It will be one of those monumental occasions that will remain in my mind long after my oldest is an adult.  Oh the joys of being the mom of a dancer.

It began several years ago, seven to be exact.  I watched, with camera in hand, while my baby turned very unbalanced pirouettes across the floor at the local rec center gymnasium.  I chuckled to myself, but clapped loudly and cheered her on at her first dance recital.  After the performance we praised her for the great job she did.  Twirling in her pink tutu out to the parking lot, she joyfully announced that she wanted to be a ballerina when she “growed” up.  I looked at her, and her cuteness in that moment, and promised her a world of dance opportunities.

Well, that little promise came back to bite me a few weeks ago.  I stepped into the crowded room at the dance studio.  It was a Parent’s Meeting for all prospective Company dancers.  I felt hot, flushed, and a knot growing in my stomach.  What have we gotten into?  The cute, little, smiley dance instructor handed me a thick packet.   I quickly skimmed through looking for a certain word.  And there it was, a few paragraphs down, in big, bold print, “Fees.”  And thus the reason for the knot in my stomach.  It actually said, “four easy installments of $$$.  Oh goodness.

The Parent’s Meeting went on and on.  The knot in my stomach continued to grow.  I fanned myself with the thick packet.  As I looked around the room I saw eagerness mixed with pride in many eyes.  I saw giddiness in some.  And I saw blank stares in a select few—myself included.  Is this it?  Have I arrived?  Am I becoming a Dance Mom?  Lord.  Help.  Me.

Then it dawned on me.  The word “fees” was not the only word to fear.  Oh no.  A page over from that, read 2012-13 Schedule. And this was not a paragraph.  Nope. It was an entire page!  Life may have drained out of me completely. I think I saw the word mandatory a dozen times.  How will this ever work?  We have a life outside of dance?  Don’t they know that?

I felt anger start to boil up in me.  I started to imagine the careful words I would choose to tell Maddie this was not going to work.  And then it happened.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw sweet Maddie sitting next to me.  She was listening intently as the Company Director explained the thick packet.    Her forehead wasn’t wrinkled.  Her lips weren’t pursed together in an angry line.  She was beaming.  Her dream was coming true, while my nightmare was beginning.

It was in that moment I realized it was time to get over myself.  Memories of my youth flooded my mind.  Ballet, Jazz, Plays, Musicals, Speeches, all of it.  My parents somehow paid for all my fleeting interests.  They made time and calculated schedules so that I could be here and there in a timely manner.  They sacrificed.  And there it was, that word—Sacrifice.

Sacrifice conjures up many thoughts in my head, but in this situation it means the time has come for me to make the same sacrifices my parents made for me.  It’s kind of like the circle of life for parenting.   The road ahead seems long, and I appreciate the prayers every Monday, Thursday, Friday and some Saturdays as I drive to and from the dance studio.  But it’s a season.  And for this season my daughter has an opportunity to learn, grow and thrive while working hard at something she loves.  There will be challenges.  There will be sacrifices made for our whole family this season.  But I know in the end it will have been worth it.  Right?  Right? Tell me it will?  Tell me. Tell me.

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