The weight of uncertainty seems particularly heavy tonight.
I don’t know whether it’s because of uncertainties of global events like the ones today’s news cycle brought, or the uncertainty of this Great Depression II that seems permanent, or the personal economic uncertainties in this house. Or some combination of all the above, which is most likely.
(Before our mothers call and text us, we’re generally fine. There’s nothing new that you aren’t already aware of, just more writing on the proverbial wall, this time in a Sharpie marker by Ebenezers who have no concept of how their words and ideas affect others, how what was thrilling for one adventurous child will be a living fucking hell for one living in the structure of Aspergers, and how their actions can reopen childhood scars.)
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|Wonder Woman boots at the Hip Hip class tonight.
We got pedometers at work yesterday, courtesy of our benefits company. I love it, and I’ve become a little obsessed with checking my steps and calories burned. I’m way too sedentary; working at home will do that to you quickly, and I’ve thought about trying to walk a little more in the mornings, while the autumn weather is still conducive to doing so.
There was a situation this week that makes you question someone’s humanity and if they ever had any. The kind that makes you question everything, really. I’m probably not the only one wondering what is going to happen.
We are not superheroes.
The company with the duck commercials came into our conference room and did their job well by making me worried about short-term disability, long-term disability, accidents, cancer, and every disease listed on the exclusions page that I don’t think I have but that – who the hell knows? – could be lurking. If I mention sciatica on the blog, does it mean that it is pre-existing?
|Hip Hop class.
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Betty is in a play this fall at the same theater company where Boo was in two productions. She’s passionate about performing, has no qualms about being on the stage, is kind of a natural ham.
It’s Haunted Family Night Out at the theater tonight, and her cast is performing a number or two from their show. A preview of sorts, a dry run for the real thing in a couple weeks.
I sit in the audience and I watch her dance as one of the Seven Dwarves (she’s Happy) and I worry about next semester’s tuition for her lessons that she loves, if it is something that will still be able to remain in the already-tight budget, if we will be here. I cannot stay in the moment, cannot embrace it as much as I want to and that makes me even sadder. I don’t know how to do that. I always have one foot in tomorrow.
We watch a sampling from an improv class, and I’m in awe of these incredible kids (it’s a teenage improv comedy troupe) and their sheer, raw talent in this small theater. I’m in awe of their passion for their art, for their ability to allow it to sweep them away from their own uncertainties. I want some of that. I’ll have what she’s having, thank you.
After the performance, there are mini-lessons to sample. Betty tries Beatles Rock Band, then a drum lesson to be more like Ringo. A singing lesson with a young man whose voice is Grobanesque. A few bars on the piano, a few strings on guitar from a guy who looked like the ghost of George (as in Harrison).
And then the dancing. Betty samples a hip hop class. Moms are invited to try a mini-Zumba lesson. I surprise myself by stepping out of the hallway where I’ve been peeking in and stepping into the room. The mirror doesn’t lie; I am uncertain and uncoordinated, my daughter woefully embarrassed. I’m not sure this is for me. Yet there is something about it where I can see how people might like it, how it might help relieve some of the uncertainty and stress. Not to mention cholesterol and pounds.
The pedometer on my hip silently moves upward, forward, counting out stepstepstepstepstep as I zumba through 10 minutes of what is for me some of the most intense movement in many a recent year. Betty goes back for another hip hop class, this time standing next to a girl whose moves are liquid confidence. I am watching someone who will be someone, I think. Someone who likely already is and I don’t know it.
“She’s so good,” I remark to the mother standing next to me, videocam in hand.
“She never stops,” she replies. “She is always moving. Always.”
copyright 2010, Melissa (Betty and Boo’s Mommy, The Betty and Boo Chronicles) If you are reading this on a blog or website other than The Betty and Boo Chronicles or via a feedreader, this content has been stolen and used without permission.
Thanks for sharing this post!