This is not a blog about kids, I do not want to be constantly writing about kids, just as I do not want to be constantly reading about kids, and nor do I want to always be talking about kids.
So why is it that’s all I do lately? Probably because I’m so far into kiddyland I DON’T EVEN REALIZE IT. Especially now, that it is the end of the school year I have a full agenda with the schools that seem to want to punish us by organizing the most impossible things, at the most impossible places, with the most impossible hours. I’m talking about 8 hours of rehearsal the week of the big show.. ahem..for 6 year olds! (Show(s), actually plural because at my daughters school they decided to have a Musical. Yep you got it, 2 nights of ballet, singing, and hip hopping. 1 hour and 52 minutes of jam-packed fun, where you get to witness your child do something for about 35 seconds..)
The thing is I REALLY WANT TO SEE MY CHILD DANCE, EVEN IF IT IS FOR LIKE ONLY 35 SECONDS!
It’s the getting in part that bothers me. You see, I have gone to these shows for 3 years to watch her, and it is 3 years that I have been the first person to stand in line, and it is 3 years that I usually end up sitting somewhere, well, …close to the exit. Mainly, because a single file line does not exist in Italy. The real formation of a line, does not exist. There is no such thing. Often there are little red machines with numbers to take. But that’s it. The fact that you are and have stood in front of a perfectly groomed, impeccably dressed Milanese Nonna for more than 45 minutes does not make you first. Mostly because as far as Nonna is concerned it’s only your point of view, she was first even though she was behind you. Simple..and when the doors open she is cramming her way past you using the corner of her Louis Vuitton bag as her weapon.(Nonna means Grandma, not to be confused for our Nonna who would never push,.. she would just walk in the back door.)
These are the things that drive me mad, that send me over the edge, because I grew up in a country where you were taught to follow the rules, taught to stand in line, wait your turn, and oh yeah, have respect for your elders. All of which adds up to one simple thing= sitting close to the exit again.
This year, when the doors open we are told that we will go in 10 at a time and we are not to sit in the first 2 rows of tiny blue chairs as they are for the children. I manage to get in with the first 10 and I feel like I’ve won the lottery. I quickly take a place in the first row! It’s the closest I’ve ever been, and I chatter excitedly to the other moms about how I’ve never been in the first row before.
The gymnasium fills up quickly and as the lights dim, I pull out my camera when I am bumped by a bag as a woman passes by me and sits directly in the little blue chair in front of me her perfect hair filling the bottom part of my view..who else could it be.. its nonna.