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When I was a little girl, the basic positions children learn in ballet were elusive and boring. I could do them but I just couldn’t remember them. I loved, loved, loved the frills and bows and tights but I despised the bar.

Soon enough my parents realized ballet wasn’t my thing so they switched me to piano lessons. I did that long enough but ultimately proved to be artless in this medium. My teacher, Mrs. D, was hard of hearing and nearly impossible to understand. To my chagrin, as in ballet, the keys became a jumbled mess of letters and notes I just couldn’t follow. I felt immense relief when the classes ended.  

Anyway, along comes Sophie, our dancing butterfly, who unlike her mother (but very much like her father) can follow choreography like a champ and just loves to dance.

For the last two weeks, Sophie has had rehearsals nearly 5 times a week. She comes home and repeats her choreography and is beginning to identify herself as a dancer. The transformation is bewitching and endearing.

As her first dance recital approaches, I am a quivering mass of nerves and excitement. Yes, I know this début is hers and not mine, but in a way, I am living vicariously through my daughter. And no, I am not a stage mom (though, I will be this time around to help Sophie and others prepare for costume, hair and make up changes.)

I am beside myself! I can’t wait to see her on stage. I need B to figure out a way to get her name in lights on stage 🙂

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