So…about 3 weeks ago I eagerly (yes I said eagerly) volunteered myself to be my daughter’s dance class Dance Mom. Please keep in mind as this post goes on that I am watching up to 10 girls from the age range of 3-5 years old. The job duties are as follows:
1. Gather kids from the parents (now I look at it as being a sheep dog herding it’s flock) before the show begins and bring them all back stage.
2. Once the kids are back stage I must keep a constant eye on them. Most of the kids won’t be too difficult, it’s my sneaky child I have to watch out for. (I can totally see her sneaking onto the stage with the older kids trying to do some hip-hop).
3. Fix, do any hair and make-up (yes, they HAVE to wear red lipstick). Me with a hot curling iron and small, hyper-active children really isn’t a good combination. Really, did no one think this through?!?
4. Help them line up and get on stage and wait in the wings while they perform. Then run my ass around to the other side to guide them off stage and bring them back to the waiting area.
5. Entertain them until intermission (they are the 3rd group up, I don’t know when Intermission is).
6. Hope that ALL parents pick-up their children at intermission so that I can leave. Otherwise, I get to babysit until the end of the show.
“This will be fun,” I said to myself. “This will be a great experience and I get to keep an eye on my wild child.” All of this thinking changed when I went to Studio Picture Day today.
Oh my goodness!!!! I saw the definition of mass chaos. Actually let me redefine that definition for future dictionaries.
Mass Chaos: When you place close to 30 different dancers in one tiny photography studio waiting room ranging from ages 3 to 13 with angry, frantic parents, annoyingly bitchy dance studio heads hunting you down for tuition money and one (yes one) person at the front desk picking and choosing who to help next even though you were standing at the desk 20 minutes before they lady they just assisted.
Even after all the fun stuff, (not really) we didn’t even get to see the kids have their picture taken. We were shooed out of the room. How rude! I missed the solo pics of my kid, although I could hear the dance director and photographer laughing and one even poked their head out from the curtain to say that Emily is very entertaining (yep, that’s my kid), when it came to the group pics I stuck my head slyly through the curtain to take a peek. You are charging me $24 for 1 8×10, I’m looking.
On the way home, completely exhausted, my husband mentions all the comments the other moms had made to me.
You are brave to be the dance mom.
I can’t believe you volunteered to be dance mom.
I’m helpful and everything, but I’m glad you are the dance mom.
“How are you going to handle this. I told you it was a bad idea. Those kids are crazy.”
“Just make sure I have a glass of wine when I get home and a few minutes of peace and quiet.” I said. Hey, it may be hectic, but I will be there for my baby in case she gets stage fright and I will be able to give her the encouragement she needs. Who needs non-frazzled nerves? Hell, I think my nerves are pretty much gone by now anyway. The 3 stage took them all. So I can totally handle this, right? Anyone? Really? Right?
To Be Continued after October 27th… (duhn duhn duh)