My kindergartner loves to dance. I mean, she truly loves to dance. She twirls her way through life. If it wasn't a passion for her, there's no way I'd suffer through recital week. That week, so considerately scheduled for the second week of June (otherwise known as the week that, quite surely, is a teacher's breaking point), consists of nightly 4.5 hour dress rehearsals. Cherubs must arrive at 4 (because hey, that's easy for working parents!) in full make-up (yes, my five-year-old has the option of placing her very own Mary Kay order), without a hair out of place in their perfectly placed buns (do you know what it's like for this wash and go mom to have to watch videos supplied by the dancing school on perfect bun placement?!?). Then, that last weekend of the school year, that weekend that should be consumed with entering students' final grades, is, instead, spent nudging my husband to keep him awake as we watch the 3.5 hour recital, only to have my seven year old sit in tears because, five minutes after intermission, right before my daughter is about to get on stage for her two minute debut (yes, two minutes out of that 3.5 hour recital), he simply has to go to the bathroom. It's divine.
But, in all seriousness, my daughter loves to dance. And so I persevere. Once a week I rush out of school, my "bag of guilt" overflowing, pick up my daughter, meet my son at the bus, and whisk her away to dance class. I sit for an hour every Tuesday, giving my son glares of death as he attempts to mentally destroy me, overhearing moms debate whether or not to continue volunteering in the school because, with half day kindergarten and volunteering, they're only left with two hours of "me time."
Today though. . . . Today was different. Today when I stumbled into her after care program, not a hair in place, dance bag falling off my shoulder, my daughter greeted me by saying, "Mommy, can I skip dance class today? I really want to go home and read my book." Have sweeter words ever been spoken? And for half a second, I struggled with my decision. A commitment is a commitment. Our word has value.
But, dear reader, mama had a book she wanted to go read, too. And heck, my kindergartner loves to read!!!