if peacocks could dance

It's no secret that I teach dance.  Mostly contemporary classes, a little ballet, jazz on occasion and tap if the class is of the beginner variety or times are desperate.  My tap repertoire consists only of dancing along to Al Gilbert records and ceased when, at the age of 11, I was called upon to perform a tap solo to what I'm pretty sure was "Santa Baby" dressed in a sassy Ms. Claus outfit.  Think Mean Girls rendition of "Jingle Bell Rock" replacing their whore boots with white character heels outfitted with taps. I'm sure it was a little less seductive but definitely just as ridiculous.  

Being a dance educator comes with it's fair share of luxuries; I wear what could easily pass as pajamas to work, there's an abnormal amount of rolling around on the floor and Rinn gets complimentary preschool dance lessons. Let's not forget that what I do fills me with such elation that it seems hardly fair that I get paid to do so.  Doing what you love is a blessing, being able to do it in sweatpants, well, quite simply, there are no words.

There may come a time when Rinn complains about being carted off to a 10am dance class, whines about having to sit through hours of rehearsal or objects to spending his weekends surrounded by screaming girls in fake eyelashes who survive solely on rhinestones and aerosol hairspray; but if we're in agreement with the studies claiming a babies awareness of sound and movement commence early in the womb, he's probably predisposed to this life considering I taught well into my 35th week of pregnancy. It probably doesn't hurt that all this involves him being gushed over by 30-some-odd young ladies.   

Just as male peacocks use their brilliant feathers to attract a harem of hens, my son unabashedly uses impromptu song and dance routines to woo women of all ages.  Am I concerned that my 3-year-old already experiences impaired judgement when it comes to the fairer sex?  Absolutely.  But at least his courtship is kind of hilarious. 

musketeers pee in their pants

This may come as a surprise to most of you but this blog didn't exactly pay the bills.  To give you some perspective, I could probably afford the sales tax on a pack of gum with what I raked in writing this ridiculous thing.  Perhaps if I published a post more than once every 18 months I could swing a multipack. The point being, writing is a hobby; dance, whether it's teaching it or doing it, was always what kept the creditors at bay. 

However, it was brought to my attention on a recent getaway to my motherland that there are a few fans out there jonesing for a dose of "Hot Mess Mommy."  Also I lost a pair of used underwear somewhere between Target and my front door today and thought to myself "everyone in the online world MUST hear about this" so I'm throwing caution to the wind and staging a comeback.  

Underwear has always been kind of a struggle for me.  One day it's inside out, the next it's backwards and then there was the time that I took it off mid-outing with a former boyfriend in a horribly lame Basic Instinct rendition. Whoever decidedly stole my coat that evening ended up with an awkward bonus in the pocket.  Today's loss was substantially less sexy in that I just couldn't be bothered to put them back on after taking them off to tan. 

Don't judge, life is hard sometimes.

It would appear that my son is on par to have similar struggles considering he is freshly three and has yet to wear a pair because, boys and girls, we have yet to master potty training.  I have one of those strange children that finds using public toilets fascinating but when at home can't take a break from terrorizing the house with a foam pirate sword pretending to be a member of The Three Musketeers long enough to take a leak. 

After a few infuriating months I've succumbed to a more laissez-faire approach hoping that all those people who preach "one day it will just click" have a clue. I really don't want to someday be buying adult diapers for the both of us (which I'll undoubtedly put on backwards and inside out)

"Underwear be damned!"