|Princess Merida-Xena-Athena, rebel warrior goddess|
Internet, I've had a week. I think it'll be smoother and calmer by the end of October. And I can't write in great detail about it for now, but let me just say: my sense of humor and patience for troubled people was challenged really hard this week. And I had an experience that reminded me: it's really important to watch what we say to each other and how we say it. I am not perfect by any means, but I generally try to really think hard before I decide to end a friendship or say something really hurtful to another person or accuse someone of something based on my own weird paranoias. When I do make those choices, I'm prepared to accept consequences that come as a result. Because all choices have those, you know. And you should be ready to accept whatever shows up as a result of your choices.
But I also think it's never an accident who we cross paths with, that everyone is here to teach us something about ourselves or the world around us and the people we share it with.
This week, I got a really big reminder of that, and I namaste'd that person all over the place (after I visualized them being smacked in the face by a runaway, out of control big Mack truck, of course). Because they brought this lesson home for me, really loud: Hey, Amy-see how it feels when someone does this to you? Don't ever do that to others, not even little out of control kids in your class, okay? This soul who did that to you is still failing this part of Life, but you went to Oprah's amaze-balls Life You Want weekend last month, so you know better, and you know what's going on here, what you need to do now. This person is a teacher for you, learn from them. Think about hearts, in ways this particular teacher can't. See the light in this teacher because they can't see it themselves, and also because that light is in you (namaste).
I'll do better than I have in the past, Universe. I promise. And namaste to the troubled mf'er who helped me resolve to do that.
Okay that's done. Moving on.
So at this moment, I'm watching Star Wars Rebels. My favorite male actor (hello, Jason Isaacs!) does the voice of The Inquisitor in it. This is not why Star Wars Rebels is on my television right now. Most of the time, if Jason says, "Jump!" I go, "Is this high enough, Jason? I can go higher if I practice some more!" So when Jason very subtly suggested this Star Wars Rebels thing was super awesome and Twitter just about blew up this summer when Star Wars fans were shitting their pants after he admitted to being The Inquisitor, I was all: uh, hey Jason, sorry! I'm going to respectfully pass on this job you did. I'll watch you get blown up in a war, burn down churches with kids in them, and beat up bad guys, but cartoons? No can do, mon ami.
I am not a big cartoon/anime fan. I have never been a cartoon fan, in fact. Even as a child, when all the cartoons were airing on Saturday mornings, I'd get so annoyed at Wil E. Coyote, because come on, Wil E.! Get with the program--Roadrunner's SCAMMING you. AGAIN. This is so irritating. I am irritated for you, Coyote. What the hell is wrong with you?! Frustrating. I can't even talk about Daffy Duck--my eye twitch will start up again. Even as a small child, I was more into The Brady Bunch or Bionic Woman or Wonder Woman and other real live action people shows. Once, I had a choice between Scooby Doo and Lawrence Welk, and I totally chose champagne bubble music over the dog. (I sense some of you are completely aghast and horrified at my child self right now--I think I've mentioned before: I was eccentric.)
I feel this way about graphic novels. I don't get them. Some people love them. I don't get them. A novel is words, isn't it? A comic book is words + pictures but has more of a magazine-y feel. A graphic novel seems to be confused about who and what it is--it kind of wants to be a book, but it also wants to be magazine-y. If graphic novels were human, I bet they'd wear the kind of undergarments that would shock their grandmas and make them question their whole realities.
Wait. Where was I? Mean people...Star Wars...Looney Tunes...Brady Bunch....freaking out your grandma...oh right! So my child has been seeing commercials for Star Wars Rebels for weeks and weeks now, and when it came on, she danced around like a crazed, coked up zombie and insisted we watch it. So we started watching it (then she fell asleep). But before she fell asleep, she was absorbed in it--she likes the green girl with the weird green ponytails (her description, but I concur). I'm so happy when stuff like this happens. Like, tonight she demanded Harry Styles posters for her birthday so she can kiss him every night before bed...fifteen minutes later, she was obsessed with getting a real light saber because it makes such a cool noise and she wants to use it in battle. In these moments, I am hyper aware: wow, just when I think I'm raising a future Cinderella...phew! I got Merida! Or Xena, Warrior Princess! Or Athena, Warrior Goddess! Or all three, rolled into one!
