I remember. My kid is an over-indulged brat. That was the point.

On the plus side, she has also been raised with a healthy dose of Catholic guilt, and I have no doubt she will wake up and be apologetic this morning, as is her usual M.O. But still...

THE END.

PS: My VBS story. I'll keep it short. One year, about second grade'ish, a girlfriend and I got this GENIUS idea to schlep the kids around town to all of the different church VBS programs because, hello, cheap to free daycare all summer long. Some of the highlights were Carlie receiving communion at a church of different denomination BEFORE having gone through the rigorous "first communion boot camp" at our church, Carlie needing to learn a significant amount of Vietnamese (wherein significant amount = enough to survive in a 100% non-English speaking environment) and Carlie being featured in a gorgeous photo on the cover of the newsletter of a Presbyterian church as the poster girl for their children's program. The Great VBS Caper was not one of my more well thought-out plans.

And that's a wrap

We moved. Tonight is Night No. 2 in the new condo. It's also Night No. 1 in the new condo with THE CATS. Holy shit. What an ordeal, the moving of the cats. Blood was shed (by me) and the cat carrier fouled (by Buffy, the Mouse Slayer aka the stupidest cat ever). Good times, friends. Good times.

Because nothing can ever be simple, there's been other stuff going on during this period of crisis, I mean move. Maggy and Iris are here. Iris is very busy, what with being two and a half and all.

Saturday was Erinna's prom. I went to Lake Oswego Saturday evening to take pre-prom photos. And then sat in traffic for an hour and a half to get home. On a Saturday at 7 p.m. WTH, I5?

And Sunday was Carlie's big day at Arthur Murray Dance Camp. And guess what I did instead of sit at the dance studio for three hours? If you guessed DANCED, you win. That's right. One hour sessions in waltz, rhumba and swing. It was a lot of fun. Carlie is not particularly interested in me horning in on her dance fun, but since she was in the advanced class, I was safe to take the beginner class. And after dance, we sat in traffic for over an hour to get home, on a Sunday afternoon. Again with the WTH, I5?

So yeah, these girls kept us very busy this weekend, and yet we still managed to move 98% of our crap from the old house to the new. And we've been to happy hour twice at the McMenamin's across the street. I may never cook again. I've unpacked about, oh, 2%. Boxes and bins everywhere. Oh! And guess what? Not everything is going to fit in the condo. Specifically, my clothes and shoes. Which I've already paired down. It's just NOT. ALL. GOING. TO. FIT. Still trying to wrap my brain around that one and come up with a solution that does not = get rid of more stuff.

Monday morning should be full of awesome. Carlie will be going back to school for the first time since Friday 5/14. Did I not mention she had a stomach flu? Yeah. No school for a week, which means next week will be filled with school catch-up anxiety. And after dropping her off at school I'll be meeting a cleaning crew at the "old house" to start getting it ready for my renters. I've got a pro crew of two coming for kitchen and bath deep clean, and a college student working for $15/hour coming to help me with the rest of the house. Did I mention the part where I hate fucking cleaning?

This is the last time I'll mention "the move." But I will get some pictures up of the new place as soon as it doesn't look like a monsoon swept through.

A series of unfortunate events

1. I was talking to a mom whose daughter got accepted to the Art School. And she said that the acceptance letter tells them that they must let the school know if they will be attending or not. By Friday. Which is today.

2. I was looking at the Art School calendar and saw that the date for new student orientation is Tuesday. Of next week.

3. I decided to seek some clarification from the principal of the school.

What I want to know is, "Can you tell me by Tuesday if Carlie is in or not, so she can go to the orientation."

What I actually conveyed was "I am an anal retentive OCD freak who will be THAT annoying parent that pesters you endlessly on a daily basis should you allow my child into your school. Run, fast, and far, from me. I am a nightmare."

And of course, then I clicked SEND.

I am having serious senders remorse right now. I am also refreshing my email window every 30 seconds, waiting for an immediate response.

