dance recital hell

With both of my daughters performing in a dance recital at the end of the week, can I just say WHAT THE HELL DID I THINK I WAS DOING LETTING THEM SIGN UP FOR THIS?
Don’t get me wrong, the dance classes and experiences have been awesome. And we love our dancing teachers and school. But why do we do this? Why do we have the recital? Okay, I understand the kids are showing us what they learned and performing is a part of the whole experoence. But can’t we keep it simple?
This is way different than the recitals I was in as a child. I feel sort of like this is all a big parenting test. I had to sew costume straps tonight. Sew! Me? I could hardly thread the needle and I feel like I’m half blind as I am typing this.
Then there is the bun thing. If your daughter is in a ballet number, her hair must be in a bun. One of my daughters is five, the other is 7. Just getting them to stand still long enough to brush their hair is a chore. A bun? I know one woman whose child stopped dancing because she could not take the hair stress. It sounds ridicules, but I gotta say, I understand.
I danced for years and did not have to worry about a bun until I was 12 or so, which was a good thing because I had to do it myself. Otherwise, it would not have happened. If there is anyone worse at doing hair than me, it’s my own beloved mother.
Tomorrow is the first dress rehearsal. I have to pick up the oldest daughter at school early because if I wait until she gets home from school, I’m afraid the rushing, on top of the bun stress, will just send me right over the edge. So, just getting her dressed and in the van will be interesting–along with the fact that I have to drag my five-year-old with us. That could be okay, but it might be very, very, not okay. Ya just never know…
Then, on Thursday, I have to do it all over again for my younger daughter, dragging my older one along.
All of this, not to mention the costumes and keeping track of all of the pieces of lace and ribbon and hair things and leg things. I keep thinking if I were a different kind of mother, this would be easier. You know the kind I mean. The organized seamstress hair and make-up know-it-all kind.
Do you know one?

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