A mental challenge requiring intense focus and concentration? Check.
A physical challenge requiring muscle strength, coordination, and conditioning? Check.
An emotional challenge requiring compassion, understanding and intuition? Check.
Fur wristlets? Sequined headband? Pink lip gloss? Curling Iron? Check, check, check.
Welcome one and all to the recap of my baptism by fire into the stress-filled world of dance recitals. It’s me, my five-year-old daughter Alex, 160 other mother-daughter teams, and one heck of learning curve.
Day One – The Saturday 7:30 PM Show
Right off the bat, it’s important to know that recitals for this particular dance school are not a one-shot event. There are three performances spread over two days. I’m not sure how common this is but most of the newer dance moms (myself included) were a little taken aback by this format. Thankfully, we were informed several months ago giving us plenty of time to adjust to the fact that we would get nothing else in our lives done on recital weekend.
Having attended my niece’s dance recital a year earlier I had a vague idea of what was required in the backstage area and packed accordingly: costumes, two, carefully wrapped in plastic, accessories for each number (the aforementioned wristlets and headbands), clean tap and jazz shoes, laces, hairbrush, hairspray, extra makeup, snacks and beverages, small coloring book, crayons. And last but not least, the child, dressed in an outfit that does not have to go over her head to be removed lest we disturb the makeup and sponge curlers that were so carefully applied some time earlier (by my sister).
I guide my little dancer into the massive dressing room and instantly realize something. Despite my planning and vague notions of preparedness gleaned from my sister, I am an amateur. The pros are already here. The mothers with multiple daughters or with daughters who have been dancing in recitals for five or even ten years have commandeered the space along one entire wall. They do not just have small lunch bags with snacks to keep five-year old tummies at bay. They have rolling coolers, fruit baskets, trays of cheese and crackers, cold cut platters, dips, spreads…Is that brie?
The veterans also have portable sewing machines, state-of-the-art curling irons, and nerves of steel. They talk amongst themselves and rarely wander over to the newbies. They’re not aloof, just focused. In the zone. Their zone. Not ours. They pull beverages out of their coolers and toss them to each other with practiced ease while pinning feather headpieces atop heads of perfectly shaped curls. Their daughters have brought flip-flops and full-length robes to wear between performances. If I had ever wondered what tailgating at a Broadway show would look like, now I know.
The newbie moms like myself look at them in awe. We are not worthy. In truth, even among the newbies, they are varying levels of preparedness. Most of us have packed snacks and activities for their children for the downtime in between their two numbers. We have scissors, needles and thread for emergency costume repairs, cameras for the all-important cute backstage photos, and lots of tissues and washcloths in case of accidents. The truly frazzled have not thought about food and are at the mercy of the vending machines. Some have also left some important items in the car and now have to dash back to fetch them, with fussy five-year olds in tap shoes perched on their hips. The good thing about being a newbie, though, is the camaraderie. We are all scared out of our wits and anxious to help each other out. Left Kylie’s fringe skirt in the car? Don’t worry; I’ll watch her while you get it. Brooke’s bangs falling? Do you need to borrow some hairspray? Yes, of course, Brittany can share Madison’s crayons.
The show itself is a hurry-up-and-wait frenzy of dressing the children, waiting for their number, dashing them to the stage director, racing to the ‘mom’ area in the auditorium to watch the performance, running back down the hall to catch and hug the children as they exit the stage and run back to the dressing room to dress for the next routine. We don’t watch the clock. We watch the closed circuit TV feed of the stage to mark time. What’s on? Number 24? Is that enough time to take Emma to the potty before their next number? The mothers stand and pace. The girls sprawl out on the floor in their sequined dresses and color and draw to pass the time. Some snack on dry things like crackers and baby carrots. They drink water. Nothing runny and nothing that stains. Lip gloss will need to be reapplied, though. Legs ache from pacing. Arms ache from holding fidgeting children. Voices are hoarse from cheering from the mom section at the end of each number.
