For very nearly my entire life, I have been surrounded by mirrors. I started ballet classes when I was 4, and from that point on I spent anywhere from 1 to 6 days a week in a large, empty room with full-length mirrors lining the wall. For some women, I'm sure this would sound like an absolute nightmare scenario... something akin to What Not To Wear's dreaded 360-degree mirror where they tell you just how awful you look (and most people tend to agree... I mean, how can you fight it when you can see your own awful-ness from every angle?). And of course there were times in my teen years where everything I saw in that mirror needed to be fixed. As a classically trained dancer, you are always checking the mirror to see what is wrong with the placement and positioning of your body, or how much higher your arm or leg should be. As a teenager, you start also noticing how much more narrow everyone else's hips are, or how tight that leotard is on your posterior regions, or how your legs would look so much better if they were just a little bit skinnier. I always tell people that it is amazing to me that I disliked my body so much more then, at my very skinniest (and I was VERY skinny at points in my life) than I did as I got into college, even though I didn't maintain my ballet physique.
But even though I was hard on myself as I progressed in my ballet training, I also got used to looking at myself in a very detached and analytical way. I was familiar with my body and what it could and couldn't do. I knew how to push myself to the limits of my physical capabilities. And as a ballet teacher, that has helped me to better understand my students, to learn their bodies and help them see how much farther they can push themselves without injury and with the result of a double instead of single turn, or a high grande battement to the side.
As I re-entered the studio these past few weeks, I wasn't sure how my teaching style was going to need to change as I become bigger and bigger. I'm pleased that I feel I can still teach in mostly the same way, just by pacing myself a little differently and not demonstrating with quite as much fervor as I might have before. However, I hit a wall when I tried to participate in the jazz and lyrical classes taught by our guest teachers for the weekend. My body just would not cooperate with me. I felt unwieldy and awkward... the movement was more frustrating than enjoyable. My hips were tight and my legs were heavy and everything just felt very foreign as I tried to move it. I'm disappointed to say that I pretty much just gave up on that first day, slightly shocked by the realization that for once I did not know or control my body.
Initially, my reaction was frustration and disappointment and even a little resentment. I let myself be upset for a little while, but the next day I woke up determined that I would participate in at least one full class, dancing to the best of my ability, proud to be able to do ANY of it while nearly 6 months pregnant. And I did. I strutted and kicked and turned my way through a jazz routine to "Poker Face" and it actually felt good. I moved differently, and my balance was off in my pirhouettes, but I was dancing. And I was dancing with my first baby. And as I checked my positions in the mirror, I thought that although it is not a body that I am used to, and it is very different than I have looked before, it is, in it's own way, beautiful.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Sunday, July 12, 2009
home improvement
Joe and I are both experiencing the nesting drive in very different ways as we settle into our new home and prepare for our new baby. None the less, although Joe may try to deny it, he too has been nesting. And as some of you may remember, nesting to Joe is a very dirty, no good word full of hidden and mysterious meaning.
For me, the need to make this new apartment a home has manifested itself in a number of ways. I have been much more diligent about cleaning now that I have such a lovely grime-and-dust-free slate to work with (we'll see how long that lasts... come back to me in a few months or so...), and also since my mother was kind enough to introduce me to the wonder of the 360 Swiffer. I have re-organized the closets since they were basically just convenient dumping grounds upon moving in and there was no floor or shelf space left in the nursery closet at all... I'm not sure, but I figure the baby might have some stuff that needs to go in there eventually. But the farthest my need to nest has led me so far is to Home Depot. I had seen some kind of home improvement show when I was in Augusta (that magical place where they have cable television) where they kept some existing counter space in a breakfast room and just stuck some tile on it to make it look fancy. This got me to thinking about the cheap little Ikea tables that we got to replace our chewed up coffee table. While I love having two smaller, moveable tables, they are not the sturdiest of things and were already getting scratched up by our laptops. In a flash of HGTV-inspired brilliance, I decided that I would tile said tables. And what is the most miraculous thing about this story is that I ACTUALLY DID IT. I went to Home Depot and batted my eyes at the tiling dude. He walked me around the flooring department tossing things at me and telling me what to do with them (Acryl-Pro, pre-mixed grout, scrape-y tools and smear-y tools, sponges, etc.) I laid out my little tiles squares on the tables, stuck them in place, grouted and cleaned them, and then stepped back and by golly if I had not pulled a friggin' Tim Allen or Martha Stewart or something. There might have a little extra white tile goop around the edges, but I'll be damned if those things wouldn't be selling for 50 bucks at Pier 1. (I'm a trifle pleased with myself...)
