I’m in a bit of a predicament here. About one year ago, Pea was obsessed with ballet. So naturally, we wanted to find her a class, just as soon as we settled into our new home. And we did find one. Good news: close to our home. Bad news: quite literally the only dance studio in town.

Every Monday, we’d get her into her tights and leotard, and head over there. She’d have her little pink dancing bears ballet backpack on, with her tap and ballet shoes inside. For a while, it went pretty well. And then, something happened. I don’t know what, but it has made my life hell. I cannot stand taking her to class. She won’t get dressed, she doesn’t feel well. The list of excuses is endless, and if my husband isn’t here to ‘handle’ it, the whole day is ruined by what was supposed to be a joyful hobby for her. The screaming, the crying. And that’s me! So many times, I have wanted to throw in the towel. I’ve told my husband, “to hell with it. If she doesn’t want to go, I’m not going to force her.” And his response (and many others, too, whom I’ve talked to about this situation) has always been, “she needs to finish what she started.”

And welcome to my childhood. Finish what she started. Might as well be finish what I started. Because with my ADHD, nothing was ever finished. But boy, was I good at the starts.

And so, for Pea’s sake, apparently, I continued to battle her, every Monday afternoon. Stuffed her in her outfit, threw her in the car, cursing the universe to hell as I made the five-minute drive to the studio.

But last Monday, I had an epiphany. Her dance studio? It stinks. And I mean that. It just stinks like a skunk on the side of the road. And you know what else? They are allowed to stink. Because they are the only joint in town. There’s no competition! No second studio to keep them on their toes. (Get it? Ballet? Toes?)

Pea’s teacher has missed so many classes, I don’t actually know who she is. And the classes she does make it to? She is always late. And the girls don’t get to make it up on the back end of the class, since there’s another class that is shuffled in exactly when their class ends. And I don’t know who is in charge, there’s never anyone at the front desk who knows anything about anything. And they never answer the phone. Never, ever. Ever.

So, back to last Monday and my epiphany… My little Pea is truly a chip off the old block. And I’m the block. She thrives on routine, schedule, knowing what’s coming next. Everything has it’s place, and if it doesn’t, she’ll find it one. I am just the same way. So, to walk into this building that is literally teeming with eager little preschoolers in their dance outfits climbing the walls, awaiting a late instructor, or one who’s never even there, the confusion of a new teacher filling in for the AWOL teacher, it’s just too much for my sweet little girl to bear. And so, when we got her into her costume for her ‘rehearsal’ last Monday, I just knew that it wasn’t going to end well. Scheduled right before the rehearsal were to be the pictures: individual shots and group shots. But no one from the studio was there to help us, it was just the poor girl from the photo studio, and she had no clue. “Where is your teacher, Pea? Oh, wait! That’s her! She’s actually here! Hi! What are we doing? Where should we be? Excuse me? This is Pea. She’s in your Monday afternoon class? Has been for nearly a year? Remember? Hello?”

And off the teacher went…

Okay, then. Thanks, that was just very helpful. Yes, turn on your heels and walk away from us. And by the way? You’re feet are nasty. And you’re not a very good dancer. (Okay, this last part was in my head. But I meant every word of it. And I know, dancers have rough-looking feet. I just didn’t know how rough… And they are rough.)

We managed to figure it out. I did my best to hide my annoyance with her clueless teacher and the crazy chaos of the afternoon. I got her into the studio for her photos, only had to remind one other mother (lady, why so rude? Take a look around. There are other people living in your world.) that we were there first, so get to the back of the line. Then, we headed up to the studio for rehearsal. And waited. And waited. And waited. Then, waited some more. And finally, it was announced that there would be no rehearsal for the preschool ballerinas, as their teacher needed to be with her own girls for group photos. So, go home. And we’ll see you on Saturday, for the performance.

That’s tomorrow. It is the official ballet school performance. And it’s been three weeks since the girls were in class, working on their routines. The holiday, class photos, Spring Break, etc. And none of the parents can help the girls practice at home because they won’t let us stay and watch our girls dance. So, now we are all clueless. And I’m supposed to be sending Pea to a performance tomorrow? Who the heck wants to watch a bunch of stressed-out 4-year olds dance in a performance that none of them remembers ever having done before?

Needless to say, Pea announced to me after class that she would not be performing in the recital. And without even confirming it with my husband, I let her know that her decision was a solid one. And that we were instead going to have fun at her best friend’s birthday party.

And then, I called the gymnastics studio in town, to get their summer schedule. And you know what? They answered their phone on the first ring. Can you imagine? I have a good feeling about this…

So, this is another ‘first’ of many more to come, I’m sure: not finishing what she started. But this one? Is sanctioned by mommy. And it’s okay.

Have a great weekend…