Belly Dancers Are Awesome

I am a belly dancer.  

There, I said it.  

It’s hardly a secret, but it doesn’t always come up in casual conversation.  And when the topic does come up, I get reactions from amazement (“I could never move like that!”) to confusion (“why would you want to do THAT?”) to the occasional awkward silence.  And shortly thereafter the question of why I love this so much. 

So, let me count the ways.

We know how to play.  Get a bunch of us together with a drummer, or even just a computer with a playlist and you’ll see several different styles of dance and lots of smiles and laughter.  The vast majority of us do this purely for fun.  It’s our stress relief, time for ourselves, and an outlet for creativity. 

We all have lives and jobs outside dance in a wide variety of professions, and each person brings a unique perspective to their dance.  We have conversations on everything from neuroscience to nursing to computer programming, and how to squeeze in the practice we need.  Although I have noticed a lot of us are in science or technical fields; maybe we need dance to balance our brains. 

We like to play dress up.  We pour hours of effort into creating a costume that meshes with our choreography and dance style. 

We encourage each other to constantly learn, not thinking less of someone just because we happen to prefer a different dance style.  And if a student eventually eclipses their teacher, we throw a party and celebrate. 

We help each other.  If someone is having trouble learning a move, we don’t smirk that we already know how to do it, but help her learn so she can join us.  

We believe that any body can dance beautifully, not just the young skinny ones.  We celebrate the fact that few of us are either young or skinny.  We may not fit a magazine cover’s definition of beauty, but we create something beautiful in our dance. 

I am fortunate to have such an awesome dance community to be a part of.  

New Year's Excuses

We all have at least one New Year’s Resolution, and in the coming months we will fabricate a plethora of explanations as to why we have avoided fulfilling our goals.

But no matter what rationalization we come up with, children are truly the experts when it comes to fabricating excuses.  They’re creative, inventive, and sometimes even plausible. 

Here are some of our gems from years past:

Me: “Joyce, why do you keep telling me "No, I won't do ____?" 

Joyce: "I'm all out of yes's."

I come up the stairs to find a balloon stuck to the wall with used green chewing gum.  Why?  

Joyce: "I forgot to throw it in the trash."

Marie, while bouncing frantically on the couch to keep herself awake: "I'm too tired to put on my pajamas!"

Marie, when asked why she knocked loudly on our door early in the morning: "I didn't want to come in and wake you up."

Me: "Joyce, don't throw rocks." 

Five minutes later: "Joyce, I told you not to throw rocks!" 

Joyce: "it's not a rock, it's a mineral."

Maybe we could learn something from their creativity.

The Island of Misfit Toys

It’s Christmas time, and in my household that means watching Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.  One of my favorite parts of the movie is when they visit the Island of Misfit Toys.  I always thought living there sounded like fun, because every inhabitant was so unique no one person stood out because of their peculiarities. 

Like those misfit toys, we all know when we don’t fit in.  We may not consciously be able to put our finger on exactly why, but unless someone is completely blind to the social signals of others, it’s pretty obvious when we don’t quite belong.  Children realize this just as well as adults, but may not be able to articulate why until adolescence or even adulthood.  You quickly learn to perceive what parts of yourself are socially acceptable to reveal, and which would be met with confusion, pity, or just plain incomprehension. 

It can be especially difficult if the group you feel the least rapport with is your own gender.  Anyone who has spent time with me knows that I pick up every interesting bug I come across, and have no problem discussing various stomach churning topics at the dinner table.  Unlike this family, finding a corn snake in our Christmas tree would result in the Best Christmas Ever.  These traits were usually met with a resounding “ew” from most girls, so I found the boys were usually far less grossed out by my entomological fascinations.  The knowledge that you have little in common with the majority of your peers make the few “fits” you do find all the more precious, though not always fully appreciated except in retrospect. 

We never completely grow out of our eccentricities either.  If we’re lucky, we learn to embrace and incorporate our oddities, and find other misfits to colonize an island with.  We are captivated by each other’s cabinet of curiosities, and are remarkably accepting of the peculiarities others bring to exhibit.  In comparison, we really find “normal” people rather boring.  We’re comfortable with who we are, and secure enough to not feel the need to either transform “normal” people into ourselves, or ourselves into “normal” people.

So come visit our island of misfits someday.  

You might fit in better then you think.    

Boys and Girls

“Is it a boy or a girl?” is the second question expectant parents are asked, after the obligatory due date query.  You may be told that boys are easier, and girls are drama queens, or that girls are easier and boys are a mystery.  But everyone has an opinion about what to expect from each gender. 

If you have a girl, her clothes are pink with ruffles; and if you have a boy his clothes have a variety of forest animals appliquéd on the front.  And if you choose not to find out the gender of your child before birth, you are inevitably given yellow and green clothes decorated with an array of zoo animals.

Then the child grows up a bit, and the first system of classification they learn is gender, quickly followed by socially acceptable “girl” and “boy” preferences, from both peers and adults.  When shopping for a child’s present, we do not typically buy a girl a Transformer or a boy a Barbie.  Most girls will happily dress a Barbie in a variety of outfits while the boys stage an epic battle with their Transformers.  But not every child fits that paradigm, and many will even say so.

The majority of people have the same reaction when confronted with a child who doesn’t fit their preconceived blueprint.  It usually involves a double take, then the hopefully unvoiced “what’s wrong with you?” thought, followed by confusion on how to respond.  Children are more perceptive than we give them credit for, and usually know they didn’t say the right lines.  They may backpedal and say they really do like Barbie, or defiantly stick to their original statement that Barbie is dumb and dinosaurs are awesome.

