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I think it is not enough to dance like no one is watching.  I think we have to dance like no one is laughing.  Because, isn’t that what we’re afraid of?  We’re not afraid someone might see us doing something.  We’re afraid someone might see us doing something and judge us harshly for it.

Growing up, I had always wanted to be a cheerleader, but I never had the nerve to try out.  I’m still fairly certain I would never have made a squad given a) my inability to shout and wave my arms at the same time, much less do backflips and leap from the tops of pyramids, and b) my solidly c-list school standing (and that only because I was in the AP classes with the A and B list kids), but I’ll never know because I didn’t try.  I was afraid of being laughed at, so I pretended I thought cheerleading was stupid.  Cheerleaders of the world:  I think you are so awesome and would have given my eye teeth to wear your cute little uniforms.  Dentures are easier to get than onto a cheerleading squad.

In college, I decided I was finished with being afraid of other people’s laughter, and I signed up for cheerleading tryouts.  Now, you  have to remember that my best sport is swimming, and the fact that I am coordinated enough to do that is surprising.  I filled out the application form, i.e. lied through my teeth, saying I’d had plenty of cheerleading experience (you needed 4 years in order to try out) and might have even forged myself a letter of recommendation.  She’s got spirit, yes she do!

Clearly, you need more than spirit.  I did not make the squad, which is a gross understatement. 4 squad positions were open, with 1 alternate position.  5 girls tried out.  They eliminated the alternate position because I was so bad they couldn’t even let me sit sideline.  But I walked away incredibly proud of myself for trying, and am still glad to have had the experience.  Although, in retrospect I feel like I owe all those people an apology.  At least I helped them find the flaws  in their application process.

I’m fairly bold when it comes to new experiences, but I shy away from things that could be very embarrassing.  Things like singing the National Anthem as a solo.  I’ve always, always, always wanted to be the person singing the anthem before a ball game, but have never had the guts to try out.  That’s a hard song to sing, and I’m not Whitney Houston.  The potential for embarrassment with that one is exponential.

Yesterday, I saw that Lone Star Park was auditioning for National Anthem singers for the 2012 Thoroughbred Season.  I called them.  I asked for an audition.  I went out and sang like no one was laughing.

I’ll know in 3 or 4 weeks whether or not I was good enough to perform at one of the 50-some-odd races this season.  I already know I was representing the land of the free and the home of the brave, just getting my tuckus out there in front of a crowd of strangers, with a half second delay on the audio (I kept slowing down to let the nice lady finish the line she had just sung…ha!) and hands shaking so badly I thought I might lose a ring.

So that’s one off my bucket list, and something I can tell the grandkids.

(Y’all, I think I sounded pretty good.  At least, the delay sounded good to me.)

It’s a Federal Holiday, so I am off work.  That is, I have a day off from my paying job.  Today I am catching up on other important things, like cleaning out the car, cleaning the kitchen and living room, and soon I’ll be helping my mother choose some health insurance.

Thor accidentally got a day off from school.  I just assumed he was out since I was, and didn’t bother getting him up to go this morning.  As it turns out…  That’s all right.  He’s just spent an hour listening to NPR and learning (and asking excellent questions) about political campaigns and campaign ads.  He’s not going to get that in class, so one missed day is no big deal.

We got up early (on a day off, early is 8am) so we could get to the car wash/detail shop before the rush I expected after all the nasty weather we’ve had, only to find it closed.  I wanted to get the interior done because I’m driving people this week, and there is no need for anyone but you to know about my recent French Fry explosion.  The detail shop charges out the wazzoo to do the interior, but some things are worth walking a little funny.  Still, closed.

So, Thor and I headed to the do-it-yourself car wash and did it ourselves.  $3 later, we have a shiny, clean, buffed interior.  I was especially impressed with the ArmorAll Multi-Purpose Cleaning Sponge that I got out of the vending machine for $1.

One sponge got my entire interior, and my dash is looking really good now.  $1 on the vacuum got my whole car, trunk space included.  That single dollar put 5 minutes on the clock.  The last dollar was for a lint free towel, also out of the vending machine, and I used it to wipe down the interior again, and get the bits that I didn’t want to ArmorAll.