Also, because I am slow to learn a lesson, I am *thisclose* to sending the principal a link to Carlie's ballroom dance performances from Sunday. You know, to show him how much she belongs in his school.

And on that note, I am stepping away from the computer.

But for your viewing enjoyment...

Swing, Cha Cha, Tango, Argentine , Quickstep

UPDATE: It's been 32 minutes since I sent my email and no response yet. WHO THE HELL DOES THIS GUY THINK HE IS? I WILL NOT BE IGNORED.

Busy Busy Busy

I've finally got some pictures off of the camera and ready to post of all of our crazy Thanksgiving fun.

This is the first year that I haven't hosted dinner in quite a while. As a result, I found myself oddly relaxed on Thanksgiving Eve, as opposed to my usual maniacal prep frenzy. So Carlie and I hosted a little Craftapalooza gathering. The goal was to make gifts for friends, and our three crafts were to be polymer clay charms, Scrabble tile necklaces and glass magnets.

The polymer clay charms were a HUGE success, and no one was interested a bit in my Scrabble tiles or glass magnets. Here's a small sampling of the charms that Carlie made. And sadly, I don't think I got any pictures of the charms made by the other kiddoes.

We've got a peeled banana, lollipop, two slices of watermelon and a cupcake on a zipper pull.

Slices of pumpkin pie, a couple of cupcakes and a few of Carlie's "freestyle" creations that I could not possibly name if I tried. I think I see a couple of bananas in there, too.
When Erinna came home and saw how cute the charms were, she wanted to make some too. But she put hers on key chains. Here we've got an ice cream cone, cupcake and cinnamon roll.
We made a fall necklace for our Thanksgiving hostess with a slice of pumpkin pie and a fall leaves Scrabble tile on a rust-colored silk cord.
A cupcake necklace made by friend Katie.

On Thanksgiving Day, I made a butternut squash chipotle bisque and cupcakes. Easy peasy! I also brought to the dinner rosemary potato rolls from a new bakery that opened up two days before Thanksgiving three blocks from my house. So delicious.

We made 48 mini cupcakes and the girls decorated them with various fallish stuff. Some of these are supposed to be turkeys. Good luck figuring out which ones they are.
In the girls' defense, they didn't have much to work with, because when they asked Tim to pick up Candy Corn at the store (for tail feathers), he brought home Mike & Ike candies instead. ???

The bisque was delicious and is a pretty easy recipe. I highly recommend it. I'm pasting it in at the bottom of the post. Unfortunately, because I don't really *think* things through, I didn't realize that I needed a stick blender. And I don't have one. So after making this giant vat of soup, I then had to dirty up every bowl in my house moving the bisque out of the stock pot, and blending it in the pitcher blender, pitcher, by pitcher. I wouldn't recommend that.

With so few Thanksgiving dinner duties, and with a late supper planned, I had time to put together a little brunch for me, Tim and the girls. It was tasty. Deviled eggs are kind of a Thanksgiving tradition around here. I make them as an appetizer for the big dinner, but my kids eat them before people arrive. I freak out and eventually someone cries. Fun! I am a barrel of laughs during the holidays. Seriously.

We all shared what we were thankful for this year:

Me: Being Healthy.

Erinna: Technology.

Carlie: Salami.

Tim: Lady GaGa.

As you can see, I am surrounded by weirdos.

A few days after Thanksgiving, we had Tim's birthday to celebrate. I ordered a cake with frosting on the side from the bakery, and the girls decorated it. Semi-homemade. Yay!

I can promise you, the bakery did not give us this Tiffany blue icing. That is a Carlie creation. And do you like the tealight in the cake? Ghetto who?


It was a busy week. And I haven't even gotten to the photos or videos of Carlie at her dance graduation ball, which was tonight. She came home from school Friday not feeling well. She's been lethargic all weekend and I am pretty sure she has a sinus infection. But we paid $150 for three tickets to the ball and she had a new dress, so off to the ball we went. She dozed in the car and whined the entire way there (30 minute drive), then danced her two dances flawlessly, then sat in my lap, crying, begging to go home. Stage mother who? Details to come.

