Every Little Step

I didn’t mean to stop writing.  It just happened, and then the not-writing kept happening until I seemed to have simply abandoned my blog.  But I didn’t mean to.  I wanted to re-focus, re-design, and be a little less public…but the re-design hasn’t happened (no money), the re-focus hasn’t happened (too tired for quiet contemplation), and I’m currently dancing and singing on stage in the midst of a four-week run of A Chorus Line, so…not public?  Not really.

Since October, I’ve been dieting, exercising, rehearsing and preparing for a dream come true – playing Cassie in A Chorus Line.  It’s the postage-stamp-size version of A Chorus Line, but it’s still fuckin’ 5678, music and the mirror, singular sensation, mm-kay?  Our stage is so small we can barely fit across it in a straight line, but we’re still dancing our hearts out and high-kicking with the best of them.  We’re kind of awesome, really.

…And I get to be Cassie.  It’s a funny thing, having a dream come true.  It’s not like getting married, where you float along indefinitely on a cloud of euphoria until the first credit card bill comes along, but it is a little like having children, because it’s so very physical, often painfully so, and I am plagued with self-doubt even as I’m filled with joy.  I get to dance on stage like I haven’t in such a long time…or maybe ever, really – and that’s heavenly, but it also means lots of strained muscles, and constant striving for a personal standard I don’t think I’ll ever reach.

So I remember what my friend Mary Frances said when I told her I didn’t know if I’d ever be satisfied with my performance:  “You won’t.  Every night, you’ll wish you could have done it just a little bit better.  But at least you’ll be happy you had the opportunity to try.”

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Right now, Moo is coughing in bed (she seems to always have a cough or stuffy nose, thanks preschool).  She’s planning her 5th birthday party, learning to ride a bike, and she puts on a new show every day.  Just as much time goes into setting up the audience of stuffed animals as putting on the actual show.  She’s finally, finally going to start ballet class next week, and she adores her little brother, although she hates how he’s always messing up her carefully arranged toys.

Juice is sleeping soundly in his crib, using Boofa his Ugly Doll as a pillow, a pacifier clutched in each hand and one in his mouth.  When he wakes up in the morning, he will cry out for us until we set him free, and he will immediately greet his beloved trains.  Within 30 seconds, he will destroy the brilliant track set-up that Herbie so lovingly created.  OH does this boy love trains.  He also loves cuddles, kisses, hugs, making funny faces during dinner, running down hills, and NOT sitting on his bottom on the couch.

I’ve been home the last three nights in a row, which hasn’t happened since Christmas.  Being home and putting my kiddos to bed has been wonderful, except that it’s been three straight days to doubt everything about myself, and wait in vain for my muscles to stop hurting, and wonder whether the joy of performing will continue to outweigh the side effects of self-doubt?