The finale ends and we change our weary dancers back into their street clothes and pack up, hoping that tomorrow with be easier. At home, Dave offers to spell me backstage the next day so I can sit in the audience and see the entire show. I remind him of the large sign on the dressing room door that states “No Men Allowed.� The drama of the backstage, complete with females with names like Alexis, big hair, and high tension, is a soap opera that only moms and daughters are permitted to see.
Day Two – The Sunday 1:30 PM Show
This show is affectionately known as the In-Law Show. It seems that most of the newbie moms invited their parents to the Saturday show and their spouses’ parents to the Sunday afternoon show. As a result, most of us are on edge because our mothers-in-law have threatened to come backstage to the dressing room and “help.� Perhaps with that in mind, we’ve packed and planned down to the last detail, emulating the veteran moms whenever possible. Snack bags are larger and more plentiful. We have blankets, more coloring books and the occasional plush toy to calm cranky kids. We agree that there’s no point in dressing the girls too soon just to have them wait around in piles of sequins and tulle. No, we’ll dress them when we’re three numbers away from their call and not a minute sooner but after a potty break. One little girl got a fever yesterday and had to go home, missing her last number and the rest of the weekend. Not taking any chances, a couple of moms packed cold compresses.
By this time, all the newbie kids are comfortable with all the newbie moms and one mom can stand in for another. Kids beg the closest mom for a book or a new crayon. Moms take whole groups of kids on potty breaks for maximum efficiency. Snacks are now communal.
We’re hitting our stride. As we strip the tulle dresses off of our girls and replace them with sequined fringe, we trade ideas over the best course of actions for the break between the afternoon and evening shows. Should we try to get the girls to nap? Eat? Will their curls hold up? A few newbie moms have been talking to the girls in the fifteen- to-eighteen-year-old dance groups about the variety of hairpiece options available at beauty supply stores. Ponytails of ringlets that stay put, blend well, and bounce naturally for less than $25? Many are already sold on the idea for next year. I’m skeptical. Alex’s hair is short, curls rather easily and hello? She’ll be all of six at the next show. Let’s not rush things. I’ve only just gotten used to the idea of putting makeup on her.
Two hours later, though, I’m re-setting her now-flattened curls in sponge rollers and wondering if I’ll ever be good at it.
Day Two – The Sunday 7:30 PM Show
Our kids want their trophies. They’ve been promised these trophies since the start of the dance year and they know that they’ll get them tonight. But just in case that isn’t true, one of them asks about it every 45 seconds, just to be sure. This is enough to make the waiting for their turn seem twice as long. Thankfully, I have learned from the last two days and brought a giant storybook along for this show. I sit Alex and her best dance friend down on a blanket, let each pick a story and begin reading aloud. Five minutes later, I am surrounded by little girls on my blanket, even some older ones, who are eager to show off their reading skills. The time flies and soon it’s time for their performance.
The girls love the stage by now and at least two break protocol to wave at family members when they are supposed to be tapping. They look like frosted cupcakes in their tulle dresses so it doesn’t matter. They’re cute. Afterward, the moms race back to meet them as they exit the stage and catch something even cuter. As the line of three- to-five-year-old tappers leaving the stage passes the line of seven- to nine-year-old tappers entering the stage, they all high-five one another, murmuring ‘good job, good job’ as if they were ball players on opposing teams. It’s completely spontaneous, impossibly adorable, and no one catches it on camera. Bummer.
I watch from the back of the auditorium as Dave basically performs Alex’s second number with her from his seat and then screams himself hoarse as she finally gets her gold-toned trophy. We surprise her with three star-shaped balloons as we leave the theater and there’s no happier kid in the world. It’s 10:30 PM and she’s not even tired. We snap some pictures of her in her costume with her trophy until I take it off of her and pack it away in plastic. She dances around the living room with her balloons reminding me of why I suggested dance lessons in the first place. I ask if she had fun and if she wants to do dance classes in the fall. She nods rapidly and answers yes to both questions and keeps dancing.
For a moment she’s happy and so am I, albeit a little tired. And I enjoy this blissful moment of parenthood.
Three minutes later she gets her balloons wrapped around the dining room ceiling fan.
Moment’s over.
