Summer is officially here; I have taken off my Studio Chauffeuse (I made that up because I'm a girl) hat in exchange for the Pitch B*tch cap. After a three-year hiatus, I am again a soccer mom.

I took hula lessons for about 6 years in my youth, but it did nothing to prepare me for this world of dance. I am thankful that we live so close to such a reputable dance studio (the competitive troupe earned 500+ awards this year - say wha??) and that my Girl can dance. I swear. Well enough that Hubby and I are tempted to pursue that next leap up to competitive dance. Let me see how much I can get for my left kidney first. There are dancers who performed almost 10 times throughout last weekend's recital in different costumes. That's 4-digits right there. Don't get me started....

I did the full backstage mom thing for the first time this year and upon my entrance all I saw was a sea of curls and metallic fabric (I bet I know who invented the Bedazzler...). Oh, and oceans of poppy red lipstick and blue eyeshadow. What a catastrophe. Although you can't really tell from where the audience sits. Maybe that's a pro-trick that I should learn.

Something I did learn on Friday night was what makes a good young dancer - the ability to create the illusion of maturity. There are a couple of fifteen year old dancers who absolutely entrance me everytime they're on stage, moving with the expressions and passion of a woman who has already loved, lost, and all the crazy stuff in between. Oh, I hope, I hope my Big Girl adopts this gift. (Hubby just wants her to win everything she competes in. Men.)

Three cheers for my first born on an excellent job, both on her recital performances and the school talent show she squeezed in earlier the same day.