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.

hat hair

This week, “take a shower” has been towards the top of my methodically thought about but hastily scrawled to-do list. This item has yet to be completed or crossed off. This is such a routine conundrum that I hesitate to even waste a blog post on it’s description. I guess the idea of waste is really irrelevant given that this blog is free and that I can do little else while holding a lightly sleeping baby in anticipation of a soon-to-awake-and-likely-to-be-grumpy toddler. I could read, I suppose.

Water is plentiful now, after a barrage of steady rain last week. The water heater’s pilot has been re-lit after being snuffed out by nearly gale-force winds. Though today has been rough with two sick little ones and a disturbingly filthy house, my mood is good and I cannot claim depression or lethargy as a barrier to my much needed bathing session. I even have a new, yummy bar of soap. So what’s the problem? Competing priorities with limited resources of time, I guess, and personal hygiene simply hasn’t made the cut. It’s not like I’m running the United Nations or something, so what could these mighty “competing priorities” be? That explanation would be a waste of a blog entry. You’ll just have to take my word for it.

I am in rather desperate need for a break from my blessed children. An ideal solution exists in the form of my favorite weekly dance class (yes, it is the only one in town) which takes place this evening. My hygiene deficit begs the question, “can I inflict my malodorous and matted self upon my dancing peers?” The room will be overheated and bumping with bodies. While I could imagine deluding myself into thinking that a hefty swath of deodorant would camouflage my transgressions, nothing can fool me into believing that my hair mats are insignificant. I will be forced to remove my hat; an accessory that hasn’t left my head in several days. What the absence of hat will reveal is a lot to consider. Is my desperation for a break greater than or equal to my shame about my disheveled state. Will I dance tonight, hair pies and all? Tune in tomorrow for the exciting conclusion to today’s mini-drama, Hat Hair of the Hurried Housewife. I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.

P.S. Feel lucky that my camera is still languishing in the hands of the Canon repair department. Otherwise, my tremendous hat hair could be the last thing you see when you close your eyes to sleep tonight.