Damn you Disney!

So we went to Disney on Ice last night. Let me first say that I went as a child and I have really fond memories of seeing Linda Fratianne skating next to Mickey and Minnie in her gold sequined dress, but beyond the adventure of seeing a live show I never really though much about it. As we sat in our seat I couldn't help but be moved by all the happy parents and kids. Before the show had even started I was caught up in the beauty of the experience, an experience that included all races and classes of people who's only common link was their devotion to their kids. And then the show started. Balloons and lights and singing and I was hooked. It was so theatrical, so special, and when Mickey and Minnie finally popped out of the giant box in the center, and the whole arena erupted in applause and cheers, I couldn't help myself, I cried. Yes, it is true, I cried at Disney on Ice.

I was just so moved by it all. The whole time I was watching I was thinking about how if we could all just see Disney on Ice there would be no war, no famine, no poverty. We could all hold hands and sing, and be happy. I thought about Walt, and if he had envisioned the peace on earth that could be had if we all embraced the Mouse. Of course I heard my brother's voice in my head saying that Disney was a soul-sucking corporate giant who feed on the innocence of children, but I was so able to dismiss that thought, as I watched the joy in my daughters' eyes as all the princesses skated around with their princes. I had worked myself up so high that it was a very hard fall when the last number came on.

It was presented as the best time of the year, a time when everyone is happy and joyous and we are all connected, and then they skated out the tree and the presents and a fire place with goofy falling in as Santa. I was so disappointed! I mean how can we all live happily ever after in a Disney world if only the Christians are allowed. That would mean pretty much 80% of the people I know would be left out. The Christmas theme snapped me back to reality and and it was with a heavier heart that I watched the finality.

This morning I woke up, and in-spite of the obvious insult to all my friends I was somehow back on board the Disney train. We listen to some Disney music on the way to school and we had a great morning. I dropped Sadie off at school, Charlotte and I did some chores, we went to the doctor's, and even though Charlotte got a shot, she didn't cry. I was again climbing that ridiculously high ladder of joy, and I started to think maybe if I just kept all the good things about Disney in my heart, then my dream of a perfect utopia could still exist.

We picked Sadie up at school and while I was talking to one of the teachers two boys had cornered Charlotte and were poking her with some wood chips. Now in my head it was a gang of boys and they were stabbing her with sharp shivs that they had whittled out of a giant oak tree, but I assure you my reaction at the time was more in-touch with the reality of the situation. I told the boys that wasn't nice, I talked with Sadie about speaking up for her sister, and I alerted the teachers to keep an eye out. But in my heart I had taken those boys and kicked them right out of my Disney dream and watched with joy as the crocodile from Peter Pan ate them up!

In the end, it turns out, I am no better than Disney on Ice. I too have tremendous room to love, but apparently it is with limits. Damn you Disney for reminding me that I am human, in a human world, surrounded by people not puppets and plushies; .......although considering that last part maybe I should be glad.

BSC=Beautiful, Secure, Confident

Today was the first day of the new job, teaching at BSC. I really spent no time worrying or wondering what things were going to be like or how I would do, because all my energy was spent thinking about my clothes. I got lost in the idea that I had to invent a new version of myself to put in front of the class; as if having the right sweater, shoe, purse combo, was going to be content enough to sustain me through the 100+ hours that I have to teach this semester.

How wrong I was. As I was driving to school with my Ed Hardy bag, my H&M retro sweater, my Banana Republic pants, and my Feragamo shoes I realize I should have spent more time on what I was going to teach today than on my outfit. Though I looked good, I felt awful! I was in a panic. I realized that it really didn't matter what I wore, the students would see right through my costume and realize that even if I took off my clothes I still was covered in MOM, and quickly they would come to see that I was not smart enough to teach them anything except how to play nice, eat broccoli, or change a diaper.

But the one thing I have learned as a mom is how to ask for help, so I called on my standard posse of positive supporters and of course true to form, they were all there to tell me that I was in fact smart enough, and that this was exactly where I was supposed to be. Several of them reminded me that I was born to act and teach and that even if I hadn't been doing it for a paycheck, I hadn't really left the career behind while doing my time in stay-at-home land.