So Miss M had her first dance tonight, and I now recognize it was absolutely no accident she chose to go as Athena, Warrior Goddess. I watched my small Athena dance with wild abandon and I had to sit through a One Direction song during which Athena (Warrior Goddess) screamed her crazy little goddess head off because Harry was assuring her she doesn't know she's beautiful, and she jumped around like she was at a frickin' Beatles concert and this is 1965. But I also watched a tiny little Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle pretty much hang out all alone at the dance while M and highly excitable little friends danced in circles around him, and I was all: oh, poor little wallflower turtle guy! My (social butterfly) kid did what comes naturally to her: kept trying to engage him. I so identified with the child--he was all: leave me alone, I'm just going to stand here. I understand children like that, having been one once upon a time.
Which is why I almost (ALMOST) walked up to him to ask if he wanted to come sit with me (where all the parent wallflowers were sitting, because the dance floor was a terrifying place of chaos and torpedo-like small bodies. No, I'm actually being very serious: TERRIFYING....small bodies were dive bombing around the dance floor. I did do the cha cha slide for a bit, but then I was rejected by my line dance partner Athena, warrior goddess for Elsa, frozen queen.) But I left Ninja Turtle alone, and just watched to make sure no overly excited little rugrats tried to make him feel bad about his need to stand cemented like a statue at all times. From time to time, Miss M would attempt to get him to engage, he would object, then she'd shrug and hop off to her little dancing queen group. He'd look at his Ninja Turtle watch and continue to stand.
At some point I realized, wait, no! That Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle isn't standing because he just prefers to observe rather than engage...that Turtle is standing because he has no clue what's going on, and he keeps looking at his watch because he's waiting for someone to come get him. Is he...oh my god, he's here all alone! He got dropped off by his mom who promptly LEFT the building, like she was Elvis or something. Hey, moms and dads! Don't drop your tiny kids off and leave them all alone! Because then they have to call the cops on you, and that's Bad News. Which is precisely what happened.
I watched a very sad scene play out, but I also watched some amazingly professional educators really take care of one confused little turtle tonight. Planet Earth, are you aware of how much your educators protect your children, how they love them without judgment or reservation? Please be aware of this, every time you type an angry anti-teacher letter to the editor or jot off a mean note to your child's teacher; those people have some really humongous hearts and children's best interest as their focus. I hope everything turned out okay for Leonardo (or whichever Ninja Turtle he was).
Gosh, my heart is still hurting for that little guy right now. I'm trying really hard not to judge the situation, because I don't know that family's circumstances. Maybe they misread the big, bolded letters on the invitation: PARENTS MAY NOT DROP OFF THEIR CHILD AND LEAVE THE BUILDING. I know sometimes I say "DON'T RUN!" and my small charges only hear this part of my command: "RUN!!" so I have to U-turn it around and say instead: "I MEANT WALK!!"
Or maybe there was an emergency and the mom thought she'd be right back but it was bigger than she anticipated. It's hard for me to wrap my mind around leaving my child alone somewhere--three times tonight I had to frantically search the place for Athena because I couldn't see her, and I was sure someone dressed as Zorro or a chess piece had taken her.
And also, seriously? Don't you want to see your little progeny hop around like a maniac, giggle with friends, gorge on ice cream, and try to dance Gangnum Style in such a way that you take a million videos of it JUST so you can pull them out in 10 years to amuse their date right before they go to the Homecoming Dance? (What?? Are you JUDGING me right now? Listen: I get yelled at on a daily basis for things that make absolutely no sense to anyone over the age of 6 1/2. This shall be my revenge. My well-planned, exacted, highly orchestrated revenge. And it will taste sweet, and I will revel in it, and I don't care what you think.)
At any rate, I've just come from an evening of unadulterated cuteness, and I have a story percolating because of it. I'm not posting this blog entry until tomorrow morning, but I had to write it right now! Because I love my little girl's school--this is what public school OUGHT to be, and this school feels like it has an atmosphere of kindness, from my parent perspective, and I am very very concerned with kindness these days. And I fell in love a little bit with the principal tonight--what a neat lady. I think Miss M is in a really good place right now, and that makes me happy. Because I really believe in public school, but y'all know how much angst I have about the direction it's been going lately. It feels so good to know my budding Athena is in good hands Monday through Friday, August through May, in spite of what the politicians are doing.
It looks to me like she's surrounded by Xena Warrior Princesses, Athenas, and Star Wars Rebels, all training her well. (And she's made some silly, awesome little friends there, too.)
The moral to this post: Hurt people tend to hurt people, so don't let them pee all over your dance party. They can pee AT your dance party, but not ON it. Be far too busy enjoying the blaring One Direction songs and fishing for gum drops with toothpicks to worry about why someone's standing off in a corner urinating all over themselves, muttering about having their vindication. And always talk to Ninja Turtles and give them hugs, whenever you get a chance. They may really need you to.