I TOTALLY want to be a singer. I love singing and I sing all the time – in the shower, in the car, at my desk, just randomly walking down the street, (OK, not that one but I really want to do that someday) etc., etc. The problem being of course is that I can’t really sing. I mean, I’m not horrendously terrible, but I would definitely be one of those poor souls shamelessly mocked if I ever tried out for American Idol. The mean one would probably tell me I can’t sing and I’m fat. The most complementary thing I can say about my singing voice is that I generally don’t get booed if I’m karaoking. Mind you, those people are all really drunk so I’m not sure they are a reliable indicator of my singing abilities.
My lovely daughter shares my love and desire for the performing arts and also longs to be a singer. If desire would meet talent, she would be headlining broadway musicals by now. Unfortunately, talent and desire are not mutually inclusive. That hasn’t stopped her from trying, however.
She auditioned for quite a prominent youth musical theatre group last year and was accepted. She was one of the youngest people in the company that was mostly derived of kids in grade 11, 12 and first year university (she was in grade nine). I can be reasonably assured that her enthusiasm and acting abilities secured her a space in this group, not the singing. They were hopeful they could teach her to sing. And failing that, well…..no part is too small right? Yeah, tell that to the kids who land in the chorus every production.
My darling daughter decided not to audition again this year citing her desire to concentrate on school and improve her grades. The time commitment was too much, she told me. Well, it’s November and so far ‘J’ has not done a spectacular job of even showing up for school half the time so that argument doesn’t hold water with me anymore. I suspect her opting out of the theatre company had more to do with the fact that she did not have a lead role in the productions than it did improving her GPA. She is, after all, a star!!
And, she kind of is. I know most mothers say this, but honest to god my child is one of the most unique human beings I have ever met in my entire life. Just the fact that I know her makes me more interesting, never mind that I actually gave birth to this person. There are many things that make her unique and not the least of which is her burning desire to perform for people. For years and years she had absolutely no fear whatsoever - it was truly amazing what she was able/willing to do at a very young age. At twelve years old and with only 15 minutes notice she gave the eulogy at my grandmother’s funeral in front of 300 people, and it was good. Regrettably if not predictably, the usual teenage insecurities have been creeping their way into her psyche for the last few years and have managed to slowly whittle away at her fearlessness. Fortunately, her desire for performing is much stronger than her insecurities. She still jumps at every opportunity to be a part of anything that involves an audience. It’s just that now she is nervous about it.
But, as mentioned earlier the not being able to sing thing a problem since most of the opportunities for performance at her age are musicals. But lucky for J the music teacher at her high school understands her, and knows how strong her desire to star in a musical is. This woman has been teaching my daughter to sing for the last few weeks, on her own time and for free, so J can have a lead role in her high school production of a Christmas Carol. She stars as Tiny Tim (this is funny ‘cause my girl is a wee one) and the production runs December 8, 9 & 10th.
I’m somewhere between scared to death for her and busting with pride because she is not willing to let a tiny thing like not being a great singer stand in her way of singing in a musical, complete with her very own solo for a whole song. This production is performing for the entire school at an assembly. Can you imagine doing such a thing unless you were some freaky Whitney Houston protégé type? Doesn’t the very thought of it make you want to go stick your head in the oven? I guess not if you’re J. It’s her dream and she’s doing it, and screw all y’all that say she shouldn’t.
I’m scared because high school kids can be serious assholes, and if J bites it they will make fun of her for the next two and a half years. It is totally amazing to me that she is willing to take the risk and follow through with what she is so passionate about, regardless of the consequences. Not that I’m assuming she’ll bite it, she might blow the doors off the place, but the potential for disaster is definitely there and she knows it.
I’m seriously jealous of her. I’m certainly not what you would call a shrinking violet, but I don’t have anywhere near the capacity to put myself out there like J does. I don’t even advertise this stupid blog so no one is even reading this. Well, maybe one person (hi Keely!). There are many things I would love to do and I find so many reasons why I can’t do them – I can’t afford it, I don’t have the time, I don’t have the talent, etc., etc. My daughter’s life will be so much more fulfilling because of her strength of character and burning desire to be what she wants to be. She is content (and very proud most of the time) to let her freak flag fly. That is a fantastic and very rare trait in a person.