Whatever the child’s response, they are left with two choices:  Act the accepted role, or endure the consequences of improvising.  Each path has its inherent difficulties.  The first may lead to superficial conformity and hollow camaraderie, but quickly becomes too laborious to sustain.  The second is certainly more challenging, perhaps even lonely at times, but the authentic nature of the role makes it far more rewarding.

So I never tell my daughters that they shouldn’t be interested in something because of their gender, and rarely tell them they can’t do something they dream of.

But there is one exception they learned the hard way:  

Only boys can go to the potty standing up.  

A Closet Full of Books

Some people have a closet filled with clothes to reflect their every mood.  They have outfits for formal occasions, cocktail parties, business meetings, everyday work attire, a spectrum of casual clothes, exercise clothes, and the ratty old t-shirt we wear to clean the bathrooms.  And we won’t even start on the shoes. 

I am not one of these people.  I often long for the simple components of men’s attire: a tuxedo, suit with tie, dress pants and blazer, khakis and a golf shirt, or shorts and a golf shirt.  Add a half dozen pairs of shoes in brown or black and you’ve got a complete wardrobe.  Women’s clothing lacks this rational formula, and seems to involve every possible accessory.  I will probably never figure out the intricacies of this system, but I consider it an accomplishment that I finally own shoes that are not white or black.

What I do have is a “closet” full of books.  I have funny books and dramatic books, fantastical and realistic, old familiar authors and new exciting finds, and I love them all.  I put the same effort many people pour into planning their wardrobe into planning my books.  Going on vacation means I must be sure to get enough books so that I don’t run out of things to read.  For me, that would be tantamount to forgetting to pack enough underwear (and probably harder to replace).  I found myself seriously considering packing fewer clothes so I had more room for books.

There are books you impulsively pick up and devour quickly as a light snack, others are so decadent they must be savored in small bites.  Some make you laugh out loud, others make you want to cry.  You may identify with the characters so much that they inspire you, or you may be fascinated by how different they are.  You eagerly anticipate the next installment in a series so you can revisit them like old friends, and sometimes find yourself wishing you could introduce people to them.   You may even convince yourself that you are now educated about such obscure topics as Behavioral Economics and Social Neuroscience.    

So, my books will keep flowing on and off of my reading shelf, visiting for a while then returning to their home at the library.  And maybe I will eventually extract my nose from a book long enough to dredge up the recollection that I desperately need to procure something I can actually wear.

Simplicity

Some days we long for "the simple life", especially when ours seems so frenzied and frantic.  Coordinating the family’s schedule makes us long to hire a manager, and we don’t know how we ever lived without smart phones and multiple Google calendars.  We drive our children on a daily safari, trying to pack as much stimulation as possible into their lives lest they miss a possible opportunity.

We have so many possessions we have to rent a storage facility or even buy a bigger house, yet we cling to these things because of their perceived value, turning a blind eye to their true cost. Our children hoard their treasures like a dragon, and getting them to part with their baubles (even if they haven’t noticed them in months!) frequently involves getting singed. 

Even vacations have turned into endurance contests, leaving everyone exhausted and unable to enjoy the family odyssey.  We return home not refreshed and renewed, but even more overwhelmed and exhausted. The knowledge of the imminent trek through the resulting mountains ranges of laundry only adds to our weariness.

Maybe we should take a step back, and peek at what our children find joy in.

Of course some of their ideas are better than others...

The Art of Negotiation

So last week our dishwasher died.  Pretty good timing actually, since for the week we didn’t have one either we had already planned on eating out or only I was in residence.  We finally go pick one up, install it, and promptly go back to our usual couple of loads a day pace. 

And we are left with a box.  A gigantic, pack-up-the-whole-family-and-ship-us-to-Texas size box.   

So Joyce and Marie start brainstorming what to do with it.  And the negotiations begin:

Joyce: “I want it to be a tent, to camp out in.”

Marie: “I want it to be a house, with windows and a chimney.” 

They agree with surprising speed that they will put the box down sideways (so it will be a tent with doors), paint it, and draw windows on it instead of cutting them out.  Next, we cover the outside of the box with a roll of white paper, and bring out the painting supplies.  But before they paint, they argue for at least 10 minutes about what to decorate the house with.  They finally agree to divide up the sides of the box and draw on different ones.

Joyce: “I’m drawing windows on my side.”

Marie: “I’m drawing windows on mine too.” 

Marie then walks around to observe Joyce’s progress, “Joyce!  You didn’t draw your windows right, they don’t look like mine!”  And she promptly fixes what she perceives to be the error…

Joyce: “Marie!  Don’t draw on my windows!  I don’t want them to look like yours, I don’t like how yours look!”  Joyce promptly grabs an eraser and tries to undo Marie’s “help,” while complaining loudly that Marie needs to stop drawing on Joyce’s side.  Marie is just bewildered why anyone wouldn’t want her to help make things conform to her picture of perfection.

And the painting finally commences.  They agree on a color each (different of course), receive their brushes, and begin, all the while commenting on how their side is going to look the prettiest.

Marie peeks at Joyce’s side again.

Marie: “Joyce!  You painted over your windows!  Why did you do that?  That isn’t right.  Look at mine, don’t they look better?” 

Joyce, in a very annoyed tone of voice: “No.  I like mine better.”

So they finally finish painting their respective sides, and impatiently stand there and fidget while watching the paint dry.  All the while discussing how and why each one’s work is superior.  

Their plan is to sleep in the box, so they drag pillows and blankets downstairs and arrange everything.  Before we leave for a lovely evening of adult conversation, I inform their babysitter of their plans, and fully expect to come home and have to carry 40-50 lbs of limp sleeping child upstairs to their bunk beds.  But, upon arriving home before I turn into a pumpkin, she informs me that they both decided to sleep in their beds because the house was too spooky (and I’m sure the hard floor had something to do with it too). 

At least they finally agreed on something.