Competition dance season has begun, my friends, and I am thankful to report that I have made it to the third day of mind-numbing, tassel-shaking, faux eyelash-wearing, ear-splitting, jazz-handing excitement relatively unscathed. Yes, after a 12-month sabbatical as a dance mom, I’m back!
All things considered, my youngest daughter’s return to the crazy world of dance has been a success. True, she’s been OD-ing on Aleve to keep her hip pain at bay (we learned recently that her left leg is shorter than her right, and has been for quite some time. Parents of the year!), and apparently she forgot a few parts of her first contemporary routine (“Maddie, why didn’t you tell me you had a solo?” “Because I didn’t.”), but there have been no tears, no dramatic eye-rolling and no costume malfunctions, though she did come close on a fast jazz number with minimal spandex coverage.
Of course, that was one of two dances my husband Doo and his parents showed up to watch. They also were treated to a slow, near-burlesque bit, where our sweet innocent Maddie skillfully executed sexy winks and high kicks in sequenced fishnets. My poor father-in-law! Is it any wonder they left early?
But let’s be honest, this endeavor is really all about me, and I’m thrilled to announce that I haven’t missed a beat. Gossiping with other dance moms, silently judging everyone else’s kids, emoting righteous indignation on demand … I’ve still got it. I thought perhaps some of my cynicism and cattiness would have faded after a year off, but luckily for you, they’ve only increased.
It’s competition dance season, folks. Let the fun begin!
Peace out.
