My poor kids have put up with a lot lately. They've had a mother who hasn't been well enough to take them to the park or the playground. They've stayed at home on lovely sunny days while Mummy had (yet another) lie down. They haven't had a walk with the pram and the dogs in months, simply because Mummy hasn't had the strength.
They've never once complained. Every time I have tried to apologise for their quiet weekends, or for missing out on walks or outings, they pat my arm and tell me not to worry. Whenever Phoebe leaves the house without me these days, she'll hug me and tell me, "Have fun, Mumma, and have a rest. Ok?" It's enough to make me want to weep.
Yesterday I was thanking the stars and the moon above for my children's resilience, because I was the worst stage mother who ever walked. Not that I was ever any great shakes to be an uber-stage mum. But considering that my children had been building up to their ballet concert for a nearly a year, my efforts were pretty shabby.
Christian took them to the final rehearsal at the theatre at 11am, and pretty much the only thing I reckon I planned properly was the pasta lunch they returned home to. Had I been my normal chipper self, their ballet clobber would have been organised by last Wednesday, there would have been time spent attempting to make Phoebe's hair curl properly, and I would have invested quite a bit of energy into making the day run well. As it happened, quite a lot was left to chance.
Although still in my jarmies after lunch (well, all of my pants are tight around my incision sight, and it hurts to get dressed, ok? That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it), I managed to label all of the stuff they needed to take with them, while they slept (and the Mouse took all of the carefully labelled gear out of the boxes). I checked that they both had their ballet and tap shoes, the right socks and snacks, and miscellaneous makeup and hair fripperies. I had thought I was doing quite well, until I realised that it was 3pm, and I had exactly 45 minutes to do Phoebe's hair, get organised for our babysitter, and find some sort of outfit that wouldn't press on my tummy.
Before I went into the hospital for my surgery, I had attempted several times to do Phoebe's hair in the required arrangement of curls that her ballet teacher desired for the concert. Despite the fact that Phoebalina's hair is naturally curly, she is what you might describe as "follicularly challenged". In other words, she doesn't have much hair. So doing anything more than brushing it is always an ordeal. And it never, ever curls when you want it to - it simply fuzzes into a shriek of furz.
Yesterday, I asked Daddy to chuck her in the shower at 3pm, towel-dried her mop, tousled her curls with my fingers, and spray-blasted the lot with a can of hair spray. And for almost zero effort, it looked pretty good. (And the curls lasted until the end of the concert, which was all I needed). Although the ballet mummies had been asked to do light makeup so that our cherubs would be seen to their most advantageous light on stage, I took the definition of 'light' fairly literally...after all, how much make up does a four year old with perfect skin need anyway??
Amazingly, Christian and I managed to leave Maisie and get the big kids to the theatre on time, with everything they all needed. I know, right? I'm shaking my head too.
And when the audience was seated, and the curtain rose, I stopped thinking about all the palaver it took to get there, and all of the kafuffle about hair curling and lipstick and the right pair of tights, and simply watched. Because it was absolutely wonderful.
Phoebalina was part of the "Tinies", a group of girls so impossibly small that the audience collectively clasped their hands and grinned in anticipation when the lights came up on their starstruck faces. Phoebe and her classmates were dressed as tiny brides, which sounds dodgy but it was actually really cute. They clattered their way around the stage on their tap shoes, completely out of time and without any real formation. But they managed a wobbly line in which they showed their rapt audience a few tap moves, before tapping off the stage in a flutter of veils and relief.
Jack had two dances - "The Trolley Song", which was a catchy little tap number performed to the beautiful sounds of Judy Garland, and a jazz dance to "The Cat In The Hat". Our boy stood centre stage and smiled as though he had been born for that moment. I just kept looking at him, trying to work out where my baby had gone. After one performance, Jack had been asked to lead his group in a bow, but they didn't follow him as they were supposed to. Which meant that grinning Jack stood by himself, at centre stage, with his arms spread to the applause. It was at that moment I realised that this was only the beginning of something huge!
The entire ballet school came together after interval to perform "Sleeping Beauty", and it was beautifully done. Phoebe was dressed as a tiny pink flower, and performed a sweet little dance with one of the fairies that blessed the Princess Aurora. Jack was a mouse that helped change Cinderella's rags into a beautiful dress (it was a conglomeration of fairy tales so that every one had a part...it made sense at the time!). After wielding an enormous pair of yellow scissors, Jack-the-Mouse ran giggling across the stage, almost splitting his sides he was laughing so hard.
My two big kids love going to ballet every Saturday, even when they are absolutely exhausted from a big week. I've always loved the idea that they were doing something physical and creative that they enjoyed. It never occurred to me until last night that they were a part of something much bigger than that. Aside from the hair, makeup and costume palaver, I watched the performers aged from four to eighteen years old last night and saw a team. I saw teenagers willing and happy to help young children. I saw dancers who had worked exceptionally hard to learn some very complex dances. I saw a bunch of happy, healthy kids.
The older girls and boys dancing last night were teenagers very clearly loving what they were doing. Not only were they fit and healthy, dancing with strength and stamina, but they were full of passion for the dance. I saw my two young children looking up to them, learning not only how to dance, but to be part of a team, to have courage, to be proud. And I was so very proud of my two little dancers, and every grinning, stumbling step that they took.
I am taking an oath, right here, right now, that at next year's ballet concert I will be a much better stage mummy. After all, if my kids can put on a performance like they did last night, they at least deserve a half-decent parent behind them. I will have everything organised the day before the concert. I will have all of their gear labelled (properly, and not just with a blunt Sharpie texta). I will have nutritious snacks prepared, rather than the dry biscuits and an apple I threw in their boxes yesterday. And I won't be muzzed on Endone by then either (probably...) But I'll probably still skimp on the makeup. And unless Phoebs grows some hair over the next 12 months, my hairdressing skills will probably still total a can of hairspray applied liberally. But at least it will applied with love.
1 comment:
Don't be so hard on yourself. You were there when they needed you to be. Next year you will be in a better place.
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