Monday, August 18, 2008

The Blended Family Ballet Continues

If i wrote about every time I felt satisfied about my performance on stage in the blended family ballet, I would not have enough time to experience the joy during each of the many beautiful moments. When however, my performance is not satisfactory and the audience hurtle rotten vegetables at me on stage, I instantly wish to express it.

Sometimes, the tiara I wear while I dance, pierces my scalp. I continue to dance while thorns dig through my soul and pierce my heart. Of course I am an expert at hiding my pain from the audience because "the show must go on". This time however I created disappointment by throwing a piece of rotten vegetable from the stage back at the audience. What a raucous. How dare I?

Time to nip back stage and change costume. The fairy wings and magic wand is retrieved from the well used wardrobe. I'll powder my face to hide the tears while most of the audience is ambivalent to a miracle being performed on the stage. Meantime the two littlest audience members sit perplexed in their seats. I have discovered that they are not so easily tricked by my costume and stage makeup.

They see into the centre of my being because the step mother's tiara and tutu is invisible to them. These little ones see me as naked as the day I gave birth to them. I'm currently at a loss as to how to incorporate their needs in my performance. Do I dance for them while dodging the hurtled rotten vegetables?

2 comments:

Unknown said...

You are an absolute legend. I have such admiration for the delicate steps you dance, and am in awe.

Hugs,

xoxoxxo

Twinkle said...

It is now the beginning of October. I was wondering if you were able to dance to "Happy Birthday to You" near the end of last month.

Marriage on it's own is a dance. Motherhood another. I can't contemplate the complexities of a whole blended family as many dances as there are dancers.

I've just remembered, technically I do have a blended family. I always wonder if we will one day get a call or a knock on the door from a young woman wanting to know her father. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

hmmm better find some dancing shoes.