The Gala was sponsored by the Girl Scout Council and held at a local club. Nearly all of Drama's little friends from school are also involved in Girl Scouts, and so the Gala has been the on Drama's radar for months. She got wind of the world "Gala" and insisted that her daddy wear a tuxedo, and started googling "gala gowns" before I had any idea what she was up to. I am extremely proud to say that I stuck to my guns and did not allow her to wear a backless or strapless sparkly Oscars-style number. It took a lot of finagling but ultimately, Drama wore a little-girl appropriate silk dress with embroidered flowers (so cute!) that she scowled at up until she actually put it on. The other thing about the Gala is that ONLY registered Girl Scouts are permitted. So, Trouble had to stay home (it seems that Girl Scouts, while adding the Daisy Scouts since we were kids...hasn't yet figured out how to cash in on the preschool crowd....but I wager there will be Baby Scouts sometime in the near future). So my plan to keep the peace was to create a special event for the little one: High Tea with mama.
There is nothing particularly insightful about what I'm about to tell you...but it is a true account of what it took to get three of the Circus/Broccoli clan out the door looking Gorgeous. Three, you ask? But there are four of you. Yes, indeedy. Read on.
As you've already learned, Saturday mornings around here are sloppy and disorganized. And yesterday was no exception. We managed to make it out the door to Art Class without any meltdowns...but somehow I was still sporting bad hair and a patchy make-up job. And I can't even blame Trouble. After 2.5 hours spent chatting up the Art Parents, grocery shopping, chasing the daughter NOT in Art class around on her scooter, taking down caffeinated beverages, and then, finally, wrestling everybody back in the Clown Car (What did you think we drove??)....I realized we were home with just enough time to have lunch and start getting pretty.
Getting Pretty. For Drama, this involved: Shower, moisturizer (borrowed from mama), Numerous Requests for Make-Up (Denied), a blow-out (lordhelpme...I can't even manage this well for my own hair), hair-curling (see point #4), earring selection (this required a Vote from the entire family), up-do (which had to be re-done 3 times for varying degrees of wrong-ness), Hairspray (Loads of drama over the smell, taste, and general horror of the cloud enveloping her head of glorious curls), Lip Gloss (Mom Caves!), Pinning Crown into updo, Dress (much convincing of her beauty and princess-y-ness), Shiny Shoes....and....Voila.
For Trouble, surprisingly, no issues. Her process? Shower, air-dry, ponytail, dress (love!!), ballet sippers (seriously, mom?!? I can WEAR these OUT??), hairbow, lipgloss (like mom wasn't going to cave on all fronts).
Somewhere about 20 minutes before Drama and Circus Dad were supposed to be leaving (and Drama was somewhere mid-2nd-round of the updo crisis), I was enlisted to help Circus Dad button the tiny little buttons on the tuxedo shirt. And then needed to tie the bowtie....and find the pocket square.
Approximately 10 minutes after the dance actually started, Drama and Trouble descend the stairs and semi-cooperate with the obligatory photo shoot. I have to say they looked adorable and seeing Circus Dad in his tux reminds me that we really should get the Tux out more than once a year...cause men all look slightly more George Clooney-esque in a tuxedo.
Ding Dong!
It's our friends! Ready to head to the Peninsula for High Tea. I look down, unsure of what I even had on...but was relieved to see at some point I had thrown on a pair of grey trousers, a camisole and a cardigan. Wet hair? Check. No Make-up? Check. I race upstairs, put on shoes, the first necklace I see and grab my make-up bag.
To my dear friend's credit, despite the fact that she looked stunning and put-together in a fabulous maxi dress and flawless hair and make-up, she didn't blink at me hopping in the taxi in that state. In fact, she didn't even comment when I pulled out the eyelash curler and mascara en route. Um...just in case you were wondering...using an eyelash curler in the back of a Hong Kong taxi with a 3-year-old in formal attire on your lap is not a great idea.
Tea was lovely. Drama and Dad had a fabulous time at the ball. And though I'm fairly sure that the waitstaff at the Peninsula thought I was either the poor relation or the unfortunate nanny to my sophisticated friend and the three adorable children....I thoroughly enjoyed my afternoon. And I'll go back again....when my eyelashes grow back. Turns out that nobody cares what the mama looks like so long as the rest of the family is gorgeous.
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