Okay, anyone who knows me or has been reading this blog for any period of time would probably say, "What do you mean? You love dance! You work for the studio. You do costumes. You drive ballerinas to classes and intensives all year. You support your daughter in everything she does. How can you say you hate dance?"
It's December.
Any dance mom would respond, "Oh. Well of course. That explains everything. December. Yeah. That's the pits." For the rest of you ... here's a little background.
December is probably the biggest performance month of the year. Not only are dancers doing huge performances of The Nutcracker, A Christmas Carol, Amahl and the Night Visitors, or any of a thousand themed recitals ... there are also tons of community events that said dancers are invited to perform at. Gotta share those talents. Gotta promote the studio. It's a huge time committment.
The ballerina in question is now dancing 25+ hours a week. This week the total was 32 hours. This is in addition to school (and her junior high thinks that December is the month for big projects - oh, how I hate them), and life in general. This weekend I haven't seen my daughter since Saturday at 9 am, when I dropped her off at rehearsal. It is now Sunday afternoon. The girls decided to have a dance sleepover so they could celebrate one of the dancer's birthday PLUS get to the studio to work on sets today. I admire her work ethic. I really do.
But, I hate dance.
It's the holidays. I yearn to do all those family traditions. She's at dance. The church youth group has holiday activities scheduled. She's at dance. Her non-dancing friends want her to come to support them at concerts and performances. She's at dance. Her room/bathroom is about to become a Super Fund Cleanup Site. She's at dance. We want to watch some holday movies. She's at dance. We want to decorate the house. She's at dance. We want to make Christmas goodies for our neighbors and family. She's at dance. Today I gathered two loads of laundry from her bedroom floor. Get the idea? I want my daughter back.
Okay, I know that come December 15th, I will be one of the proudest moms at their performance. My daughter is not just a dancer anymore, she's one of the studio principles, AND she also is a teaching assistant. This is a new production, which easily quadrupled the work load of putting it on. If I am being honest, I must admit to myself that my case of dance resentment is a result of what is going on in our family as well. During the past five weeks I have taken my sister to the ER three times and my mother twice. As the primary caretaker for both of them, I am feeling overwhelmed. Dance has robbed me of my best helper, and quite frankly one of the few rays of sunshine to be had lately. Dance is also becoming a metaphor for my daughter growing up and away from me, which is something I am struggling with at the moment.
Do I really hate dance? No, because it's my daughter's passion and she loves it. When she steps out on the boards next Saturday, my heart will explode in pride. However, there's still going to be that selfish little mom in my heart screaming "Bring on December 16th! I want my baby back!" So, until then I will just keep plugging away as "support staff." But from December 16th to January 2nd, she is MINE! MINE! MINE!
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