i'm no angel

in my 198,234,827,348,761,237th attempt to get my 6 year old daughter, avery, to clean her room, i left her alone to her own devices--with the naive hope that she will do the right thing, be responsible, and get her room done. no, i wasn't born yesterday, but i am a damn hope-ist, sue me.

when i went to her room, of course, nothing was done. in fact, it was worse. her webkins were lined up in a row and she was reading to them from her father's 1979 copy of "Little House in the Big Woods." which, i'm almost positive he never read it. it is just one of the million things that his mother held onto from his childhood and regifted to us. and i'm almost positive that Avery's not literate enough to read it yet. partly because she's six, and although intelligent, and an above-average-reader, it's too advanced. but mainly because when i was standing in shock in the doorway, staring at the rubble, before she noticed me, i heard her story: "and the mother went to the bunnies and yelled at them. and told them to shut their mouths and quit being such a smart mouth bunny. nobody likes a smart mouth bunny. do you want me to tell daddy bunny what you did today? oh no, the bunny did not want that at all. the bunny then went to the fairy and told the fairy about her mean bunny mommy and how she makes her clean her bunny house ALL. THE. TIME. and the fairy said, 'don't worry. i'll take care of that mommy.'"..... or something along those lines....

she noticed me, turned around, and that's when i was able to look past the wreckage that was her room and notice her for the first time. she had three ponytails in her frizzy-curly red hair, and about 18 hair clips. she was wearing a skirt that has been in the "too-small" basket for a year, and a sports bra that was handed-down to her. and those damn high heels--black patent leather, with a half-inch heel, and a rhinestone heart, of course--that my mother, her "wee-wee", was suckered into buying about 9 months ago. and she had found some lip gloss. and promptly used it as lip gloss, blush, and eye shadow.

she knew she was in trouble. i mean, after all, i had been trying to get her to clean her room since she woke up. and in answering my question, here is the resulting conversation:

avery: "mommy, don't be mad. i was GOING to clean my room. i really was. but then i had these two people jump onto my shoulders."

me: "what in the world are you talking about? don't make excuses to me."

avery: "no really, i'm telling the truth this time. two people jumped on my shoulders. one was a guy in red, telling me to play and not to clean. the other..."

me [interrupting]: "an angel?"

avery: "no, it was you. yelling at me. telling me to clean my room."

my adult ballet class....

so, last night was my first ballet class in 13 years. i was so anxious to start. so many thoughts going through my mind.... "can i still do this?" "am i too fat now to start this?" "will i fit in?" i had visions of several physically fit women in class together, who had been dancing together for a while, and who were all relatively good dancers. i was a wreck...

i get there early, for the first time in my life. making small talk with the receptionist, she informs me that the class is small and several of the women have had to drop out for various reasons. class starts, and besides me and the teacher, there is only one other student. a 74 year old woman, who shall be referred to as "M.A." and, obviously, M.A. is not your typical 74 year old. she is fit. and she is full of energy. and she is cuckoo for cocoa puffs.

when i first met M.A., she was waiting outside the class, just as i was. but, that is where our similarities end. I, who has not danced in 13 years, 50 pounds, and 2 kids, do not own any "dance attire" or ballet slippers any longer. and my anxiety kept me from running out and buying a tu-tu and slippers. so, i was dressed in cut-off black yoga pants, with a red stripe down the legs and a gray and black army t-shirt that i stole from my husband approximately ten years ago and have since cut out the neck. And, having come straight from work, while shoveling a subway sub down my throat while driving, my short hair was thrown back in to a ponytail by a combination of clips and hairbands i stole from my six year old daughter. M.A., however, was standing next to the door, with her long white hair in an elaborate up-sweep, with a long, lavender, chiffon scarf wrapped around her head, and trailing down into her calf-length lavender coat. Everything about her was shiny. her make-up was shiny. her coat was shiny. her white tights were shiny. the one-inch heeled lavender-dyeable shoes were shiny.

our teacher interrupted my gawking and ushered us into the studio. she was giving me brief instructions and introductions, before telling us to stretch while she stepped out for a few minutes. that's when i noticed that M.A. had taken off her coat and was stretching at the bar. yep, she had her 74 year old leg lopped up onto the bar and was plie-ing like she hadn't missed a beat. but it took a while for that to register, as i was immediately taken by her outfit. in addition to the previously mentioned shiny white tights and lavender chiffon head scarf, M.A. was wearing a top that was also lavender. and it was also chiffon. a lot of chiffon. and the best way i can describe it is a "vintage tank top." it had to be decades old, very frilly, voluminous, and low-cut on the sides. but, do not assume that M.A. was immodest. oh no. she had her chiffon head scarf intricately tucked into her shirt and around her breasts, so that nothing was revealed. all the while, it was also still wrapped around her head.

and as i was able to pass by the top, i noticed she was wearing bottoms, of course. they were underwear. not your Hanes Her Way. oh no. M.A. was rocking out some white lace panties, showing her butt cleavage and curly parts. and they were a little big for her, so she safety-pinned them on the sides.

i couldn't make this up if i tried.

i'm going back next week.

i'm gonna smuggle in a camera.