I AM That Woman
I am not a Dance Mum
I’m not a Dance Mum
Not a Dance Mum
A Dance Mum
I never thought I would be ready to admit it, but I am a Dance Mum. Not the sweet, ‘isn’t my kid cute’ kind, but the kind you would see on a reality show and have to watch pretending to flip through the channels with your mouth agape.
It wasn’t that long ago that a ‘crazy lady’ yelled at me when my son was in the change room at our daughter’s first competition years ago. He was 3 and apparently made her 6-year-old daughter uncomfortable. Seriously? I was a newbie in the comp game (I did compete as a kid, but was blissfully unaware of anything except what related to myself, how fun it was to be a kid). I thought that woman in the changeroom needed to get a grip and take a chill pill (apparently this happened in the 80s). Now I have resorted to my high heels, makeup and sneering at the judge’s decisions. Kids are welcome in the changeroom, though. That lesson I learned.
Don’t get me wrong, I look fabulous in my heels and makeup, but it was the bitch I became that was so disconcerting. I bitched about choreography, costuming, studio philosophy, the coffee, dance politics, that woman’s lips (they were rediculously over-filled) – you name it. It was a metamorphosis. Instead of turning into a beautiful butterfly, however, I turned into a ferrel cat. Carnivorous, sneaky, sharp claws, pounce-ready cat ready to bring one of those cute little 11-year-old birds off the stage and present them to my daughter as a lifeless gift. Only trouble is, with those f’ing heels on I did not blend in. I was like a giant 5’11’ tigress with her 4′ prey in sight. What a cow! (Recap, I am a cat, tigress and cow, but not a butterfly. Keeping up?)
I know we are our children’s advocates and all, but I became a cartoon of myself. Not in a funny way, more like the original Batman series kind-of way (Adam West, what were you thinking?). Is everyone capable of turning into these awful versions of themselves under stress?
I can’t undo some of the things I said in front of our daughter. She can’t unhear them and I am sure she doesn’t have the same ‘selective hearing’ gene that the boys in the house have. Damn, if only!
Two more competitions to go this year. Must behave!