Now we come to the Joe part of the story (I know you've all been waiting, but I had to get my self-tiled-table story in here somewhere). While I was watching HGTV, Joe was hunting in his parents' house for his idea of the perfect addition to our home: a dartboard. Complete with fancy two-door wooden case with chalkboard score charts on the inside. Because I am a kind and loving wife, I agreed to to let Joe find a place for the dartboard in the living room. While some people might just pick a wall and hang the darn thing, Joe got on Google and found all of the appropriate measurements for a regulation dartboard: how high on the wall, how far from the throwing point, etc. Of course, being a man, he did not take into account what other items occupied the wall he chose and thank goodness I stopped him before he hung the thing right smack-dab up against a bookshelf where one of the fancy little doors couldn't even open all the way. Then, out came the measuring tape to figure out where the appropriate throwing spot would be in relation to the board. Fortunately, the place where our linoleum entry way meets the carpet is less than two inches off from regulation distance. Perfect and convenient, right? WRONG. Regulation is LAW, folks. And that means, silly wife, that we put TAPE on our new clean floor. For a DART GAME, we put TAPE on the FLOOR. I will let you deduce whether or not that happened.
So here we are, a few days later. The dartboard hangs in its place of honor and the tiled tables stand proudly in front of the couch. And while I am considering the layout of the nursery furniture, Joe is wondering if there is some kind of wall-mounted storage system for the hacky-sacks he has pulled out of their long hibernation.
For me, the need to make this new apartment a home has manifested itself in a number of ways. I have been much more diligent about cleaning now that I have such a lovely grime-and-dust-free slate to work with (we'll see how long that lasts... come back to me in a few months or so...), and also since my mother was kind enough to introduce me to the wonder of the 360 Swiffer. I have re-organized the closets since they were basically just convenient dumping grounds upon moving in and there was no floor or shelf space left in the nursery closet at all... I'm not sure, but I figure the baby might have some stuff that needs to go in there eventually. But the farthest my need to nest has led me so far is to Home Depot. I had seen some kind of home improvement show when I was in Augusta (that magical place where they have cable television) where they kept some existing counter space in a breakfast room and just stuck some tile on it to make it look fancy. This got me to thinking about the cheap little Ikea tables that we got to replace our chewed up coffee table. While I love having two smaller, moveable tables, they are not the sturdiest of things and were already getting scratched up by our laptops. In a flash of HGTV-inspired brilliance, I decided that I would tile said tables. And what is the most miraculous thing about this story is that I ACTUALLY DID IT. I went to Home Depot and batted my eyes at the tiling dude. He walked me around the flooring department tossing things at me and telling me what to do with them (Acryl-Pro, pre-mixed grout, scrape-y tools and smear-y tools, sponges, etc.) I laid out my little tiles squares on the tables, stuck them in place, grouted and cleaned them, and then stepped back and by golly if I had not pulled a friggin' Tim Allen or Martha Stewart or something. There might have a little extra white tile goop around the edges, but I'll be damned if those things wouldn't be selling for 50 bucks at Pier 1. (I'm a trifle pleased with myself...)
Now we come to the Joe part of the story (I know you've all been waiting, but I had to get my self-tiled-table story in here somewhere). While I was watching HGTV, Joe was hunting in his parents' house for his idea of the perfect addition to our home: a dartboard. Complete with fancy two-door wooden case with chalkboard score charts on the inside. Because I am a kind and loving wife, I agreed to to let Joe find a place for the dartboard in the living room. While some people might just pick a wall and hang the darn thing, Joe got on Google and found all of the appropriate measurements for a regulation dartboard: how high on the wall, how far from the throwing point, etc. Of course, being a man, he did not take into account what other items occupied the wall he chose and thank goodness I stopped him before he hung the thing right smack-dab up against a bookshelf where one of the fancy little doors couldn't even open all the way. Then, out came the measuring tape to figure out where the appropriate throwing spot would be in relation to the board. Fortunately, the place where our linoleum entry way meets the carpet is less than two inches off from regulation distance. Perfect and convenient, right? WRONG. Regulation is LAW, folks. And that means, silly wife, that we put TAPE on our new clean floor. For a DART GAME, we put TAPE on the FLOOR. I will let you deduce whether or not that happened.
So here we are, a few days later. The dartboard hangs in its place of honor and the tiled tables stand proudly in front of the couch. And while I am considering the layout of the nursery furniture, Joe is wondering if there is some kind of wall-mounted storage system for the hacky-sacks he has pulled out of their long hibernation.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
watch the ads and it's almost like paying...
