I know, you’d think it would be ignoring my toddler while she stares at me and I continue to write a blog post, completely refusing to make eye contact with her because then she’ll start talking to me and it will be totally distracting – but that’s not what makes me feel like an awful, total failure of a mother.
The Nutcracker comes every year, and it’s a beautiful Chicago tradition and spectacle and it’s not even expensive. ($20 for adults and $10 for kids) and I have been trying to figure out the right age for S to see it for the first time.
Then, when I’ve decided she’s just not quite old enough yet – at five – to sit through that kind of performance AND not be totally freaked out by the evil rodents I start to wonder, “Did I decide she wasn’t old enough yet because I don’t want to deal with the city and the people and the sold-out crowd?”
After I’m done beating myself up for my crowd anxiety issues, I think, “Oh, hey, I need to put her back into a ballet class. I said I was giving them a break from activities over the summer and I’m pretty sure that November can officially be considered not summer anymore.”
So why didn’t I put her back into ballet at the end of summer? School started, for one. I felt like I wanted her to focus on her new school and the bus and all the little things she would have to get the hang of now that she’s in Kindergarten. But how long does that really take?
Ultimately I am either in the “not yet” place or the “too late” place. That magical sweet-spot of “oh NOW” never seems to be part of my plans. I’m not sure why that is. Maybe it’s because I live in a world of eternal distractions.
S, now that she’s in Kindergarten is hardly distracting at all. There’s a schedule. A routine. It’s the one year old that kills me. You can only put so much routine on a toddler/baby. They aren’t into that.
The other night I was on the phone at 1am and I heard this weird slapping sound. I didn’t think anything of it and then out of nowhere the baby was standing at the ottoman of the chair I was sitting on. I screamed, because babies are SCARY in the middle of the night when they’re where they’re not supposed to be. The slapping I heard? Her hands on the floor while she was crawling silently from her bed, through the hallway, through the playroom to open the living room door to crawl up to the ottoman and then stand up.
All in total silence (other than a few hand slaps) – that’s creepy, man.