Tonight, I left the house, after dark, for the first time in yonks. Got all toffed up, with a bit of fuschia lippy, my cheetah print throw and cowboy boots (which I can only wear when I know I will not be power walking or doing a ho-down – they squeeze my baby toes to sudden death.)
It was the third and final show of the school Revue. The fourth night (if you include dress rehearsals) we argued about the hair-do, the make-up and not being late. And C saw it through to the end.
I was proud of her, though. She did what she needed to do – kept her head up, and gagave a ‘hello Pa, hello Ma’ – wave, when she spotted us and the Gran-ster in the rows of old and wrinkly faces.
You see …. she was a bit miffed, bacause a few weeks back, she was relegated to the back row of the chorus line, and to be honest (and I am not saying this because she is first generation me), I don’t think she got her full 15 minutes of fame. In fact, that day she told me she wanted to withdraw from the show and pay her R100 back to the school, because nobody would even see her and she would not get a chance to dance in front.
I just thought she was being difficult and told her to suck it up, and that since she had committed to doing it, she must follow through – a valuable life lesson for my 9 year old. Sorry, I can be hard that way.
And tonight, I saw that she was not over-exaggerating – she was stuck in the corner, at the back, with a white T-shirt on, against a white backdrop – we couldn’t even get a decent pic of her. And those kiddies in the centre stayed in the centre, swaying their asses for the full 6min49sec show. This was however, not the norm for the rest of the show, where they varied the kids performing, and everyone got their chance in front, where Ouma could take a pic.
Now, what to do … I am the type of mommy that sits quietly by and doesn’t make a scene, 90% of the time. I don’t really like to moan – because I secretly fear that then there will be prejudice against my kids. I am also trying to teach them that it is up to them – what you put in, is what you get out; and that you can’t have your Mummy doing everything for you. (Tonight, I also made my 13 year old, in all his awkwardness, go and shake hands with his ex-principal, and ask how it was going.)
Should I be truthful with C, and tell her that she was right, and that I hardly caught a glimpse of her, and that the choreographer was mean and stupid not to give everyone a bit of limelight? (And that, maybe, if I had be more involved, she would have got more airtime? Coz, it is always you-know-who’s kids up there … and I must admit, I am not in the thick of things there, at the school.)
In the meantime, though, I gave her a big hug after the show and told her she did a great job, and she looked good, and she smiled so nicely, and we were super-proud. (Even though, it was in the dark, back corner of the stage …)
Being a kid can suck. (Sorry, this is a bit of a Mommy Blogger post…)