But, at least I can live vicariously. I will be front row centre all three nights of her musical ready to marvel at her accomplishment wishing it was me!
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Merry Christmas! Whether you like it or not.
It’s getting to be that time of year again. You know what I’m talking about – the time of year you try to balance seeing your family/co-workers against what you actually want to be doing during the holidays. You know what would be really great? If you could sign up for Christmas gatherings buffet style. I could take a decent helping of Sister-in-Law with a side of crazy (but always entertaining) Aunt, followed by just a smidge of Mother for dessert. But, hmmmm……I think this year I’m going to pass on the Cousin. The Cousin always seems to give me gas.
Workplace gatherings also apply. While I’m all for having drinks with the marketing department, I could really do without that woman from my office who sits in the corner mentally counting how many Cosmo’s I’ve had. We never invite her to join us any other time of the year, why are we obligated to do it now? The birth of Christ? That was 2000 years ago. I’m not sure how that event means I have to hang out with someone who thinks a pink jacket complements red slacks and has bunch of tiny gnome figurines on her desk.
Last year I was invited to a Christmas party for government secretaries. Most of these women I had never met. Government buildings are scattered all over this city, so our communications are largely over email. Out of sheer curiosity I went. They all seemed nice enough in cyber-secretary land, so I thought I would check out what they were like in person. You know what I found out? They are all SIXTY YEARS OLD! I sat at the table participating in forced conversation all the while thinking, “Is this my fate? Am I really going to still be doing this job in 30 years?” These women could remember where they were when Kennedy was shot for crying out loud. It was the most depressing day of my life.
Yet, ‘tis the season and all that shit so I have to suck it up and hang out with people who I have spent almost the entire year avoiding. Now, I don’t want to sound like a big scrooge here because I LOVE Christmas. I go all crazy with the decorations, parties, gift buying, charitable giving, etc., etc., but the mandated involvement of people who are not really in my life any other time of the year is always a little odd to me. Oh well. I guess I always have the token drunken brawl that will inevitably break out somewhere to look forward to. Hey, maybe this year it will happen at the government secretary’s party! That would be AWESOME.
Workplace gatherings also apply. While I’m all for having drinks with the marketing department, I could really do without that woman from my office who sits in the corner mentally counting how many Cosmo’s I’ve had. We never invite her to join us any other time of the year, why are we obligated to do it now? The birth of Christ? That was 2000 years ago. I’m not sure how that event means I have to hang out with someone who thinks a pink jacket complements red slacks and has bunch of tiny gnome figurines on her desk.
Last year I was invited to a Christmas party for government secretaries. Most of these women I had never met. Government buildings are scattered all over this city, so our communications are largely over email. Out of sheer curiosity I went. They all seemed nice enough in cyber-secretary land, so I thought I would check out what they were like in person. You know what I found out? They are all SIXTY YEARS OLD! I sat at the table participating in forced conversation all the while thinking, “Is this my fate? Am I really going to still be doing this job in 30 years?” These women could remember where they were when Kennedy was shot for crying out loud. It was the most depressing day of my life.
Yet, ‘tis the season and all that shit so I have to suck it up and hang out with people who I have spent almost the entire year avoiding. Now, I don’t want to sound like a big scrooge here because I LOVE Christmas. I go all crazy with the decorations, parties, gift buying, charitable giving, etc., etc., but the mandated involvement of people who are not really in my life any other time of the year is always a little odd to me. Oh well. I guess I always have the token drunken brawl that will inevitably break out somewhere to look forward to. Hey, maybe this year it will happen at the government secretary’s party! That would be AWESOME.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Don't say I never warned you
I know I am new to the whole mommy blogger phenomenon, but as far as I can tell I am the only one on here who has older children. All the rest of you are up to your eyeballs in dirty diapers, suffering sleep deprivation, running after toddlers just learning to walk and trying to teach your kids that shoving tic-tac's up their nose doesn’t end well. I speak from experience – I once raced frantically to an emergency room with my toddler who had managed to shove at least one and possibly more tic-tac's up his nose. He shoved one so far up there, in fact, that you could actually see the visible lump in perfect tic-tac formation poking out just slightly below the bridge of his nose and just over from his left eye. Yeah, I don’t know how he managed that either.