BUTTERNUT SQUASH CHIPOTLE BISQUE

Recipe from Marcela Valladolid, "Fresh Mexico"

Prep time: 50 minutes

Cook time: 1 hour, 15 minutes

Serves 6 to 8

Notes: The prep time does not include the cool time for the squash after it's roasted. The cook time for the onion and carrot overlaps the cook time for the squash. The cook time for the bisque overlaps the cook time for the seeds.

INGREDIENTS

1 medium butternut squash

3 tablespoons olive oil, divided use

1 1/2 cups chopped onion

1/2 cup chopped celery

1/2 cup chopped carrot

2 garlic cloves, minced

4-6 cups chicken broth

3 teaspoons minced, canned chipotle in adobo, divided use

1/2 cup Mexican crema or sour cream

Salt, fresh ground pepper

INSTRUCTIONS

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Cut squash in half lengthwise and scoop out seeds, discarding the stringy pulp. Put the seeds in a sieve and rinse. Set aside.

Grease a glass baking dish with 1 tablespoon oil, then place the squash in the dish, cut side down. Pierce all over with a fork and roast 45 minutes or until tender. Let cool.

Heat remaining oil in a large, heavy pot over medium-high heat. Sauté onion, celery and carrot for 10 minutes. Add garlic; cook 2 minutes more.

Scoop the flesh of the squash into the pot and stir. Add 4 cups broth and simmer, covered, for 30 minutes or until the vegetables are very tender.

Meanwhile, toast the reserved squash seeds in a small pan over medium heat, stirring occasionally until crunchy, about 30 minutes. Season heavily with salt and set aside.

Purée the soup in batches in a blender, adding more broth to get the desired consistency.

In a separate bowl, stir 1 teaspoon of the minced chipotle into the crema. Season with salt and pepper.

Stir the remaining 2 teaspoons chipotle into bisque and ladle into soup bowls. Top each with a dollop of cream and a sprinkling of seeds.

Per serving using 5 cups of low-sodium chicken broth: 177 cal.; 4 g pro.; 23 g carb.; 9 g fat (3 sat., 5 monounsat., 1 polyunsat.); 9 mg chol.; 633 mg sod.; 5 g fiber; 7 g sugar; 44 percent calories from fat.

Hypothetical Question

Hypothetically speaking, let's say you are at an Eighties themed dance party with your child, and it's all adults except for your child, and there is an Eighties trivia contest, and NO ONE IN THE ROOM KNOWS THE NAME OF THE EXCHANGE STUDENT IN "16 CANDLES."

Is it wrong to whisper it to your child and have her scream out LONG DUK DONG to win a prize?

Also, if you are in a room full of adults and NO ONE IN THE ROOM KNOWS THE NAME OF THE EXCHANGE STUDENT IN "16 CANDLES," is it wrong to feel completely superior and wonder WHAT THE HELL KIND OF LOSERS they all must be?

Sheesh.

And lastly, if your husband gets all torqued because you're CHEATING and setting a BAD EXAMPLE because your child wins a prize for screaming out LONG DUK DONG, would it be wrong to say...

Relax, would you? We have seventy dollars and a pair of girls underpants. We're safe as kittens.'

The Do Over

This one goes out to you and yours worldwide*

Carlie did the samba to Michael Franti at the Arthur Murray Monster's Mash Friday night. While it may look awesome to the untrained likes of you and I, Daniel messed up. Which messed Carlie up. Which pissed Carlie off in a totally large and disproportionate and OH MY GOD YOU'VE RUINED MY LIFE kind of way. Seriously. I have no idea where she gets that shit from. On the plus side, the dance party also included a pumpkin carving contest. And Carlie? Was the only person who brought a carved pumpkin. So Yay! Winner! Enjoy : )

*If you don't know Michael Franti, you should. He's a big slice o' awesome.

Ballroom Drama ... oh no, you didn't

Who but a jealous hater could be offended by this angelic child? Who, I ask you? Who?

With all the dancing going on around here, you just knew it was a matter of time before we ran into some ballroom drama, aka potential smack down on the dance floor.

