She likes to boogie-oogie-oogie.

September 12, 2011 at 12:56 pm Leave a comment

I am now a dance mom.

Alissa was going to play soccer.  I was all ready to pull the trigger on signing her up for AYSO, and then I had the brilliant realization that I hadn’t even asked her if she wanted to play.  This was the gist:

“Do you want to play soccer, ‘Liss?”

“Yeah.  But not ’til I’m 5.”

“Not until you’re 5, huh?”

“Yeah,” she said.  “Mommy, I really want to dance.  When I’m 4, I want to dance.  When I’m 5, I’ll play soccer.”

I didn’t know the two activities were mutually exclusive, but evidently they are in Alissa’s head.  And frankly, I’m not going to sign her up for something she doesn’t really want to do.  (And also frankly, the cost of one activity is enough.  Not that I’ll deny my children opportunities based on expenses or anything, but…wait a second.  Yes, yes, I will.)

So I explored our options, and landed on the month-to-month dance sessions at the Y.  Once a week, Alissa will take a combo ballet / tap class.

Her first session was this past Saturday.  Thursday evening I finalized her registration, snatching the last spot in the class.  Late Friday afternoon I was scrambling to find shoes and appropriate attire.  Because it wouldn’t be me if I didn’t wait until the last minute to do these things.

Saturday morning Alissa bounced out of bed and into her leotard, tights, and skirt.  By 9:15 she was making me crazy: is it time yet?  Is it time yet?  Is it TIME YET?

No, Alissa, I kept saying.  It’s not time yet.

Finally, it was time to get to her dance class.  The Y is a crazy, circus-like atmosphere on Saturdays.  We got her to the right room and settled in with her shiny new tap shoes.  And then the teachers shoved all the parents right out the door and into the hallway to wait until the session was over.

I know why they don’t let the parents watch.  It makes sense.  But, but – I really wanted to watch her.  If for no other reason than she’s just so darn cute in her little black leotard and pink tights and gauzy black skirt that she insisted she needed to be a “real dancer.”

The other parents huddled in front of the door, trying to get a glimpse of their darlings.  Brad and I chose, instead, to play it cool and peer in through the windows of the studio from the outside.  Because nothing says we’re not crazy helicopter parents like peering in through the windows like some Dance Peeping Toms.

After class, I asked her what she thought.  Alissa wasn’t nearly as exuberant as I thought she’d be.  Instead, when I asked her what she’s learned, she replied, “Nothing.”  Um, nothing???

“They didn’t teach me how to pirouette, Mommy,” she explained.  “I already knew how to do some of the stuff.  But I liked the ballet better than the tap.”

I understand.  You see, I think Alissa suffers from star syndrome: she thinks she’s already a star, and she wants the glitz and the glamour without the hard work that goes into it.  Where does she get this quality from?  Let me see, let me see…  Oh, right, she probably got the little personality quirk from me.  Darn it.

So instead of a soccer mom, I’m adding a new role: stage mom.  If you need me on Saturday mornings, I’ll be at the Y, watching my little girl learn how to pirouette.


Entry filed under: Life in general.

Silly monkeys. Moving forward.

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