Confessions of a reluctant dance mom

I live for Saturday mornings. Specifically the part where I get to sleep past 7:00. And if it’s a rainy, stormy morning it’s even better. So this morning when my alarm went off at 5:15 and I heard the thunder crashing, my soul cried bitter tears. Why in the world would my alarm be going off at such an ungodly hour? Excellent question.

Because Louisa had a dance competition. And her first dance was at 8:37. In the morning. Because the universe hates me.

Let me preface the remainder of this post by saying that I love Louisa. And I love dance. I love watching Louisa dance. But I LOATHE dance competitions. Like, I should probably see a therapist to really unpack why I have such a guttural reaction walking in to these things. Here is my deep dive into my emotions…

Reasons I hate dance competitions:

They are the living, breathing embodiment of the absurd amount of money we have spent on dance lessons, team fees, costumes, make up, travel, extra rhinestones, fancy travel bags and entry fees.
Inevitably, at some point during these competitions I see girls who look to be 6 strutting around in costumes that would suggest they are getting ready to perform at a cabaret. Or moonlighting as a dominatricies (dominatrix, dominatrixes?). Finish kindergarten first, ladies.
One minor mishap could potentially result in the earth falling off of its axis and the sudden destruction of the entire human race. For example, did you know the earth almost ended this morning around 7:00 CST? Because it totally almost did. In the hullabaloo of the morning, one of Louisa’s hairpieces went missing. Turns out it was sucked into the vortex between the seat and console in my mom’s van. Fortunately she found it, thus saving the entire human population from certain annihilation. Pshew. Next time you run into my mom, tell her thank you.
Fake eyelashes. With nearly microscopic rhinestones. That nobody can even see. WHYYYYYYY?????
Every dance requires a different hairdo. You think you nailed that slicked back low pony tail with a left sided part? Yeah…good job, now take that $hit out and throw in a low bun, no part, slightly askew to the right. And if it comes undone on stage, you are TOAST. And the world will end…see #3 above.
They’re a racket. They prohibit you from taking any pictures…but don’t you worry your pretty little glittered up face. You can take out a second mortgage on your home to buy a handful of prints that their “professional” photographer snapped of your kid. Which are eerily similar to the pictures you paid for at the last competition. And the ones you’ll buy at the next competition. You think you can just tell your kid ‘no’ when they beg you for more pictures? And risk tears…and smeared mascara…and dislodged fake eyelashes? You’re clearly a rookie!
They’re a racket, part 2. They always have stuff to sell your little dancing princess. Who doesn’t need to buy more slime while hanging out at a dance competition? Maybe some sunscreen…even though the entire day is spent inside a dark performance hall…makes sense. Or how about a stuffed llama? Or a souvenir t-shirt that your kid will NEVER WEAR and will hang in her closet for years until it is too small. At which point, she will rediscover it and CRY because it doesn’t fit. Ask me how I know this.
I currently have red glitter on my nice shoes.
I have no idea how to interpret the award designations. Double diamond…are we skiing? Platinum? Elite high gold? Ruby? Purple horseshoe? I think the judges were sitting around playing Bejeweled, eating Lucky Charms and drinking DeLeon tequila when they came up with this business.
This particular venue was also hosting a fancy fund raiser for some catholic charity. Catholic + fund raiser = booze. Word to the wise….walking past a tired, hungry, sweaty dance mom who has been at it for the past 12 hours, with a glass of cabernet in your hand is an invitation to get taken the #### out.

Fortunately, the extent to which I loathe dance competitions is directly proportional to the extent to which Oma loves dance competitions. So I bolted after the last dance and left Oma and Weez to their own devices to finish up with the award ceremony…which is another post for another day.