True confession time: I'm a dance mom. I fully admit that this is a role I have embraced and grown to love, but in no way did I ever expect that this would a part of my life. Soccer mom? Yes. Baseball mom? Yes. Minivan-driving suburban mom? OK, it wasn't on my list of things I hoped for, but I'm not too terribly surprised that I ended up there. But dance mom? Oh hell no. No way. No how. Not in a million years. But somehow I ended up here. It's been a journey. Before you judge me, let me share a little of the journey with you.
When Annalise was young she was painfully shy. Painfully. She was the kid who was constantly attached to my leg. She would spend playdates and parent ed on my lap or clinging to my side or in my arms. It would take serious coaxing to get her to play. Even when we were with kids she'd known her entire life, she would cling and worry. Until she was fine. It just often took her hours to be fine. She wanted to go to the birthday party, but she wouldn't participate. Until the end. About fifteen minutes before the party was over, she'd start to have a great time. And then she'd have a fit that it was time to leave. With a mom who stayed home full time and being the oldest child (and only child, for almost three years), she was almost always with me. She had yet to start preschool. She didn't have a lot of opportunities to spend time with other kids without me. So when a friend suggested she take a dance class, I thought it might be a good idea.
Annalise was almost three. I was due with Zachary any day. (And then I was overdue with Zachary. Every time I would walk/waddle down that ramp with Annalise, I'd hear, "Are you still here!?" I swear I was pregnant with that child for two years.) But I digress. Annalise was technically too young for the class, but they made an exception for her. (Probably not the smartest move they'd ever made.) Well, she loved the class. No clinging. No whining. No crying. Just a little girl having a whole lot of fun. There was a little problem though. She wasn't dancing. She jumped and she ran and she giggled. But there wasn't a lot of dancing coming from that kid. So we took a break for a while. We tried a different class at a different studio the following summer. Egh. Not impressed with the class. Annalise didn't really like it and neither did I.
When Annalise was a little over four, we tried again, back at the original studio. This time, something stuck. Right from the beginning, Annalise was happy there. She loved her teacher. She ran into class with glee. She didn't need me to hold onto her, hold her hand, peel her arm off my leg. And going in, she didn't even know any of the kids. For the first time in her little life, Annalise was at home. (Home away from home, that is. At home, the child was funny and silly and talked incessantly, sang and danced and told stories, made jokes. Away from home: leg clinger.) She was so happy at dance class we really couldn't believe it. And so somehow we got suckered into becoming dance parents. It happened so subtly that we really didn't see it coming. It kind of snuck up on us and took hold before we even realized it had happened.
Before Annalise's recital, I asked the studio owner what would happen when she ran off the stage in a panic as soon as her music started. She attempted to assure me that it wouldn't happen; that it almost never happens and it wasn't going to happen with Annalise. "Uh huh, " I said. "So what are you going to do when she runs off the stage in a panic?" Again, she tried to convince me it wouldn't happen. Clearly she didn't know my kid at all.
The day of the recital arrived. I curled and curled and hairsprayed my four year old daughter's long, straight-as-a-stick hair, knowing it would be completely flat by the time she went on stage. I put blush and mascara and lipstick on my four year old. (I could write a whole blog entry on putting makeup on children. It is one of the weirdest things I've ever done. I don't even wear makeup myself, so this is bizarro land for me. And I suck at it. She's lucky if the makeup is anywhere close to the right spot on her face.) I dressed Annalise in shiny black tap shoes tied with red grosgrain ribbons, tan tights, and a polyester stars and stripes dress. Backstage I helped her instructor bobby pin on seven white sailor hats. They were ready to perform thirty seven seconds worth of "The Good Ship Lollipop." I went and sat down, ready to jump onto the stage to retrieve my screaming daughter. It didn't happen. She came on, in her line of little American flag-clad girls, and did her dance. Her head was turned, watching her teacher off stage most of the routine; she didn't smile, but she never did look like she was going to make a run for it.
I went to retrieve her from backstage. A smiling, happy and proud little girl awaited me. She LOVED it! She loved it so much she wanted to stay and watch the rest of the show. We changed her out of her costume and went upstairs to the balcony to watch. She stood on the edge of the balcony, hanging on the railing, completely enthralled by the show in front of her. At the end of the show they called all the dancers back on stage for the finale. Since we didn't know this was going to happen, we'd stayed upstairs, Annalise in a sundress and not her costume. Once she saw what was happening, and that she could be back on that stage, Annalise had an absolute fit. She wanted back on that stage so badly that we had to drag her out of there crying. She was totally hooked.
And that's how it all began. From there, we continued on. Annalise took one tap/ballet class a week. She dabbled in hip hop. (She'll tell you this was not her strong suit. It wasn't.) We kept her at the small studio where she had started. They were personal and loving and greeted her by name and with a giant hug before every class. They made her feel special. And Annalise bloomed. We watched our shy little girl grow not only in skill and grace but we watched her gain confidence and poise. She learned how to handle pressure, rise to the occasion and role with the punches. She learned to deal with last minute changes, recover from mishaps. And she learned about hard work. Dancing does not come naturally to her. She has a hard time remembering choreography. Her musicality was lacking. And she gets her flexibility from my dad, which is to say she could barely touch her toes. As a four year old. She's a lucky girl; most things come really easily for her: school, soccer, softball, running, most things she tries. She's never the best at anything, but she's always one of the best, and without much effort at all. Dance has taught her to have a strong work ethic. It has been amazing for her and has helped to transform her into the confident child whom I know today.
Over the years Annalise has increased the time she spends in the studio each week. She was on the company at the small studio where she started when she was four. We went to dance competitions. (Yes, dance competitions. This is another blog post as well.) We've done quick changes backstage at recitals where she was in six different routines. And then her studio closed. We saw it coming. We weren't surprised, but she was deeply saddened all the same. So this year we made a move to a much bigger studio. MUCH bigger! She is now a small fish in a big pond. And the kid is swimming! She's thriving! And she's happy. And now her little sister is dancing, too. And loving it as well. And that kid loves the stage as much as her sister. She even has the smiles and facial expressions on stage already. Oh boy. I got another one.
So, yeah, I'm a dance mom. I put mascara on small children. I own Aqua Net. I buy booty shorts and foot thongs. And I've seen the power of dance. I've seen how being on a stage can bring out the best in someone. I know the confidence that comes from learning to do the splits on all three sides, mastering a double pirouette, winning a special judges award at a competition. I will try my best to not be a crazy dance mom, but I will continue to load my minivan up with dancers and bring them to the studio, where they will learn about team work, dedication and hard work.
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