The rest...of the story

Okay, no freaky Paul Harvey twist.  It was 50 degrees today, so the snow is on its way out, quickly.  I just wanted to post our other big weekend event.  Julianna was in a dance recital.  She'll be in the big one like Lily was in last June, but her Modern Dance I class was invited to perform in the Inner Circle dance concert at the Maryland Ensemble Theater.  Inner Circle is the YMCA's youth ballet group (although they do all sorts of dance)--about 12 girls from 10-16 or so.  I'm always torn at dance events, particularly modern ones.  On the one hand, I really wish that I had that creative outlet, the ability and lack of self-censor that would allow me to move my body to my emotions and the horrid, horrid music.  And on the other hand...oy.  Once, at the National Building Museum, we saw ---well, you know that quote, "Writing about music is like dancing about architecture"?---that's what we saw.  A bunch of women, late 20s to early 50s, dancing about architecture.  And that's what modern dance so often reminds me of.  That and Kira.  Kira was a year ahead of me in college.  She was insane.  She fancied herself a free spirit and stuff, but in reality she was just nuts.  Harmless, to all but herself, but nuts.  Her senior year, for her birthday, she put on a dance concert for all her "friends."  Which is to say, all the people who were nice to her, but wouldn't loan her money.  Because we were bad people, Janet and Janet and I took a bunch of dead flowers to throw at her feet.  We thought ourselves hilarious.  Luckily, Kira found it a lovely gesture because: nuts.  Anyway, she just danced and danced and flung herself about while we sat there, waiting for her to release us.  And that's what I tend to think of modern dance.

But it was a bunch of little girls,and they'd obviously worked hard (which then made me think, did they give up their lives for this?  Because seriously girls, this will NOT get you a rich husband) so it was sweet.  Mostly because it was also short.  Julianna's group was in the second act.  She was, of course, the biggest kid, a good head taller and many pounds heavier.  And, not exactly Isadora Duncan.  But she was enjoying it and was DOING it, which is more than her snarky lame mom could do.  So yay.  And I gave her flowers at the end, which made her very happy.

Yes, the costume is, in fact, hideous.  What can you do?  She was horrified to have to wear make-up, bless her heart.  Hold onto that, sweetie.  Oh, and that's one of the taller little girls behind her and over her right shoulder.

Before the recital, while Julianna was in tech rehearsal, Steve and I took Ben and Lily to La Paz for dinner.  We hadn't been there since it moved from its really weird alley-behind-the-parking-garage location to its new hip Carroll Creek spot.  Meh.  It's still noisy and smoky and the food isn't as good.  But Ben was sitting there with his nachos, with his hand lying in the food.  "Ben," I said,  "Don't rest your hand in your food."  He's totally indignant, as he is.  "MO-OM!  I'm NOT just resting it there.  I'm moving it around!"  Oh, well, all right then.  Loon.