October 13: Last Day in the Dells

Second day at the Showstopper Dance Convention.  My daughter's feet are sore.  My nerves are more than a little frayed.  I just had a bath battle with my five-year-old son.  He didn't want to take a bath, and I was in the line of fire.  I was slapped, bitten, kicked, and punched.  By the time I finally got him in bed, he looked like a cast member from The Walking Dead.

However my daughter had a great time.  From 7:40 a.m. until 5 p.m., she hip hopped, jazzed, krumped, locked, and popped herself silly.  She is on dance overload right now.  Like my son, she has passed out in her bed.  She did not slap, bite, kick, or punch me.  She simply mumbled something like "I'm hungry pizza to brush with iPod" and stumbled into the adjoining room.

It was a lovely weekend.  I know I'm supposed to do a Classic Saint Marty today, but I'm too tired.  I'm not going to apologize or feel guilty.  Guilt is something I indulge in way too much.  It's my constant companion.  I should be working on a poem.  I have a stack of quizzes to grade.  I yelled at my son tonight when he refused to get undressed for his bath.  My daughter danced all weekend without hip hop shoes because I couldn't afford to get her a pair that fit her.  Tomorrow is my eighteenth wedding anniversary.  I haven't even purchased a Hallmark card.  Like I said, I'm a master at guilt.

No guilt tonight, though.  Exhaustion, yes.  Sore muscles, yes.  A smidgen of anxiety about upcoming bills, yes.

Saint Marty has plenty of time for regrets tomorrow.

P. S.  Saint Marty apologizes for any typos.  Too tired for proofreading tonight.

My daughter and her favorite dance instructor, Dena Rizzo