I did have a moment of confusion when I went to vend.  The vending center looks like this:

You put your money into the tiny rectangle in the center, and lights corresponding to the products available for the amount of money you put in start to blink.  You press your preferred button, and your product drops out of the larger rectangle corresponding to your choice.  Yes, the station attendant did come over and explain it to me, after watching me stare and pace for a little while.  In my defense, there were no instructions.  I mean, I could see where to put in my money, but I couldn’t figure out how my product was going to come out of that tiny rectangle.  It isn’t easily visible that the product will fall from the larger rectangle.

To recap:  $3 do-it-myself=really good looking car interior.

Still, nothing is going to help all the juice stains across the back seat.  Once upon a time, I had a toddler and a very long commute.  Who sells bench seat covers for baby-ruined backseats?

In other news…

I was invited to a Ladies’ Pokeno and Potluck party last week and had a really nice time.  I also had a really embarrassing time.  I joke about being dyslexic, but I have some real issues.  There are things that are just very difficult for me to do, and numbers are one of those things.  Some shapes give me problems as well.  I’ve been playing cards since I was old enough to hold my own hand, and I’ve have real issues with Spaces and Clubs since then, too.  You stick numbers next to them and…  Oh my lord.

Pokeno is a little like Bingo, but instead of numbers and letters, you have playing cards.  Instead of a caller saying, “B-2”, the caller calls, “Ace of Spades”.  And, instead of calling two or three times so that all the Blue Hairs have time to search out their cards, it is called one time and gone.  It moves fast.  It moves very, very fast.

The way my brain sees things…  Things flip and move.  So that Ace of Hearts I thought was on the right side of the card is actually on the left side of the card.  When I go to put my chip down on the right, the Ace of Hearts has moved, and I have to chase it down.  Takes me a few seconds longer.  Also, that 4 of Spades I thought I saw was actually a 4 of Clubs, but because it was next to a 9 of Spades, the Spade and the Club dance around.  See?  It gets challenging.

I’ve had this issue my whole life, so it is normal to me, and most of the time I can function at normal speed or better.  I’ve learned coping mechanisms and have learned to mask my weaknesses, but games like that just lay me bare.  My vanity doesn’t have a mechanism for that kind of coping.

The ladies I played with were very kind, and a couple of them were even slapping chips down on my card for me, and rather than letting me stumble over suits when it was my turn to call (I could either call or play, but I could not do both at the same time), called my games for me.  It was humbling.  It was also still a lot of fun, and I really enjoyed the company.

I promised to practice my suits if they’d let me play again.  Ha!

 

I haven’t done anything with Women Worth Knowing since last year, so readers may not be aware that at one point, we were collecting socks for elderly residents of nursing homes in DFW.  After a series of meet-ups, with me forgetting to bring the socks, I finally delivered the box to Renae Perry of The Senior Source last night.  70 pairs of slipper socks, to keep those wrinkled toes toasty.

While I have your attention, I do want to remind you that the elderly are frequently forgotten as they move into assisted living facilities.  If they don’t have family in the area, they may go the rest of their natural lives without ever having a visitor other than the people who are paid to look after them.  And if they are medicaid patients, without other incoming funds, they may not get the care that other residents get, whose families or finances make them more attractive to the community.  When you are looking at your giving, please consider sharing with the elderly in your area.  A Dollar Store donation of personal items (like shampoo, or toothbrushes, or body lotion–things that the residents of homes must provide for themselves, but may not have the money to buy) will go a long way toward making someone’s life brighter and easier to bear alone.

 

I am so excited to have gotten word that I was approved to work with the Dallas Area Rape Crisis Center on their Texas PEACE Project.

The Texas PEACE Project (‘PEACE’= Peer Educators Acting for Change and Equality) was created by the Texas Association Against Sexual Assault to empower and support youth activists across Texas, and their adult allies, to end sexual violence by creating social change. DARCC is spearheading one such group in the Dallas area. This group is designed to attract a dynamic, service-oriented group of young people who have an interest not only in helping DARCC, but in ending oppression in the state of Texas and beyond. The Dallas Area Chapter of the Texas PEACE Project is currently being considered for pilot status by the Texas Association Against Sexual Assault.

