Let Me Essplain....
I changed my entire blog address to avoid getting unwanted comments. I had to give up my precious little blogsite and name.
I chose Dancing Without Rhythm for a few reasons. I thought about dance in my own life. I can't dance. Can't even come remotely close to imitating dance. It's bad, very bad. I never went to church dances, school dances, community dances, tribal dances, rain dances....none. It wasn't enjoyable for me.
When I was a senior in college my roommates and friends coerced me to go to the final dance of the year with them. But, before I conceded, I locked myself in my room, turned on a Lauren Hill CD and stood in front of the mirror and danced. I looked really ridiculous. And I felt ridiculous. But I kept dancing. And then I felt less ridiculous and realized slowly, that a lot of people look ridiculous when they dance, like, pretty much every white person I know....but I just had to let it go. And I did. I went to the dance and had a BLAST. I danced like Janet Jackson before the wardrobe malfunction. I danced like Madonna before the Kabbalah. I danced like Britney before KFed. Okay, no I didn't.
Without really realizing it, that was a turning point for me in my life. I just swallowed my fears and insecurities and let myself go. I had such a good time as a result. And even if people were on the sides shaking their heads or wondering just what sort of wire-short I suffered from, it didn't matter. When does that matter?
The other thing I thought back on was before I was married and had children. My cousin who I am very close to, is a school teacher. She used to unwittingly get caught up in the district mandates to raise test scores or meet parents demands to turn their low-IQ preshies into Einsteins and "forget to dance." She actually would dance with the kids and it was always so wonderful for her. And she'd say to me, "Remind me to dance with the kids." She meant it figuratively and literally. Remembering to dance always made her school year so much more enjoyable.
Then I had kids. And taking care of them is overwhelming some days. It's mundane other days. It's necessary every day. A lot of times I'm insecure and don't know what the heck I'm doing. Are my kids being stimulated enough? Are they developmentally on track? Are they eating enough, getting the right nutrition? Do I baby too much? Am I too stern? Did I handle this situation the best? Will I keep the therapist industry in constant demand with how I raise my children? And sometimes I stand in front of the mirror and worry that my parenting might look ridiculous. And then I remember to just dance. Who cares what other people think. I love my kids more than anything. My desire to do right by them is bigger than my inability to remember to feed them. Or not feed them Cheezits 3 meals a day. And sometimes I am too stern. But I know how to say I'm sorry and I'm always willing to change. And sometimes I do baby. But if you saw those precious little cheeks and pouty little mouths, you probably wouldn't do any differently. I would be proud to have my children go to therapy because that means I helped them be smart enough and confident enough to say "I may need a little help here."
When I remember to dance with them, it really does make everything better. The overwhelming becomes manageable, the mundane gets replaced with toddler giggles and unrestrained shrieks of glee, and the necessary becomes enjoyable.
I hope at least one of my kids gets rhythm from a throw-back gene, because it certainly won't be coming from the immediate pool. In the meantime, I'll continue in the tradition of rhythm-less dancing, with much gusto. Because I can.
I chose Dancing Without Rhythm for a few reasons. I thought about dance in my own life. I can't dance. Can't even come remotely close to imitating dance. It's bad, very bad. I never went to church dances, school dances, community dances, tribal dances, rain dances....none. It wasn't enjoyable for me.
When I was a senior in college my roommates and friends coerced me to go to the final dance of the year with them. But, before I conceded, I locked myself in my room, turned on a Lauren Hill CD and stood in front of the mirror and danced. I looked really ridiculous. And I felt ridiculous. But I kept dancing. And then I felt less ridiculous and realized slowly, that a lot of people look ridiculous when they dance, like, pretty much every white person I know....but I just had to let it go. And I did. I went to the dance and had a BLAST. I danced like Janet Jackson before the wardrobe malfunction. I danced like Madonna before the Kabbalah. I danced like Britney before KFed. Okay, no I didn't.
Without really realizing it, that was a turning point for me in my life. I just swallowed my fears and insecurities and let myself go. I had such a good time as a result. And even if people were on the sides shaking their heads or wondering just what sort of wire-short I suffered from, it didn't matter. When does that matter?
The other thing I thought back on was before I was married and had children. My cousin who I am very close to, is a school teacher. She used to unwittingly get caught up in the district mandates to raise test scores or meet parents demands to turn their low-IQ preshies into Einsteins and "forget to dance." She actually would dance with the kids and it was always so wonderful for her. And she'd say to me, "Remind me to dance with the kids." She meant it figuratively and literally. Remembering to dance always made her school year so much more enjoyable.
Then I had kids. And taking care of them is overwhelming some days. It's mundane other days. It's necessary every day. A lot of times I'm insecure and don't know what the heck I'm doing. Are my kids being stimulated enough? Are they developmentally on track? Are they eating enough, getting the right nutrition? Do I baby too much? Am I too stern? Did I handle this situation the best? Will I keep the therapist industry in constant demand with how I raise my children? And sometimes I stand in front of the mirror and worry that my parenting might look ridiculous. And then I remember to just dance. Who cares what other people think. I love my kids more than anything. My desire to do right by them is bigger than my inability to remember to feed them. Or not feed them Cheezits 3 meals a day. And sometimes I am too stern. But I know how to say I'm sorry and I'm always willing to change. And sometimes I do baby. But if you saw those precious little cheeks and pouty little mouths, you probably wouldn't do any differently. I would be proud to have my children go to therapy because that means I helped them be smart enough and confident enough to say "I may need a little help here."
When I remember to dance with them, it really does make everything better. The overwhelming becomes manageable, the mundane gets replaced with toddler giggles and unrestrained shrieks of glee, and the necessary becomes enjoyable.
I hope at least one of my kids gets rhythm from a throw-back gene, because it certainly won't be coming from the immediate pool. In the meantime, I'll continue in the tradition of rhythm-less dancing, with much gusto. Because I can.
