I Am That Mother

You know the mother. The one who can't control her kid? Yep, that's me. The one who cried at her kid's dance recital? Me again.

The Mote (4 year old) had her dance recital rehearsal on Friday. At 2:15 I told her it was time to get ready. We needed make up, hair in a bun and tights on. Costume could be done at the rehearsal.

Well, the kid put on her yellow hard hat and her fairy wings and dug in those heels. She was not letting me near her hair. She screamed. She cried. She fell asleep. I panicked. My husband hovered looking shell shocked.

For a few minutes, I decided to scrap the whole thing. I've had so many battles with her the past few weeks over non-negotiable stuff like taking medicine and going to the doctor. I was going to drop the issue of the rehearsal and recital and just accept that she has a fun year in dance and that was that.

Then, I came to and decided that she needed to learn something here and I should try parenting. I woke her up. I calmly told her that she could either participate in the recital or tell her teacher that she wasn't going to participate but that the teacher needed to be told and I wasn't doing it for her. With that, my husband carried a screaming, kicking, hysterical child and got her belted in her car seat.

She was calm by the time we got to the rehearsal (I did bribe her with ice cream...I didn't say I was a good parent...just that I was giving this parenting thing a whirl).

So, in we walk. Every (E-V-E-R-Y) other little girl is prepared with her hair and make up done and is holding her mom's hand with all of their stuff in a neat little bag. My kid's face is swollen and blotchy and her hair looks she's running off to join the circus. I'm holding her little dance bag, her costume, my camera, my keys, my cell phone, her shoes and I look like a bag lady who forgot her bag. Our stuff is all over the place. She's whining.

That's when I became that mother. Neither one of us could get it together so I yanked her into the bathroom with all of our stuff falling out of my arms and yelled something about getting it together RIGHT NOW. Didn't work.

Some other mom got her hair in a ballerina bun. I got her costume on. And she looked at me, apologized and ran up on stage with an 18 year old who is her new BFF. G-d help me.

They practiced the finale first and she kept up with all the big kids, looking adorable. I was ok then. Even when she bowed by herself.

Then came time for her class to do their number. And I became that mom again. The one who goes up to video her kid while she is crying and shaking with pride. The one who forgets that every other mother in the place is feeling the same thing and is sure that she is the only one so choked up and so proud. The one who wants to run up on stage and get her little girl and bring her down again and go home and play blocks and just keep her a baby a little while longer because I don't think I can handle this growing up thing...

The one who is so proud of her girl and can't wait to see the recital on Sunday (oh- and have a few months off from dance class and payments too :))