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Dancing to Her Own Beat

A few weeks ago, my daughter and I were rocking out to Ke$ha and I got this great idea.
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“I should sign her up for dance classes!”  I searched the internet for the perfect class, made a few phone calls and within hours she was officially enrolled.  We were going to be dancers (insert air guitar here)!

The first day of dance class came and the excitement at our house was high.  As a mom, I wanted to do my best to be sure she was ready.  So I fueled her up with an egg, watermelon and a Hawaiian roll.  She insisted on wearing her light-up Roper boots so I went with it and dressed her in a horse shirt and jeggings.  We left our house 45 minutes early.  Success!

As we hit the road, traffic was horrible.  We sat in the same spot on the WA-99 for 15 minutes.  We were going to be late.  Crap!  I tried to keep my cool.  She wanted a little snack, so I passed her a Ziploc full of white cheddar popcorn (pop-pop).  We inched our way through downtown Seattle and the traffic finally cleared out.  I hit the pedal to the metal  and headed northbound to get her to class on time   Luck was definitely not on our side, as we arrived at the studio, there was no parking.  Crap!  So I made the obvious choice of parking illegally.  I ran into the studio, stripped off her Roper boots, straightened her outfit and jumped into the class.

The teacher gave us a warm welcome as I profusely apologized for being 12 minutes late.  As my eyes scanned the room, I realized, we were really out of our element.  All of the little girls were dressed perfectly in sweet little leotards, ballet shoes and tutus.  One even had a tiara on.  A few of the mothers had their hair in ballerina buns.  I definitely missed the dress code memo.  Crap!  I thought she looked cute in her rodeo getup but one of the mothers gasped at her white cheddar popcorn powder covered shirt.  She mentioned that the shirt “smelled.”  Well I got that memo loud and clear.  I was in no hurry to change the shirt to please a rude mother.  Instead I smiled and moved to the other side of the room.

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The teacher lead the “little munchkins” in all sorts of activities such as walking on their tippy toes, making silly shapes with their bodies, playing with a parachute, moving around the room with swimming noodles and taking bows.   It was so sweet to watch.  I really wanted my daughter to follow along and instead I found myself following the lead of the other mother’s and dancing alongside the teacher.  Who was this dance class for anyway?

My daughter was having nothing of it.  I found her over by the classroom window yelling “BUS” and “DOGGIE.”  At other times I found her taking the swim noodle and using it as a trumpet while sticking it into the ears and faces of the other little girls.  As I tried to encourage her to follow the leader, I was met with resistance and persistence to leave her alone.  As she screamed at me to do what she wanted, not what I wanted, the other mothers gave us a look of disgust.  She was dancing to her own beat.  That is when the the scene from Little Miss Sunshine, where Olive performed her irreverent dance routine at the beauty pageant finals, popped into my head…

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I laughed out lough and decided to sit back and let my daughter enjoy the class however she wanted.  The other mothers were not pleased with me.  I didn’t care.  We stood out like a sore thumb and were not going to please anyone at this point.

As much as I would love to see my daughter in a leotard, ballet slippers, tutu and following the teacher perfectly, I have to remember that she is her own little person.  If following the other little girls on her tippy toes is not her thing, that is ok.  We gave it a good college try and there will be more opportunities to try dance again.  For now, I think we will keep our Ke$ha dance parties to the confinement of our home and gymnastics classes on the schedule, for our little wild child.

Take good care, find your passion and be well mamas!


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