So Brighid is doing ballet.
I've chronicled my ineptness and lack of proper enthusiasm for extra curricular activities fairly thoroughly on this blog, so recidivist readers know that I'm a ballet mum without a licence. Or a clue.
Cue dancing competitions.
With costumes. International theme, as the children skip across the room in painfully rehearsed formation to the words "children of the world".
Which the parents provide. "Parent" being, for the most part and certainly in my household, a euphemism for the mother.
I screened out the costume aspect for most of the term, having decided we would go Irish and assuming that would be easy peasy to source on Trademe.
On Tuesday I found out that next week is dress rehearsal and it dawned upon me that the actual competitions were less than two weeks away. I told the teacher that we weren't quite entirely sorted.
That night, and the next, Trademe let me down.
I got a bit flappy, and everything else got a bit busy, and the teacher never got back to me after suggesting she would ring me with the name of the person who has an Irish costume from last year. This morning I woke up late, took FH to school in my dressing gown, took the kids to school in my dressing gown without their lunches and, at 8.58am remembered the ballet costume challenge and decided to put my supermother cape on, make the damn thing and rang Fabric Vision in Christchurch immediately (I'd already checked the local fabric shop and no joy there). I ordered two metres of emerald stretch satin, because that seemed a good idea. A really good idea.
This afternoon I left work earlier than usual because a) I was still too tired to make good decisions on tricky topics and b) the computers wouldn't work. Point a) should have been a warning to me about making decisions about non-work activities. Should have.
I sorted through patterns, sighed and wrinked my brow, chose the easiest one and started cutting out a muslin. I told every person I saw about my project, both noble and overwhelmingly ridiculous. I posted my project on facebook and friends began to worry that Brighid would be on stage naked.
I think they did more than worry. They prayed. Big time.
So tonight the ballet teacher rang and then there were more phone calls and now we are going to collect an Irish dress at the dress rehearsal on Tuesday. I will endeavour to get it off Brighid as soon as I possibly can, as she likes to feed her clothes a regular diet of tomato sauce.
Meanwhile, assuming the loan dress fits, I can think about what I could make with emerald green stretch satin that isn't evening wear.