The PEACE Project is based on the following concepts: Youth have the ability to create social change in their communities, and in order to change the world, individuals must first change themselves. Because peer education is the most effective strategy for mobilizing youth to create change, the PEACE Project offers a tiered system of mentorship: Advisors (age 31+) mentor Allies (young adults age 18-30), who offer guidance to Ambassadors (youth grades 9-12). Through participation in the Texas PEACE Project young people learn leadership skills, how a nonprofit organization works and how to develop, promote and implement their ideas. Program participants will engage in activities that are designed to create a critical consciousness of the various forms of oppression (such as sexism, racism, homophobia and adultism) that create space for sexual and dating violence to exist. The PEACE Project addresses each of these issues, in a curriculum composed of learning modules voted on by the participating students.

Something to know is that if you are in the DFW area,

DARCC is currently seeking volunteers to be active in this program as Allies (young adults age 18-30). If you are interested in promoting equality and ending all forms of oppression, then you or someone you know might be the perfect fit for this innovative mentoring program.

I am really looking forward to being involved with this program, especially through this dynamic organization.  I wasn’t self-aware, or self-caring enough to seek help with my own situation, but the bottom line is that my situation should never have been–and I honestly (with 20 years of distance, experience, and motherhood) believe could have been prevented if someone had taught my date-rapist to respect The No.  I hope that with this project, I can offer my small assistance in creating a world where No Means No, and it only needs said once.

In the meantime, please support your local rape crisis center however you can.  There are men and women, little boys and little girls who need a place to recover, and your local rape crisis center can help them overcome being victims, and help them live well as survivors.

 

I spend a lot of time saying “don’t”.  Don’t play on the stairs.  Don’t whine.  Don’t touch that hot curling iron.  As a toddler, I empathized that Thor lived in a World of No.  That’s a hard place for a baby to live.  I do try to balance out the negative with the positive and offer him alternatives, but some days–good lord.

The other day, he was standing on the rungs of my chair, mouth against my ear, and he screamed like something had bitten him.  Keeping in mind that he frequently makes loud noises for no apparent reason other than the amount of sheer youthful adrenaline pumping through his veins, with my ear ringing, I turned and bellowed at him not to do so.  After apologizing, he informed me that Daddy had poked him.  So what was I going to do?  Bellow at Daddy like that?

Bryan and I don’t talk to each other that way.  It’s very rare for voices to be raised.  Very, very rare.

I did, just to even it out, but everyone knew it was just for show.  Even just pretending felt wrong and uncomfortable.

I thought about it.  If I don’t use that tone with Bryan, who is an adult and could comprehend it, and who is too big to be intimidated by it, why would I use it on a small child, who hasn’t finished developing social skills, and who is still tiny enough to be intimidated by my towering 5’3″ frame?  When I put it to myself that way…

After a few minutes, and when we were all in the same room together, I apologized to Thor and told him just that:  If I wouldn’t talk to Daddy that way, I shouldn’t talk to him that way, and I was going to strive not to raise my voice like that at him again.  I did explain that it would help me to stretch my patience if he would give doing-what-I-say-the-first-time-without-whining a go.  We agreed on it.

I’m not some hippie who thinks you shouldn’t discipline your children, but I am some hippie who believes you have to model the behavior you expect from them.  How can I expect him to express anger in an appropriate way, if my response to him–in anger–is to snarl and growl?  I can’t.  I have to model and then enforce the responses I want from him.  It’s that or beat him with a stick until he complies, and I am absolutely the hippie who doesn’t believe in beating with sticks.

More than that, it’s mean to physically intimidate someone.  It’s mean to intimidate someone into being fearful.  I don’t want to do that to this sweet, only-partially-grown person.  I just hope I learned my lesson early enough that it doesn’t add a year to his future therapy.

As I type, Thor has found and employed something like a rape whistle and my ears are going to start bleeding at any moment.  But he thinks he is playing me a song, and I kind of owe him one for kicking him out of the living room when I needed ten minutes alone.  My ten minutes is up now, by the way.  Time to go read more of The Adventures of the Great Brain.