All posts tagged: teaching dance

Bedazzled umbrella

You Can’t Stand Under My Umbrella, its BROKEN!

With just a few days till my final student recitals of the year, it’s time to put the finishing touches on all of their pieces before they hit the stage.  It’s time to practice without the mirror.  It’s time to get those extra accessories and rhinestones glued into place.  It’s time for every entrance to be polished, every exit to be spot on.  It is not—I repeat NOT—time for the props to start spontaneously combusting… And yet combusting they are. Admittedly, last week’s umbrella disaster wasn’t exactly spontaneous.  It happened when one of my graduating seniors realized she was spinning her umbrella in the wrong direction and tried to switch back too quickly. The main shaft cracked and when I tried to tape it back together again, it fell apart leaving me with half an umbrella in one hand and the handle, plus two or three inches of umbrella shaft, in the other. It would have been okay if this had been the first umbrella disaster of the season—or even the first umbrella disaster of …

Seriously, Why Me?

Note to self: do not wear hoop earrings while attempting to teach preschoolers how to jump rope.  I nearly lost an earlobe yesterday—several times, actually—and our poor tropical bird mobile looks even worse than it did when I first found it tangled and forgotten about and shoved under a box several weeks ago. Why am I teaching my preschoolers to jump rope?  Believe me: it wasn’t my idea.  I’m all about ribbons and scarves and beanbags and soft things that do not have the capacity to turn into lethal weapons when placed into the eager but inexperienced hands of my five year olds. But jump ropes? Jump ropes are almost as bad as basketballs.  And basketballs are almost as bad hockey sticks.  And hockey sticks—well, there’s a reason I keep them hidden. At the request of my boss, however, I’ve devised an entire week’s worth of lesson plans dedicated to the art of jumping rope.  One of the parents has organized a Jump Rope for Heart fundraiser this coming Friday and although I think this …

Tchaikovsky Bites Again

After listing my reasons for purchasing an economy sized-nutcracker for my preschoolers earlier this week you’d think that I’d be particularly careful with the linchpin of my Tchaikovsky lesson plans.  You’d also think that think that after dating seventeen different men I’d have someone other than my mother offering to take me to The Nutcracker this year, but nutcrackers have a curious way of hurling themselves onto the floor when you’re not looking, and men… don’t even get me started on men. Everything was going according to plan (by which I mean my $5.00 Rite-Aid nutcracker was still intact) until my second class of the day.  I unfurled my bedazzled American Girl doll in all her Clara/Marie glory and passed her around to the great delight of my students (“Her eyes open!”  “Her eyes close!”  “Can we call her Sally?”), but when I retrieved the nutcracker from his hiding place, he promptly ejected himself from my grasp and bounced across the floor. Wood, unfortunately, does not bounce.  He lost an arm in the process but …

A Quaker Serial Dater?

Starting tomorrow, I will have approximately one hundred children under my care for the duration of the school year.  Although “After I Quit My Day Job” would suggest that I’m able to sustain myself solely though my writing, this is not exactly the case.  I have student loans, and I have to pay my own health insurance and while the cost of living in London far outweighed the cost of living in Philadelphia, the American approach to education and health care far outweighs my income as a freelance writer. The thought of full time employment makes me want to slit my wrists.  Sure, a real job would give me an excuse to wear cute outfits every day, but it would completely cramp my laptop-and-coffee-shop style.  I don’t do nine to five.  I’m too creative.  (This afternoon’s outfit, for example, features items from New York, China and Venice-via-a-flea-market in New Jersey.)  I’m also too European.  (Time for a siesta?  Woohoo!)  Finally I’m too… I’m just too damn busy dating, which brings me back to my original …