Weblink Wednesday! I almost forgot that I actually have a fantastic link to share, which was sent to me by one of my college roomies. She knows me so well... a video that combines my passions for online social networking and musical theatre... *sigh*. It's like finding the Holy Grail or something.
halfway
The beach trip was fantastic and you should all be jealous that you weren't there. It was hot, it was sunny, the tide was high at just the right time, and the sunscreen was flowing in abundance. Oh, and of course there was chocolate. From the Chocolate Tree. Cause really, those of you who have been there, is there any other chocolate after you have had the experience of The Tree? Not really, no. BUT I am glad to be home, and the dogs were very happy to see me (kinda left me wondering what Joe DOES to them... or doesn't do... when I'm gone for so long...).
I have hit a few pregnancy milestones, namely that I am now officially halfway through this whole being pregnant thing. That means in about 4 and a half to 5 months, I will be blessed with a little squalling bundle to call my very own (and Joe's). As of right now, if it is a girl it will be a nameless little squalling bundle, but still. (We have options... we just can't narrow it down to ONE name. For the one child... that might be a girl.) Very exciting. I also no longer fit into any normal, non-stretchy or longer-in-the-front-than-in-the-back clothes and have had a few strangers ask me when I'm due. Now that is a weird occurrence the first time it happens. You get so used to having to tell people that you're pregnant, your brain kinda stops for a second in panic mode thinking "how do they know??? who told them??? how does this person know my life???" before you realize that you look like you're smuggling a canteloupe.
Cause I do now. That's the other milestone. I LOOK pregnant. And I swore I wouldn't be one of "those" people, but I may just have to do one of those profile shots showing off my new silhouette cause it is crazy. I'm very intrigued and amused and afraid and in awe of my little morphing body. It's amazing what we women-folk are engineered to do (well, I guess the ones among us who choose to and are blessed with the ability to procreate... don't want to step on anyone's toes here...).
In other, non-baby related news, I may join the ranks of the somewhat employed for a few weeks in July. My bosses want to have some summer classes for some of our new, younger company members. As you can probably tell from my last scintillating post, I am really looking forward to the change of pace and to having something meaningful to do with my day. Not that conversations with four legged companions about my opinion of how slimy Wes is on The Bachelorette isn't meaningful, but you get my drift...
I have hit a few pregnancy milestones, namely that I am now officially halfway through this whole being pregnant thing. That means in about 4 and a half to 5 months, I will be blessed with a little squalling bundle to call my very own (and Joe's). As of right now, if it is a girl it will be a nameless little squalling bundle, but still. (We have options... we just can't narrow it down to ONE name. For the one child... that might be a girl.) Very exciting. I also no longer fit into any normal, non-stretchy or longer-in-the-front-than-in-the-back clothes and have had a few strangers ask me when I'm due. Now that is a weird occurrence the first time it happens. You get so used to having to tell people that you're pregnant, your brain kinda stops for a second in panic mode thinking "how do they know??? who told them??? how does this person know my life???" before you realize that you look like you're smuggling a canteloupe.
Cause I do now. That's the other milestone. I LOOK pregnant. And I swore I wouldn't be one of "those" people, but I may just have to do one of those profile shots showing off my new silhouette cause it is crazy. I'm very intrigued and amused and afraid and in awe of my little morphing body. It's amazing what we women-folk are engineered to do (well, I guess the ones among us who choose to and are blessed with the ability to procreate... don't want to step on anyone's toes here...).
In other, non-baby related news, I may join the ranks of the somewhat employed for a few weeks in July. My bosses want to have some summer classes for some of our new, younger company members. As you can probably tell from my last scintillating post, I am really looking forward to the change of pace and to having something meaningful to do with my day. Not that conversations with four legged companions about my opinion of how slimy Wes is on The Bachelorette isn't meaningful, but you get my drift...
Thursday, June 25, 2009
heave ho
Here we go. I am going to write a blog entry.
Ready everyone?
I don't know... you don't look ready.
(Ok, took up sufficient space with that... now then...)
But seriously, I don't know what has kept me from blogging of late. I kept coming to the page and even sometimes clicking on the "new post" link, and then I would stare at the blinking cursor for a few minutes before shaking my head and going back to facebook. Once I even typed a few sentences! It could be that my life is simply not very blog-worthy right now. While I have enjoyed the break from teaching and the flexibility to make plans whenever I want, I have to admit that the unemployed lifestyle is a bit monotonous. My day usually starts off something like this:
9:30am - Wake up and try to force myself to sleep a little bit longer, cause really, what else is there to do in the morning? Not to mention I want to take advantage of the ability to sleep in for these last few months before it can never happen again.
