I played clarinet for 15 years.  I could carry a decent tune on it but ehh I definitely wasn’t applying for Julliard.

I took a piano class in college.  My professor told me “you play piano like a clarinet player.” Pretty sure that wasn’t intended to be a compliment. I thanked her nonetheless.

I was a flag twirler in high school one year.  The next year, they held try-outs even for existing members JUST SO THEY COULD KICK ME OUT.  And they did.  (In hindsight, it would’ve been brilliant had they just told me I twirled a flag like a clarinet player.)

As far as dancing goes, I am about as graceful as… well, the dorky ex-flag twirling clarinetest you sat next to in high school.

My husband played the cowbell in our college band.  Let’s just say I didn’t marry him for his rhythm.

 

So when I first found out I was pregnant with a girl a few years back, I swore up, down and sideways that I would never sign her up for a dance class.  NO DANCE CLASS.  Because unless gracefulness was a recessive gene, she was surely screwed.

Co-workers tried for years.  Family members tried.  Even one of her specialists at the hospital tried.

“She’d love it!” they all said.

Nope.

Sparkly, tulle-y, obnoxious dance outfits?

Nope.

Recitals?

NOPE.

And, uhh… paying for all that?

Nope.

Tutus?

Yes. But that’s micro-fashion.

 

Little lady would be welcome to host a kitchen floor dance party at any time (which she does.  often.) but that would ever be as far as it went.   Cause SOCCER.  From the day we chose a name for this kid, I envisioned her with a ponytail, knee-high socks, and cleats.  I never played soccer growing up but damn it, my kid would and it was be the cutest ever.

So imagine my dismay when I went looking for a 4-year old soccer program in my town and… no digs.

Gymnastics was out – we did that for a year but she gets too distracted with all the equipment.  Music class would be fun but this girl needs to move and get that energy out.  Oh, and – I work.  Whatever she did would have to be on Saturday mornings.  My options dwindled.

And then, I did something I almost never do.  With anything.

I caved.

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Ugh!  It’s a matter of integrity.  I said NO DANCE CLASS and I don’t go back on my word.

But I went back on my word.

They told me to buy leotards and tights.

Put her hair up in a bun.

They told me to put her recital WEEK in June on my calendar now.  (Week?  I thought it was a day?  Holy sh…)

What the what did I do?  I can’t believe I caved.

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For the record, she only made it two-thirds of the way through class on Saturday before completely losing her shiz. She ran to me, bawling her eyes out. I gave her a hug and said, “You hate it?  Aww that’s my girl!”

(Yes, I’m bringing her back this weekend… sheesh.)

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