In case you're too lazy to click the link above, a brief summary: Carlie takes dance lessons at Arthur Murray. Tim and I take dance lessons thru Parks & Rec. And guess what? When you pay $75 for, like, 10 lessons, as opposed to $125 for each lesson? You might run into some *quality* issues. But hey, we're not picky like that. We can roll with the ghetto lessons.

So the first class we went to, I didn't bring Carlie, because I wanted to get the lay of the land. And it was at a dance studio with a separate little lobby area. So the second week, I brought her with us because she gets creeped out being home alone when it's dark (she's 10) and once I knew there was a place for her to hang where she wouldn't be intrusive, I figured what the heck.

Week 2: So my geeky girl brings a book, plops it in the lobby and reads for half an hour while we learn to waltz. Then we moved on to cha cha. And my geeky girl ditched her book and got up on her feet and was cha cha'ing her cha cha off. In the lobby. How cute is that?

So the instructor sees that she's out there dancing, and that she actually KNOWS HOW TO CHA CHA, and calls her in and starts using her for his demo girl. Which, of course, she was totally eating up. As were all of the older folks in the class. Which is everyone except for us and one other couple. And also that other couple? We hate them. They are putzes.

Anyway...

Week 3: she comes along, with her book, and sits in the lobby to read. The instructor's wife cannot make it to the lesson, and he asks Carlie if she will come in and be his demo girl again. She's thrilled. At the end of the class, Mrs. Brown, about age 70, approaches Carlie and says, "I am not going to be here next week, will you come and be Mr. Brown's partner?" And Carlie says yes.

Week 4: Carlie dances with Mr. Brown. It's very cute. Mr. Brown couldn't dance to save his life, but at least he's trying. Gotta heart that.

Week 5, which was Friday, Carlie brings a book and sits in the lobby and reads for the entire lesson. No one was short a partner and the teacher didn't invite her in for a demo or anything. So okay. That's that.

End of the class, the instructor says to Tim, "Oh, I guess Julie (his wife) talked to you guys about Carlie. Thanks for understanding."

We have no clue what he's talking about.

Someone in the class (AND I AM SURE I KNOW WHO!) complained about Carlie coming into the class. COMPLAINED. Because they said it made them feel like losers because a 10 year old can dance better than they do.

SERIOUSLY. And I swear, I know which couple it is. And? I HATE THEM. Even before this, I was totally hating this stupid couple.

So basically what we have here is a nonissue. Because it was never my intention to foist Carlie into the class and I never did. She only came in when invited. And when she was not invited? She sat and read her book. I am always sensitive, sometimes hypersensitive, to not bringing a kid to an adult event. So I repeat. Unless invited into the class by someone who was not Tim or I, she was happily sitting in another room reading a book.

But now? This stupid couple who I hate? They think she was reading that book because of their complaint. And I? Cannot abide that. Cannot. They have got to be informed that their lame ass complaint did not cause me to ban my child. Does that make sense? Because as of right now, THEY ARE WINNING (in the war that I now have going on against them in my head) and I cannot have that. CANNOT. LET. THEM. WIN.

Even my husband, the pacifist, who gets riled up at NOTHING. EVER. Was pissed off about this stupid couple because he hates them too. Even before this. And also? Everyone else in the class is, like, 60+ years old (except for the loathsome couple) and they all LOVE Carlie. Love her. They were asking, why is she out there reading a book? when she didn't come in last week.

We've been working on a plan of action, the next battle in this war, if you will.

PLAN A: Quit and never go back and be done with the whole thing (lame! for losers! most docile of the plans and provides no *closure*)

PLAN B: I don't go back to the next class and send Carlie in my place, as Tim's partner, just because (also know as the passive/aggressive plan)

PLAN C: Move into the more advanced class, which our instructor has invited us to do, but my husband doesn't have enough self confidence to do so. I am down with this plan only if I can make a dramatic announcement to the LOATHSOME COUPLE about how we have to move on to a more advanced class because they SUCK. Tim doesn't think I can find a way to work that into the plan, but I am pretty sure I could figure something out.