After waiting in the emergency room for decades to see whatever twelve year-old and/or foreign exchange student intern they had working at the time the tic-tac had melted sufficiently and they sent me home with a stern warning to not let my two-year old have tic-tac’s anymore. Nothing like not only feeling like a horrible parent for not appropriately supervising the toddler/breath mint combo, but I also had the privilege of spending FOUR HOURS in a hospital with a crying/tired/minty-fresh toddler and was then subsequently judged by a doctor who was probably in charge of organizing the pub crawl for later that weekend.
I do remember the stress of being a first time parent and the parent of young children. They’re messy, demanding, totally clingy and do not respond whatsoever to compromise or logic. When it comes right down to it, toddlers are pretty much like the worst boyfriend you ever had. Except for the fact that you inexplicably love them more than anything on earth (even though a large percentage of the time they make you want to grab the nearest sharp and pointy object and jab it as hard as possible into your ear just to get some relief).
I remember all of this, and to a certain degree I’m still right in there with you. However, in addition to my darling almost three-year old Lena and hysterically odd seven-year old Jake (tic-tac incident) I have another one, and that one is FIFTEEN YEARS OLD. Oh yes, the stories I could tell about this fascinating daughter of mine does indeed warrant the use of the dreaded ‘ALL CAPS’.
So, this presents an interesting factor that none of the rest of you need to deal with. My oldest spawn can actually read this, right NOW whenever she wants. I know, most of you have little ‘dear So and So’ pages you will faithfully update with the intent of having So and So read all about their first years, gain some insight as to who their mother really is, etc., etc. Yeah, that’s all fine and good when they’re TWO. In fact, this will not be any real concern of yours for a good decade or so. That gives you a whole lot of time to reconsider if posting the picture of your cute little man wearing his sister’s dress while shoving his nose in the dog's ass is really something that will ultimately advance your goal of forging an unbreakable bond between mother and child.
See, here’s the thing - you poor souls have no idea what you’re in for. You are all typing away imagining little So and So all growed up and having a good chuckle at mom’s wit all while feeling so very loved because you went through the trouble documenting their every fart. You’re thinking So and So will be all “I used to poop in the bathtub??! Awwww, Mom that’s funny, and by the way, thanks so much for cleaning it up all those times. Do you want to go for a walk and hold hands?”
Well folks, I hate to burst your blogger bubble, but in reality, it will likely go down a little more like this -
(boy version) – “MOM! Get that shit off the internet right NOW. Take down your stupid website, you’re so GAY. And MOVE ‘cause I want to play World of Warcraft with Blaze (it will be around 2018 by this point so your kids will likely have friends named Blaze or Titan since we have had a rash of very unfortunate baby names of late. For some reason there is a growing group of parents who, in an effort to prove their own uniqueness, name their kids something completely ridiculous. Really, this trend needs to stop now or we’re going to end up with a Prime Minister named Spirtall. Yes, believe it or not I actually know a kid with that name),
or
(girl version) – “OH!! MY!! GOD!! I can’t believe you would tell the WHOLE WORLD about me and say such totally embarrassing things. Take it off right now or no one will ever talk to me again and you totally SUCK!!” (stomp–stomp–stomp–stomp–stomp-stomp- SLAM).
No, my little blogging friends, what you are writing right now will not please your little ones at ALL. You know when they will like it? When they are in their thirties and have started their own blogs staring YOU. Who’s going to have the last laugh then?
After waiting in the emergency room for decades to see whatever twelve year-old and/or foreign exchange student intern they had working at the time the tic-tac had melted sufficiently and they sent me home with a stern warning to not let my two-year old have tic-tac’s anymore. Nothing like not only feeling like a horrible parent for not appropriately supervising the toddler/breath mint combo, but I also had the privilege of spending FOUR HOURS in a hospital with a crying/tired/minty-fresh toddler and was then subsequently judged by a doctor who was probably in charge of organizing the pub crawl for later that weekend.
I do remember the stress of being a first time parent and the parent of young children. They’re messy, demanding, totally clingy and do not respond whatsoever to compromise or logic. When it comes right down to it, toddlers are pretty much like the worst boyfriend you ever had. Except for the fact that you inexplicably love them more than anything on earth (even though a large percentage of the time they make you want to grab the nearest sharp and pointy object and jab it as hard as possible into your ear just to get some relief).
