5, 6, 7, 8

I tried to not be a dance mum. I did. I tried to always be nice. I did. But I can’t. I have a problem.

Final dance competition of the year. My daughter danced beautifully and I was very proud of her. Here’s where the talons come out. Not all her teammates look like they are trying. What is that? 

If I spent the amount of money that I know these families do on dance I would be yelling at my kid (and have) to at least try and look like they are having a good time. To at least try and remember the dance. To at least TRY.

I decided to have a few cocktails with some of my dance mum friends after the first night. I didn’t know they were dance mums I could gossip with. Don’t judge me (who am I kidding, that is what I am begging for by starting a blog), but we were talking (in our drinking voices) while our kids were also in the small hotel room. We weren’t talking with them, but were also unaware-ish that they were listening.

I am going to hell. 

Here is what we discussed:

Me: The girls’ group just didn’t gel this year. I think there are several girls not giving their best effort. They look like they are out there to play around. My daughter is frustrated by the lack of focus in the group.

Friend 1: I agree. My daughter is frustrated too. Want wine? (God bless her!)

Friend 2: You know what I hate? Mouth breathers.

Me: Let’s focus. I think there are a few of the girls letting the team down.

Girls: We know who they ar

CRAP they are listening.

Friend 1: Who?

They tell us. We are all thinking the same thing. Lots of looking around at one another which, of course, did not give anything away. CRAP.

Friend 1, after another glass of wine, has offered to choreograph (with her extensive – read NOT – knowledge of dance) the final number for the studio. That will fix all the problems.

Friend 2 still can’t stand mouth breathers, so I was mouth breathing for her.

I repeat, I am going to hell. I need another good deed to counter balance. Can someone please get hit by a car so I can help?