PLAN D: Go to the next class, without Carlie, and let everyone know that I have an announcement to make, and then make a heartfelt apology to the entire class along the lines of, "It was brought to my attention that some of you find Carlie's presence to be a problem, and I just want to apologize for that. And I'd be glad to refund your $75 class tuition if the presence of my daughter has made the class so uncomfortable for you that you don't want to come back."

I like this plan because I would LOVE to have all the grandmas in the class that love Carlie know that the buffoon couple complained. And it would just totally put them on the spot, since their complaint was anonymous and all.

Of course, within a day of the drama Tim was over it and now wants to abort all of the plans. I think we all know that I cannot allow that. CANNOT.

Vengeance shall be mine. One way or another. If you've got a PLAN E, bring it on! Unless your plan involves "forgetting about it" and "getting over it" and "OMG you are insane this is such a stupid thing to be made about." If your plan involves any of those things, then never mind.

Dance Fever

Dance Fever has officially swept our household.

Carlie has *graduated* up a level in ballroom dance and is attending more classes. She is actually doing quite an amazing job and I love watching her dance. We've finally hit on an activity that she (a) loves (b) is good at and (c) sitting thru a practice does not make me want to drink heavily. Yay!

As part of her dance program, there are Friday night "open dances," where the students (all adult except for Carlie) get together with wine and such and, you know, dance, with each other and with the instructors. Because when you're shelling out the equivalent of a mortgage payment each month to learn snazzy dance moves, it's definitely in the studio's best interest to give you a place to regularly use said snazzy dance moves, with others who also know the same snaz. So really, the Friday night dance parties are a big marketing ploy designed to keep the dance students hooked on dance. I get that.

But the thing is? The parties? Are REALLY FUN. I know! Go figure.

So Carlie and I have been enjoying the Friday night dance parties, but Tim has been somewhat reluctant to engage. In case I haven't mentioned this before, let me state it in no uncertain terms. TIM CANNOT DANCE. Tim cannot keep time to music. Tim has no sense of what "the beat" is. On the dance floor, Tim is like a scary mix of Adam Corolla and Tom Delay on Dancing with the Stars, plus a hint of The Elephant Man.

Or should I say *was*. Because Tim? Is taking dance lessons! I know! Right?

Totally his idea! Because he wanted to have some basic skills to be able to get off the couch during the Friday night dance parties. I can't even tell you how OUTSIDE OF THE NORM this is for my husband. Seriously. WAY OUTSIDE. But I'm not complaining.

Our dance lessons are through the Parks & Rec Department, not Arthur Murray, because, hello, did you see the part about the monthly expense of Carlie's dance lessons being the equivalent of a mortgage payment? Yeah, not making that up. OK. Maybe not a mortgage payment. But definitely a very nice brand new car payment.

So once a week, we are doing ballroom dance, a very *beginner* class. Wherein *beginner* = a room full of adults learning to MARCH in TIME with the MUSIC. Yeah. I suggested to Tim that we bump up to a more intermediate class. And he had a slight panic episode and declined. Marching and clapping in time with the music, preschool style, is right where he needs to be, apparently.

That is until he became obsessed with learning to tango. So now in addition to Carlie's dance classes three nights a week, plus our class one night per week, we're doing a "learn to tango" video at home. Which is insanely fun.

But wait! There's more!

Last night, I started a tap class. As in TAP DANCING. As in WHY YES, I AM 70 YEARS OLD AND TRYING TO RELIVE MY SHIRLEY TEMPLE YOUTH, THANK YOU FOR NOTICING.

How scary is it that I have moved three times, once cross country, have recently done a thorough house declutter and purge and yet I still have two pairs of tap shoes, even though I have not done a dance class since 1988?

The class I joined has been underway for about a month now, so I had to play catch up. I am pretty sure if I keep this up, I'll be able to snag a role on Glee, you know, maybe as a new teacher coming in to punch up the choreography for sectionals. God, I love that show.

