There weren't many opportunities this year for me to bring the girls to their weekly dance class. With a shout of victory, I was able to attend one of their classes last month. At the dance school, there's a crowded, dark area with three short benches for waiting parents. A mirrored window offers a view into the dance studio. I was thinking back to the girls' preschool dance class and comparing to now. I could sense a shift of sorts. A slight unspoken competition, mainly amongst some of the parents. The kids are too young or maybe too sheltered to fully comprehend what that means. Competition teams, which are invite only, won't begin for a few more years but kids are already being primed for placement. It seems so different from when I was a kid. (I like to tell those "when I was your age" stories, which we always say we won't do but we all will eventually.)
A few weeks ago, we survived what is now known as "dance recital weekend." There's a dress rehearsal on Saturday, which ate up a significant amount of time, and the real deal on Sunday. The girls were again required to wear their hair in two french braids. Hairspray was my best friend. We all enjoyed ourselves and the girls were little superstars. I'm really proud of them for their efforts and enthusiasm. They were awesome!