Advent Calendar: Day 19


Today's Advent selection offers you a couple of options. There are many lovely illustrated versions of The Nutcracker, which most of us know as a ballet.  Here are two versions of the story in written form -- both are lovely.


The original story, The Nutcracker and the Mouse King, was written in German by E.T.A. Hoffman in 1815, and is much longer and more involved than many folks realize. If you are interested in the full [translated!] text, this edition, illustrated by the great Maurice Sendak of "Where the Wild Things Are" fame, is a great choice. The pictures are full of detail and weird whimsy, great to pore over and explore.



If you have younger readers/listeners, an abridged version of the story may be just the thing. This edition, re-told and illustrated by Susan Jeffers is a good one. I have recommended this telling of the story before -- I think it's very pretty.

And I would also encourage you to go see a performance of the ballet and luxuriate in the gorgeous Tchaikovsky music. In multiple dressing rooms across America, someone is strapping on her pointe shoes right now. Go see it!

Why I suck OR it really does take a whole damned village

OK, so here's the thing: I have so many things I want to tell you that I think my head might explode. We spent a week at the beach so that's a whole lot of fabulous to discuss; and I still owe you a report about the sparkles and glamour that the girl in charge and I experienced at the CAPPIES Gala.

But first I feel obligated to share with you a sort of tragic math equation. It turns out that:

the sum of dogs X (fine and delicate tulle of a ballerina tutu)
minus [absent and oblivious Liz] / the square root of "shoot me now"
= $$$ + Reason #57 why (I SUCK)

See, the sunny girl was supposed to wear this lovely confection of satin and tulle in the big year-end recital. Unfortunately the hellhounds did not receive the memo about how the recital costumes should be wearable for the actual recital. They came upon the fluffy and delicate tutu in the sunny girl's closet and proceeded to dig into its fragile beauty with all eight paws.

What should have looked like this . . . .

. . . ended up looking like this when the hellhounds were done "exploring" the tutu scene.

People, when I saw that tattered tutu, I had a true out-of-body experience; believe it. And the sunny girl cried, which should tell you something , since -- as her nickname implies -- she is typically pretty Pollyanna-ish about the way of the wily world.

I, of course, assured her that I could "totally take care of it" and she immediately regained all of her sunny good humor and faith in humanity.

Meanwhile, I attempted to safety-pin the shredded costume together, and quickly began to hyperventilate, as I realized that 1) I did not have the skill or wherewithal to fix this disastrous situation by myself, and 2) we were scheduled to leave for a week-long beach vacation within 48 hours and would return just in time for the sunny girl to perform in the recital. There was no time built into this schedule for a costume disaster; I needed to make this problem go away -- fast.

And here's the thing: there are so many wonderful people in the world. First, Memere (Lisa's mom -- I named my sunny girl in her honor) immediately and calmly said, "Don't worry, Liz. I've got this." She can fix anything. And then a lovely ballet mom who doesn't even know me said, "Don't worry, loser mom that I don't even know. I've got this." Apparently she can fix anything, too. So this means two people immediately volunteered to repair the tragically damaged costume.

And then the sainted Miss Linda (director of the ballet studio) said, "Don't worry, Liz. I've got this." And Miss Linda got on the phone and worked multiple miracles, and a brand new lovely costume was delivered to the studio within 72 hours, with no drama. And Coleen (who said, "don't worry, Liz. Your friends have got this.") picked up the new tutu and delivered it to my house while I was at the beach.

So the sunny girl and I returned from a relaxing vacation, and she danced in the recital ( she was terrific, of course) and neither one of us even broke a sweat. Because when it comes right down to it, Hillary Clinton was right: it takes an entire fricking village to raise my child -- or at least to get her through a damned ballet recital.

Step aside, middle school -- we're all done with you here!

So I don't know about you, but I find middle school to be a very tricky proposition, especially for girls. Academically kids are thrown into multiple classrooms during a day for the first time, and into courses that demand more and more of them -- and they encounter teachers who cut them less and less slack. On top of that, it seems like the "mean girl" phenomenon really kicks in to high gear right about 7th grade, and too many intimidated urchins who once said whatever was in their heads or on their hearts just shut down. Too many of them feel like they have to wear a mask -- all day, every day.

And then there's puberty -- that bitch! She whacks our girls over the head with so many changes all at once that I am convinced most of them feel itchy in their own bodies every minute of the day -- and then she stirs up a big batch of hormone stew that makes our sweet girls cranky and sad and giddy and worried and passionately in love and on the verge of tears -- all at the same time.

Middle school sucks.

And that's why the sunny girl is my hero. My tall and graceful ballerina has danced her way through three years that could have sucked her soul dry. Instead, she laughed, sang, twirled, and went rock climbing -- always knowing when to strike a dramatic pose.

She chose great friends and made good decisions and is more than ready to be a Bulldawg. Look out, C.D. Hylton High School: the sunny girl has three more days of eighth grade left, and I am here to tell you that she kicked middle school's ass.

Something's not right about this . . .

So the sunny girl loves to dance. From the time she could toddle, she twirled her way through life; a two-year-old in a tutu can dance anywhere she wants to, has always been my motto. She used to spin along in the frozen foods section of the grocery store, and has been known to fling her arms out gracefully as she takes her seat in church. To this day, she gives off a very Isadora Duncan air, except without the free love (the sunny girl is only thirteen) and also without the part about being strangled to death by her own flowy scarf.

Well, a lifetime of dancing means that we buy a lot of dance shoes. It was fabulous back in the good old days, when I could pick up a pair of ballet slippers and some tap shoes for twenty bucks at Walmart -- but those days are long gone. The sunny girl has grown-up feet, so we get to trek over to Heather's Dance Boutique.

Let me just say that a dancer who walks into Heather's for the first time feels a little like Harry Potter the first time he entered Ollivander's Wand Shop. Stacks and stacks of dance shoes surround the famous Heather herself, as she kneels at a dancer's feet. She is unwilling to pronounce herself satisfied with a pair of pointe shoes until the ballerina has tried on multiple sizes of multiple styles by multiple makers: Blochs, Capezios, or Russians? Serenades or Supremas? Size 6B or 7A? I know that she would nod her head in complete agreement with Mr. Ollivander: "The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter." Substitute a couple of words in that sentence and you'll understand why the sunny girl tried on 37 pairs of pointe shoes before Heather would sell us a single pair.

But here's the thing about ballet slippers and pointe shoes: while each pair costs approximately the same as a good pair of basketball or running shoes (ballerinas are athletes, no joke), unlike other athletic shoes, they do not come ready to wear. No, no! The ballerina mom must pay close to one hundred dollars for these airy confections of silk and glue, and then take them home and sew on the ribbons and elastic that are required for them to function at all.

Do I strike any of you as someone who enjoys sewing?

This is my sewing box; it consists solely of the items necessary to sew 1) ballet shoes and 2) merit badges. People, I have made many a kick-ass Halloween costume, but you can bet your Aunt Pat that I used glue and staples, and a little smidge of duct tape. I have made a kitty-cat, Sacajawea (with papoose, thank you), and several versions of Neil Armstrong, and never once did I so much as thread a needle -- much less put on a thimble.

I mean, come on! A thimble?

I do love my ballerina, though . . . .

And those shoes look pretty damned good.