I remember all of this, and to a certain degree I’m still right in there with you. However, in addition to my darling almost three-year old Lena and hysterically odd seven-year old Jake (tic-tac incident) I have another one, and that one is FIFTEEN YEARS OLD. Oh yes, the stories I could tell about this fascinating daughter of mine does indeed warrant the use of the dreaded ‘ALL CAPS’.
So, this presents an interesting factor that none of the rest of you need to deal with. My oldest spawn can actually read this, right NOW whenever she wants. I know, most of you have little ‘dear So and So’ pages you will faithfully update with the intent of having So and So read all about their first years, gain some insight as to who their mother really is, etc., etc. Yeah, that’s all fine and good when they’re TWO. In fact, this will not be any real concern of yours for a good decade or so. That gives you a whole lot of time to reconsider if posting the picture of your cute little man wearing his sister’s dress while shoving his nose in the dog's ass is really something that will ultimately advance your goal of forging an unbreakable bond between mother and child.
See, here’s the thing - you poor souls have no idea what you’re in for. You are all typing away imagining little So and So all growed up and having a good chuckle at mom’s wit all while feeling so very loved because you went through the trouble documenting their every fart. You’re thinking So and So will be all “I used to poop in the bathtub??! Awwww, Mom that’s funny, and by the way, thanks so much for cleaning it up all those times. Do you want to go for a walk and hold hands?”
Well folks, I hate to burst your blogger bubble, but in reality, it will likely go down a little more like this -
(boy version) – “MOM! Get that shit off the internet right NOW. Take down your stupid website, you’re so GAY. And MOVE ‘cause I want to play World of Warcraft with Blaze (it will be around 2018 by this point so your kids will likely have friends named Blaze or Titan since we have had a rash of very unfortunate baby names of late. For some reason there is a growing group of parents who, in an effort to prove their own uniqueness, name their kids something completely ridiculous. Really, this trend needs to stop now or we’re going to end up with a Prime Minister named Spirtall. Yes, believe it or not I actually know a kid with that name),
or
(girl version) – “OH!! MY!! GOD!! I can’t believe you would tell the WHOLE WORLD about me and say such totally embarrassing things. Take it off right now or no one will ever talk to me again and you totally SUCK!!” (stomp–stomp–stomp–stomp–stomp-stomp- SLAM).
No, my little blogging friends, what you are writing right now will not please your little ones at ALL. You know when they will like it? When they are in their thirties and have started their own blogs staring YOU. Who’s going to have the last laugh then?
Saturday, September 27, 2008
The Cool Kids Club
Yeah, yeah I know. Starting a blog a few short months after your best friend starts one is the cyber worlds answer to buying the same outfit or getting the same haircut. Yes, I’m guilty, but fuck it.
It’s only recently I have been introduced to the world of the blogger, and clearly I’ve been missing a lot. Some of the women are the internet who hold the stigmatized label of ‘mommy blogger’ are hysterical. That is clearly illustrated here, here, here, and not the least of which here.
This is not to say that I fancy myself some comedic genius, far from it. I do, however, have the burning desire to belong somewhere where I’m not going to get the one eyebrow when I confess that I put my kid to sleep the night before fully dressed because that buys me an extra 20 minutes of sleep the following morning.
Why confess that at all you ask? Well, I’m not entirely sure. Other than the fact that the daycare is totally on to me so the gig is pretty much up anyway.
Also, I should note that I work for the government. The daily minutia of bureaucracy can really get a girl down, and some of these blogs have kept my brain and sanity alive. Maybe that’s why I wanted to do this……to stop the atrophy.
It’s only recently I have been introduced to the world of the blogger, and clearly I’ve been missing a lot. Some of the women are the internet who hold the stigmatized label of ‘mommy blogger’ are hysterical. That is clearly illustrated here, here, here, and not the least of which here.
This is not to say that I fancy myself some comedic genius, far from it. I do, however, have the burning desire to belong somewhere where I’m not going to get the one eyebrow when I confess that I put my kid to sleep the night before fully dressed because that buys me an extra 20 minutes of sleep the following morning.
Why confess that at all you ask? Well, I’m not entirely sure. Other than the fact that the daycare is totally on to me so the gig is pretty much up anyway.
Also, I should note that I work for the government. The daily minutia of bureaucracy can really get a girl down, and some of these blogs have kept my brain and sanity alive. Maybe that’s why I wanted to do this……to stop the atrophy.
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