Opinion: Dance mama drama


The 2018 dance season is upon us, and as your resident Dance Mom, I feel compelled to share my initial observations and thoughts after our first weekend of competition. And I say “our” because even though I’m not technically out there jazz-handing it in bedazzled booty shorts, as a dance mom I have no choice but to live vicariously through my 13-year-old daughter.

First up, there was far less dressing room drama, at least for me. After four years of squatting amidst tap shoes, hairspray bottles and discarded hair nets as I worked to construct the perfect low bun, I now feel comfortable enough staying in the hall and letting her teammates handle the chaos. You’ve heard the adage, “If Maddie has a rage stroke over her missing butt glue but I’m not there to witness it, does it really happen?” Who knows? Who cares? I’ll be hunkered down in my hotel room binge-watching “The Tudors.”

Next, I learned a new term, coin slot, as used in the following conversation: Teammate: “I hate these fishnets! They’re too tight and make me look fat!” Coach: “No one wants to see any hoo-ha’s or coin slots today. You’re wearing them!” Now, that’s something you don’t hear on a basketball court!

Finally, girls are just as filthy as boys. While donning makeup in our room, one dancer stunk up the bathroom so badly we considered evacuating. I don’t know what this child had eaten for lunch, but she could give Doo’s bowels a run for their money. Jeeze, light a match!

First competition down, plenty to go. I hope you’ll join me for the ride.

Peace out.


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