I don't fit with the other ballet moms. I can't stand being in the lobby while they're all chattering about schools, their kids, teachers, etc, etc. At first I tried injecting myself into the conversations in a friendly, non-desperate way, but these women don't even make eye contact with you. It's strange, very stepford. Frankly, it's not chatter, it's cackling. The room erupts with noise when classes are switching over and it drives me nuts...like I gotta get Peanut into her class and get myself out the door before my head explodes. I got over the being friends with ballet moms a few years ago, so I know that's not the reason why it bothers me. They're not caddy or snobby, it's something else. It's like a time warp in there!
Last night there was an extra class. We don't normally have class on Wednesday nights...and it was at 6:45...being so late, and on a school night, many of the parents had to bring their other kids. I immediately went outside to hear myself think.
I was wound up over a busy day at work, super busy.
I was wound up over working late, driving up to Plano to get The Peanut, driving back down to Dallas to go to ballet...and then having the drive back up to Plano to take her to Robert D's. Fuming is more like it. If this were a soccer game and the situation reversed, I would have taken her without a second thought.
I was wound up after a 20 minute car ride with Peanut telling me how bad the soon-to-be new Mrs. D's spaghetti was. I don't encourage these conversations. I mostly just listen.
I was wound up because I was hungry...gotta stop eating early lunches and no afternoon snacks.
I was wound up because I breezed through my last menstrual cycle and it felt like I had Post MS yesterday.
I was wound up because Robert D pulled another switcheroo on our weekends...and worked it to where the weekend he has her, he'll be out of town and his mom will have Peanut. It's a long story, but she's pretty much not going to see her dad for 4 weekends in a row (I've got the first two weeks of June). The "Decree" doesn't work for her in this instance...and the likelihood of his calling me up and saying, "Can I have her this night?" is nil.
I was wound because I felt "little"...my dad never asked for extra time with us...and I hate (1) when I wind up about stuff and combine old and new feelings, and (2) when I recognize this and can't stop myself from doing it. Being self-aware sucks this way.
I was so wound that I actually said out loud to my mother on the phone, "I hope his plane crashes". I'll admit it, I have that thought all the time.
So there you have it, me...wound up...perhaps it has nothing to do with ballet parents.
Ever notice how wound (as in a boo boo) and wound (as in wound up) are spelled the same way?
Replace round with wound and this song is now in my head:
You spin me right wound, baby, right wound, like a record, baby right wound, wound wound.... Kind of the Elmer Fudd version of this song, white?