Commentary by Danielle Wilson
Get your mooches up, people! Football may be winding down but competitive dance is just getting started. Woot, woot! Yes, it’s true. I’ve reached the point in every dance mom’s life where she actually looks forward to the dressing room drama, the bedazzled bootie shorts and the crazy cacophony of hundreds of tween-agers yelling “Nail it, Kaylie!”
How did this happen? Believe me, I ask myself this question daily. I’m not particularly girly, nor did I grow up in this world of jazz hands and faux Kardashian lashes. I’d always dreamed of watching my kids from the basketball stands or natatorium seats, or even the frozen tundra of soccer sidelines. Never, at least up until three years ago, had I imagined I’d be packing Dream Duffels full of sequenced costumes and make-up remover, fishnet tights and bun makers, and heading off to local hotels for 36-48 hours of dance competition. And happily, I might add.
In truth, my first year of wading through contemporary marshland with my youngest daughter was almost my last. The time, the money, the stupid judges . . . and all for watching my precious little angle on stage for maybe seven minutes, total. I could barely handle it. But she clearly has a passion for this, and I could easily see that behind the occasional tears and forgotten bling earrings, she was learning grace and confidence and how to persevere under pressure. Big stuff for an 11-year-old.
And I’ve improved, too, especially in the coping arena. I’ve learned how to squash my sometimes critical but always competitive nature and focus instead on how much fun she is having and the wonderful friendships she is making. I also know that with the right attitude, a good book and a pair of high-quality ear plugs, the weekends can be rather pleasurable.
So get ready for some unbelievable tales of tacky parenting and outrageous toddlers, my friends, for rarely does a dance season disappoint. And you can count on me to deliver the juice freshly squeezed as I dive headfirst into the crazy. Can’t wait! Peace out.