And the worst mother ever award goes to...

Why, yes, I remain the reigning champion.

Honestly, who needs school photos when your mother has these mad skills with the camera?

Carlie missed school last week. All. Week. For the first several days, she had a stomach virus. For the last couple of days? She was suffering from dehydration... due to apparent parental neglect during the stomach virus. Whoops.

While I was staying home with her, not monitoring her fluid intake, I did manage to go to her school and pick up her homework and missed classwork each day. All 400 lbs of it. Which DID NOT help her feel better. But which DID help her coin a new phrase, which she has used about 2500 times in the last 24 hours... "homework stress."

I can't eat that. I have homework stress.

I can't sleep. It's my homework stress.

Why do I have to take a shower? I have homework stress.

You get the idea.

Friday she went to school for part of the day, after getting off to a late start. Then the weekend was filled with an open house, a VERY INTERESTED potential home buyer and the all day ballroom dance competition on Sunday. When I say all day, I am not even exaggerating. First dance was at 10 a.m. We had to be there at 9:00 a.m. Dancing ended at 5 p.m., followed by dinner and a show, which ended at 9:15 p.m. I told you. ALL DAY.

During that busy weekend, Mom of the Year over here neglected to crack the homework whip, or review the ream of papers that had come home from school.

I was pretty proud of myself that I remembered Monday was individual school pictures and, thus, Free Dress. Free Dress in the world of the Catholic school uniform is a VERY BIG DEAL. A normal free dress day is occasion for quite a bit of hemming and hawing over what to wear. School picture day free dress? Forget about it. Let's just say, the morning of the first day of the first week back to school after being home for a week was a wee bit stressful. Wherein *wee bit* equals *shot of Jamesons in my coffee? why yes, thank you.*

Carlie put a lot of thought into her outfit, and her hair, and her accessories. She left the house the absolute picture of perfection. Minus the envelope with the check and the picture order. Which you hand to the photographer when he snaps your picture.

Let's take a look from Carlie's perspective: hair - perfect! necklace - perfect! outfit - perfect! How exciting! The entire fifth grade lines up to get their photo snapped one at a time out in the garden by the photographer. Hey, you guys, why do you ALL have those ginormous white envelopes? OH NO! insert tears here.

Besides the envelope, she also forgot her "weekly report" which goes home on Friday and is returned, signed, on Monday. Did I mention the part where she DID NOT GO TO SCHOOL Monday - Thursday and went for half of Friday? Right. Yet the drama surrounding the unsigned "weekly report," which reported ABSOLUTELY NOTHING, was tremendous.

Besides the envelope and the weekly report, she also forgot her lunch. At a school without a cafeteria where every day is brown bag lunch day.

I know. It keeps getting better, doesn't it?

When I picked her up from school I could see the stress on her face and the tears behind her eyes. By the time I pulled up to the "get in" spot of the pick up line, she was sobbing. By the time she was in the car and we were pulling away, she was hysterical. And to add insult to injury, she fell off of the swing at recess in a very dramatic fashion (per her report).

We had a tearful evening of homework, a sobbing bedtime including a recitation of every person she has ever loved who has died, moved away or had a hangnail, capped off by lamenting for lost pets. Tell me you've had those bedtimes and it's not just me. Please.

I woke her up 40 minutes early this morning to finish the homework (and it's all done!) and she went off to school with a much better attitude. I need to get dressed for work and get out of here. I've got so much to write about... ballroom dance competition! Carlie was awesome, but really, the lady with "invisible panties" is what you've got to hear about. Oh, and the prospective home buyers who looked at the house, came back the next day armed with his and her notebooks and spent an hour opening EVERY DRAWER, CABINET AND CLOSET DOOR in the house. For real. And I haven't even said a word about Macy Gray on DWTS. Seriously? WTH?

Okay... going to work. Adios.

Dancing Queen

Video coming soon... when I figure out what I am doing wrong. Got the video from the camcorder onto the computer and it's awesome! But You Tube is not happy with the format.

Carlie Does the Cha Cha - Her First Ballroom Performance