With my renewed confidence I walked onto campus and into my building, only to find.......

no one. Not a single person in the building. The panic started to set in again, maybe I got the day wrong, maybe I was in the wrong building, maybe this was all a cruel joke. I wandered around and after climbing many stairs I found the classroom where seated inside was Wendy, my first student, and looking more nervous than I. We talked and I found out that she was petrified about speaking in public, and she was very worried about being the oldest person in class( this was Wendy's first day back at school to finish her degree after a 20 year absence).

And so I kicked it into gear. I don't know if it was the mom in me, the teacher, or the actor, probably all three, but I do know that I was in the right place, at the right time, and that it worked. I felt secure and confident , not to mention beautiful, and I think Wendy left feeling the same.

Au revoir les Americans

I am moving to France. Pack my bags, get me on the plane, and who the fuck cares if I ever come back. All this because America Totally sucks!

Today I spent an hour on the phone with Sallie Mae, trying to understand why they are legally allowed to steal from me, wrote a letter to my Representative about how Sallie Mae is a thief. Contacted the Plainville police to fine out why they removed the plates from my car, then went to the RMV to sit for three hours to try to renew the registration on the car to get the plates back. While at the RMV I tried to argue with them that I should be allowed to renew my license which expires in a week, but they say that I can’t because they don’t have proof that I am legally married. ( By they way it will be five years in three weeks). Then back to Plainville to pick up my plates, I haven’t eaten, I haven’t had coffee in three days, and I haven’t completed any of the chores on my list, some of which need to get done in order for me to start work on Wednesday. Then on the radio I was listening to Fresh Air and they were speaking to someone who has experience with health care systems around the world and he was talking about all the other countires in the world that have universal non-profit health care, and that is when I decided I am moving.

I choose France because 1. universal healthcare 2. I could probably skip out on my loans and they would not find me 3. let us not forget coffee and pastry on every corner. Big deal I don’t speak the language, who cares that my family will miss me, and I am sure it doesn’t matter that I have no job or a place to stay, those are all details that can be worked out later. But what would I be giving up?

As I looked around the RMV I was struck with how cool is it that here we are in a room, all people, all ages, all incomes, and all races, and we are all having the universal experience of waiting at the RMV. Together we have a common enemy, and though we don’t really speak to one another, you can feel the connection that each and every one of us feels as we pointlessly and hopelessly wait, and there is something kinda romantic about that. Only in America, right?

I wonder if they have a RMV in France?

Greetings, New You!

After much debate and dragging of the feet I have decided to embrace my "official" return to work this fall, and for the first time I am excited. It has caught me totally off guard, but I have to say I can't wait to start. And to what do I owe this excitement? Could it be a change of heart, a better attitude, a reality check? Nope! I owe it all to a medium pair of black sequins leggings.

Today was really hot and being the dumb asses that we are who mistakenly think we are saving the planet by not turning on the house AC, we decided to cool off by taking a drive into the city to pick up my new glasses. On the relatively quick trip the girls fell asleep in the car leaving us with some downtime. Mike decided to stay in the car with the girls and enjoy the AC and a fantasy football magazine while I decided to take a walk up and down the street. I found myself wondering what store to go into, what craving of my senses to indulge in, grab a coffee, look at art, and before I even knew what was happening I was walking into H & M because of a pair of black sequin leggings I saw in the window.

Let me just end the suspense now by saying, yes I did try them on, no I did not by them. But there was something strangely liberating about those pants. I realized while I was in the dressing room that I was going to be going to a job where my husband's jeans and t-shirts would not be a suitable ensemble. I was going to be around human beings who were not going to spill, or step, or shit (literally) on me. I would be able to wear something nice and probably be able to keep it nice for at least four hours. And it was in that moment that I remembered that dressing myself and picking out clothes was fun. I spent the next 20 minutes, until I got the call saying the girls were awake and crying, trying on every single impractical, sequined, seethrough, sexy thing I could grab, and I was reborn.

I am really looking forward now to September 2, formally known as D-day, but now affectionately called, Me-day.