Shall We Dance?

We just finished participating in a Great American Tradition, which is about 50% about the child and about 50% about parents living vicariously through their offspring. 

It's called The End-of-Year Dance Recital. 

And this is my three year old's sober summation: "I just can't handle so much prettiness."

Eliza and her classmates were beyond adorable, tap dancing un

certainly away in their sparkly costumes on the big, big stage with the bright lights and dark

 audience stretched out before them. I got to watch from the wings, having volunteered to be ... get this ... a BACKSTAGE MOM.

Normally, I'm a bit short of confidence on the kind of skills one might need to be a BSM. I always feel a bit in awe of other mothers (who tend to be older than I; I got a really early start). You know what I mean. The kind in that Neo-to-Go commercial who, at the first squawk on the playground, whip out their handy dandy first-aid kit, because they would never be caught in public without a fully stocked first-aid kit in their handbags. Or even the moms in our homeschool co-op who come up with ten weeks' worth of fascinating material to present to children with short attention spans, and arrive each week with approximately fifty six craft supplies in tow. Yes, Camille, I mean you. 

But today, all those moms? The older ones, who were always chatting away with each other during class about preschool politics (the horrors of parents who do not promptly return emails regarding the end-of-the-year teacher gift!) and who knows what else (what DO they talk about for fifty five minutes straight?)? They were asking ME the questions about what their daughters' precise longitudinal coordinates should be when, and thanking me for bringing extra Q-tips so they could smear scarlet lipstick on those little lips. I even had crayons and coloring pages at the ready. A miracle. The fact that I left the entire bucket of art supplies there? Not so much a miracle.

But really, let's address the chief point of the dance recital. For us, it's all about the cuteness, and the proof that our monthly tuition has produced some demonstrable skills in our daughters. For the girls? It's ALL ABOUT THE MAKEUP. For that one day, all those mysterious treasures of the adult world become theirs. Smoky blue eyeshadow! Bronzing powder! Blush! Lipstick you can see from the back of the auditorium! 

Of course, patient little sisters get their own privileges at home. That's what big sisters are for.