I'm not the mom anymore. I'm the grandma.
|The dancing girl|
It's a wonderful place.
The grandchildren are cute and I have a camera.
It's a great combination especially if I can grab a front-row seat with nobody's head blocking the view.
Adell was dancing in her first stage show and her two minutes in front of the audience were delightful.
I sat back and savored the moment which represented weeks of getting her to and from class and paying for class.
She sang and wiggled and danced.
Then she ran off stage to become a mouse — you know, the "not even a mouse" that wasn't stirring in the epic poem.
She came back and rolled around in pink and played with her mouse ears.
They apparently didn't fit well because her mother and I got lots of shots of Fiona tugging at her hair and big pink, plastic ears.
Nevertheless, it was still cute and when it was done, I gave her a hug and a candy Santa and went on with my day.
No hunting down the clothes Fiona was originally sent in to school.
No waiting around to see if the sound equipment, props and decorations all got returned to their rightful owners.
No checking in to see if anything else was required.
I'm not the mom now. After raising six children and as many stepchildren, being a real mother and a room mother again and again, my time here is done.
I've been paroled.