9:45am - Finally succumb to the dogs staring at me plaintively from their kennels and my own need to visit the restroom and haul myself out of bed.
9:50am - Pick out the days pair of stretchy pants. Ah, pregnancy.
10am- Wrangle the dogs, feed the dogs, spend some time talking to the dogs.
10:30am- Computer time begins. This can last for a while. There are facebook status changes to make, blogs to read, emails to check, youtube videos to watch. If there are episodes of The Bachelorette (or Here Come the Newlyweds... or Lost... or Cupid...) to catch up on, that can be my entire morning. Sad? Maybe. But plenty of people waste away the summer watching bad TV. Right? RIGHT?
And then I usually invent some errands to run or brave the heat and take the dogs to the park. Lately I've been spending some time at the pool in the afternoons when it is just to hot to do anything else. Oh and I can do laundry now since we have a washer and dryer, so that's always exciting. Or dishes. If I'm lucky I have an obedience class in the evening or a doctor's appointment in the afternoon...
Oh, I'm sorry. You've fallen asleep. See what I mean?
Well, lucky for you, blogfans, I am going to the beach this weekend. This makes you lucky for two reasons: 1) I will be unable to blog for that period of time since the beach house is a place of no internet (and after this entry, you will probably be ok with that...), and 2) Interesting things happen on vacation! So I might have stories to share with you! And there might be pretty pictures! Oh gosh, it's enough to make me want to get up off the couch and dance around... But it's only 11:15. Computer time isn't up yet.
Ready everyone?
I don't know... you don't look ready.
(Ok, took up sufficient space with that... now then...)
But seriously, I don't know what has kept me from blogging of late. I kept coming to the page and even sometimes clicking on the "new post" link, and then I would stare at the blinking cursor for a few minutes before shaking my head and going back to facebook. Once I even typed a few sentences! It could be that my life is simply not very blog-worthy right now. While I have enjoyed the break from teaching and the flexibility to make plans whenever I want, I have to admit that the unemployed lifestyle is a bit monotonous. My day usually starts off something like this:
9:30am - Wake up and try to force myself to sleep a little bit longer, cause really, what else is there to do in the morning? Not to mention I want to take advantage of the ability to sleep in for these last few months before it can never happen again.
9:45am - Finally succumb to the dogs staring at me plaintively from their kennels and my own need to visit the restroom and haul myself out of bed.
9:50am - Pick out the days pair of stretchy pants. Ah, pregnancy.
10am- Wrangle the dogs, feed the dogs, spend some time talking to the dogs.
10:30am- Computer time begins. This can last for a while. There are facebook status changes to make, blogs to read, emails to check, youtube videos to watch. If there are episodes of The Bachelorette (or Here Come the Newlyweds... or Lost... or Cupid...) to catch up on, that can be my entire morning. Sad? Maybe. But plenty of people waste away the summer watching bad TV. Right? RIGHT?
And then I usually invent some errands to run or brave the heat and take the dogs to the park. Lately I've been spending some time at the pool in the afternoons when it is just to hot to do anything else. Oh and I can do laundry now since we have a washer and dryer, so that's always exciting. Or dishes. If I'm lucky I have an obedience class in the evening or a doctor's appointment in the afternoon...
Oh, I'm sorry. You've fallen asleep. See what I mean?
Well, lucky for you, blogfans, I am going to the beach this weekend. This makes you lucky for two reasons: 1) I will be unable to blog for that period of time since the beach house is a place of no internet (and after this entry, you will probably be ok with that...), and 2) Interesting things happen on vacation! So I might have stories to share with you! And there might be pretty pictures! Oh gosh, it's enough to make me want to get up off the couch and dance around... But it's only 11:15. Computer time isn't up yet.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
if you can make it there, you'll make it anywhere
Taxi from the airport: $25 and the moments of pure terror that you are about to die in a tragic car accident.
Hostel: $100 a night, the few hours of sleep you lose due to loud Hispanic conversation in the lobby and insistent, OCD, daily morning vacuuming.
Walking over 20 blocks, sometimes in the wrong direction: Free, unless you consider blisters and achy feet a "cost".
Admission to the Natural History Museum: $11 when you buy at the kiosk and say you're a student (cut me some slack... I'm poor).
Meteor hitting the earth: Lots of cool dinosaur bones, but no real dinos. Some things really come with a cost, folks. Like... extinction.
Hot dog at a street vendor outside the museum: $2 for a small, $3 for a jumbo.
Water bottle what will eventually cause the death of a camera: $2, but a lot more than that if you factor in the camera part.
