Could You Just Die?!?

Lately, Z has been resisting going to dance lessons. She wouldn't give me a reason why she didn't want to go, but there was much whining and foot dragging on her part and clenched teeth and you-will-finish-what-you-start on mine before I managed to cram her cat-in-a-crate-style into the car.

The thing is, once she got there, she loved it.

But now? Now she is playing a different tune. Last week they sent home reminder notices about the upcoming recital. When she found out (again) that she was going to dance on a stage in front of everyone, her eyes lit up like the fourth of July. Her first question was, "Will Daddy be there?" After I wrenched the knife out of my heart, I explained that he would do everything he could to be there, but work (500 miles away) might not let him. She processed that then started doing a role call: Will Grandma and GanGan be there? Will Zeker be there? Will Aunt L and Uncle R be there? Will my teacher be there? She pretty much asked about everyone she had ever met.

This week the stakes are even higher: her recital costumes have arrived! They were so cute I had to restrain myself to keep from squealing like a tween at a Jonas Brothers concert.

She'll wear the fringe skirt for the tap routine and the tutu for ballet. Squee! I can't wait to see her wear them. I swear, even if she hated it, I might make her take dance lessons JUST FOR THE COSTUMES. (I joke! I would force her to build character. Again, a joke! No forcing.) If I would let her, Z would wear her costume 24-7. The fringe skirt has already had an unfortunate run-in with Q and the whole kit and kaboodle was put away for safe keeping.

Who knew I'd be such a stage mother? I'm already planning how to do her hair. They are required to wear a bun (she is the only one with short-ish hair). I think there may be a lot of fugly bobby pins and Aqua Net involved.