battement wins

well.. you guessed it, I took my filthy self to dance class and let the sloppy battements fly. several generous slathers with the deodorant stick helped. I carefully removed the nearly attached hat from my sweaty head to reveal the aging remains of two forgotten braids. Attempts at unhooking them were unsuccessful so I mashed them together and ruthlessly shoved them into a barrette as though I had intended this for them since their inception. I cleverly applied a little lip balm and a clean shirt bearing the word “impeach” as a diversion and persevered to class. I needed to dance and I did. No shunning has occurred.

Last night, the shower could be neglected no longer. We had an engagement at the Grange. The Malaysian children’s choir had journeyed across the world and over the mountains to sing for our tiny community in the middle of nowhere. The least I could do was bathe for them.

Leading the choir was a short, taut woman who spoke at length between jolly holiday songs performed my disciplined children wearing blue kilts, pink vests, red bow ties, and furry scarlet santa hats. The kids would finish a rousing show choir style rendition of “deck the halls”, replete with synchronized dance movements, and then the leader would remind us that in her day, little girls were drowned at birth. Then they’d launch into “joy to the world” and we’d return to the leader’s lament, this time her statement that Malaysia is a “cultural cemetery”. It was all very confusing and full.

It’s amazing how my perception of self-indulgence changed after having children. Pampering myself used to mean getting a massage, going backpacking, eating out a luscious restaurant, heading for a weekend in the islands, or getting a nice haircut. Now, a seven minute hot shower with two small children making noisy demands of me from behind the steamy curtain feels like a full day at the spa. I should really do it more often.