Dance mom, part deux

Yesterday (which was Saturday) I got up at 5:30am. For ANOTHER dance competition. And for a split second I thought “No…nope…no way! We’re not doing this today.” But 0.52 seconds into my revolt, I remembered that I’m a grown up and I have to actually follow through on things I’ve committed to. And my mom would be SOOOOOOO mad at me if we weren’t up and ready to go when she got to our house. My status as a physician and middle-aged mother of 3 has not lessened my fear of my mother.

I untangled myself from my warm, cozy reindeer sheets and rolled out of bed with all of the reluctance of a cat being thrown into a bathtub. Danny got up too and beat me downstairs to start making coffee. As a quick aside, if you’re not married and are trying to figure out what kind of person you want to spend your life with, I suggest finding the person who will get out of bed with you at 5:30 on a Saturday to make sure you have your coffee. And who will then sit with you on the couch, in all of your crazy dance mom rage and love you in spite of it. And in spite of your gross oversized jammies, and the wrinkles around your eyes, and your breath that could singlehandedly caramelize the sugar on a crème brulee.

We started the day with a left sided part and a low pony. I nailed it. The false lashes went on seamlessly and we were on our way. Louisa and my mom drove together and I followed behind them. After pulling out of my driveway I realized that my oversized cup of coffee had not completely overcome my sleep depravation, so I turned to my go-to…the sure fire way to get over the hump. The dance mom walk up song.

When all else fails, you dig out the CD you burned in 1999 and go directly to #17, Back that Azz Up by Juvenile. This song never fails to get my blood pumping and my underwear moving. And really, nothing is cooler than a nearly 40 year old chick in her Rothys, driving her 15 year old SUV, rocking out to 90s rap at 7:30 in the morning. And really, I didn’t have to dig it out…it was already in my CD player.

So apparently when I burned this CD nearly 20 years ago in my college dorm room, I downloaded the unedited version and not the clean version. Sweet heaven have mercy. Just…please….if you’re going to listen to the song, make sure you find the “clean” version. No really, it’s bad.

Weez doesn’t need a walk up song….Weez IS her own walk up song.

This weekend was a little less angsty for me than last weekend. I think having one competition under my belt helped. I was less intimidated by the other dance moms and when I walked into the dressing room, I really owned my hair and make-up skills. My confidence is really blooming and my low, side buns can compete with the best of ’em. I’m sure Louisa felt more confident this weekend too….but this blog is about me.

In other news, my mother was attacked by red glitter.

And she danced brilliantly…who wouldn’t with that hair and make-up?!?!

She walked away with from the weekend with a handful of Platinum awards. I still have no idea what exactly that means, but she seemed pleased.

After her last dance, I hit the road and left Louisa with Oma for the awards. I’d been there 9 hours and had reached my limit. As I walked out of the convention center, there was a wedding reception in progress and guests were sauntering about drinking wine….to spite me, I’m certain. I’m telling you…if these dance competitions really wanted to make money, they would have a cash bar for the parents.