Five of the most beautiful cupcakes ever from Magnolia Bakery: $12.50
Eating those cupcakes: Knowing that you will never again eat a cupcake without remembering how much better these really are than any other cupcake in the world. Sigh. I mean, really. Look how pretty they are.
Tickets at TKTS for a hysterical off-Broadway show recommended by a gay man: $120
Metrocard: $20
Umbrella from a street vendor that only closes when it feels like it... but that you are tremendously thankful for nonetheless: $5 (unless you're Chelsea... and then it becomes $3)
Fake Coach purse from a sketchy Chinese guy's van on Canal Street: $35
Fake Dior sunglasses: $5
Jellyfish appetizer at a Chinese food restaurant: $8
Entrance to MOMA to see paintings covered in bird poop and then discuss what really does make something "art": Free on Fridays!
Sharing a city I love with sisters that I love even more: Definitely priceless.
Hostel: $100 a night, the few hours of sleep you lose due to loud Hispanic conversation in the lobby and insistent, OCD, daily morning vacuuming.
Walking over 20 blocks, sometimes in the wrong direction: Free, unless you consider blisters and achy feet a "cost".
Admission to the Natural History Museum: $11 when you buy at the kiosk and say you're a student (cut me some slack... I'm poor).
Meteor hitting the earth: Lots of cool dinosaur bones, but no real dinos. Some things really come with a cost, folks. Like... extinction.
Hot dog at a street vendor outside the museum: $2 for a small, $3 for a jumbo.
Water bottle what will eventually cause the death of a camera: $2, but a lot more than that if you factor in the camera part.
Five of the most beautiful cupcakes ever from Magnolia Bakery: $12.50
Eating those cupcakes: Knowing that you will never again eat a cupcake without remembering how much better these really are than any other cupcake in the world. Sigh. I mean, really. Look how pretty they are.
Tickets at TKTS for a hysterical off-Broadway show recommended by a gay man: $120
Metrocard: $20
Umbrella from a street vendor that only closes when it feels like it... but that you are tremendously thankful for nonetheless: $5 (unless you're Chelsea... and then it becomes $3)
Fake Coach purse from a sketchy Chinese guy's van on Canal Street: $35
Fake Dior sunglasses: $5
Jellyfish appetizer at a Chinese food restaurant: $8
Entrance to MOMA to see paintings covered in bird poop and then discuss what really does make something "art": Free on Fridays!
Sharing a city I love with sisters that I love even more: Definitely priceless.
Monday, June 1, 2009
junebug
Well, kids, I managed to survive the month of May somehow. I'm sitting by the window in my brand spankin' new HUGEMONGOUS bedroom in our brand spankin' new 2 bedroom apartment watching my dogs chew on each other and taking a break from the unpacking/nesting process. On the first day of June! I love the new apartment, but I have not loved the process of moving into it. For those of you who don't know, I am not such a champ at transitioning (ie. change freaks me the heck out). My mother in law- who is, by the by, deserving of some kind of medal after all she did for us this week- and I had a fabulous time painting the bedroom and future nursery and she did a lot of hauling and packing and loading and unloading and errand running on our behalf while she was here, and then Joe had some lovely helpers on Sunday since our dresser is actually made of solid granite, embellished with lead (no, not really, but it is heavy as a... something really heavy... rhino?). So I can not (at all, as Joe reminds me every now and then, as gently as he can) complain about how our move went. We were so blessed by the number of people who were willing to pitch in and get it all done, especially since I am so sadly unable to lift heavy things due to my delicate condition. (HA- suckers.) So everything is here rather than there and that, I suppose, is the main goal of moving. However, friends, I do not enjoy living in a house that looks very much like a storage facility. I'm a big fan of nesting. I like picture frames to be on surfaces rather than in hampers strewn about the living room. I like books stacked on shelves, not on the floor. I like clothes in drawers, not Rubbermaid tubs. So I stand in the middle of my new apartment, surveying my new territory, surrounded by all of the stacks and piles and boxes of things that need to find a new home in our new home... and I feel an unmistakable urge to run screaming from the building. Or cry. Maybe both. Because if I want any nesting to be done, I have to be the one to do it. (Joe's not much of a nester... he just brings in the worms.) So, that is the plan for today and tomorrow. After a week or so of packing, it is now time to UNpack and and create the second home for my little family.
Speaking of the family, the dogs love the new apartment. Must be the 400 extra square feet and the windows looking out into the parking lot.
Oh, and Wednesday morning I fly to New York City with my sisters until Sunday.
Oy.
Speaking of the family, the dogs love the new apartment. Must be the 400 extra square feet and the windows looking out into the parking lot.
Oh, and Wednesday morning I fly to New York City with my sisters until Sunday.
Oy.
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