Yes, my nine year old has a much more exciting life than I do. She gets to float across the stage in her little angel costume, gracefully waving her arms, and batting her false eyelashes as the bright lights twinkle upon her diamonique earrings. For eight shows over the next two weeks, she is a "star," and the Little Ballerina and I are her lackeys. We get to drive her back and forth, eat on the fly, wrangle her crazy curls into a slick bun, sit for countless hours during classes and rehearsals, and, finally, we get the privilege of paying $30 plus Ticketmaster fees per ticket to see her dance.
But you know what? When I'm sitting in that overpriced seat, it's all worth it, because the smile on her face is priceless. She oozes pure joy. And I am a puddle of pride.
So, BB, when you make it big, I hope you'll remember to give a shout-out to your dear, old mom. I'll be the one in the audience, rocking a pair of your old false eyelashes, and shoving a tortilla in your little sister's mouth. Break a leg, girl!