How to be a Good Dance Mom

I must admit, I found the first couple of seasons of the reality show 'Dance Moms' to be somewhat entertaining. A militant dance studio owner who holds the fate of a handful of very talented girls and their moms who behave badly behind the scenes. These women actively engage in the politics behind their daughter's activity of choice - dance. If the mothers don't get their way, the gossip and maneuvering ensues, and it's all supposedly done with their child's best interest in mind. It made me thankful that my daughter's experience with dance looked nothing like this show.

Shortly before I watched an episode of this mayhem, my daughter was invited to compete on a dance team and we happily accepted the offer. The studio was close to our home and we knew it would allow her to dance at a higher level without a huge commitment and extraordinary expense. We could also see how kind and passionate the studio owner was without the extreme expectations of dancers and their families. It was a perfect fit and continues to be.

Now that my daughter has been in the world of competitive dance for two years, I've had time to make some important observations. There are things that I have learned and continue to remind myself in order to NOT turn into one of those moms on TV. Here is what I've concluded so far:

1. This isn't about me. 

As much as I would love to be on that stage performing or wish I could go back and have the opportunities my daughter has, I cannot. This time is for my child and for her to take dance as far as she can, for as long as she wants to.

2. Instructors are there to teach.

I cringe when I hear mothers correct their children after a dance performance or practice. I need to trust my daughter's teachers to care enough to correct her when her technique is off. They wouldn't be instructing for competition teams if they were content with sloppy dancing. Besides, they get paid to instruct.

3. My daughter's ability does not reflect my parenting.

This is a tough realization and one that is pervasive among parents whether in a studio or on a ball field. If my child excels it doesn't mean I deserve a medal. Likewise, if my daughter comes in dead last it doesn't mean I have failed. My daughter will experience successes and failures just like every other human being in the world, and I cannot use those to prove my worth or lack as a parent.

4. My child will glean from experience even if she isn't standing in the center.

One of my winter weekends was spent at the studio watching my daughter learn choreography for one of her teams. As I sat watching the dancers learn the new movements, I overheard two mothers discussing how annoyed they were about one particular girl who was always chosen to be a central focus for the routines. I believe that my children will get just as much from situations regardless of where they stand. They don't need to be in the spotlight to gain confidence and ability.

5. Character is more important than skill.

Those dressing areas at competitions stress me out. I've often wondered how many bobby pins cross the threshold of these rooms during competition weekends. It's amazing to watch mothers take territorial position over a ten square foot area. That space is coveted for sure. What frustrates me more however, is the way many dancers behave. Their lack of patience as they have to move quickly from the dressing area to the stage on a continuous basis is maddening. I had a young girl walk right in front of me as I was washing my hands in a bathroom. Apparently she saw her needs to be ahead of mine. These children aren't celebrities and mothers are not their handlers. Respect for others is more important than dancing in a competition.

Activities for children can be a wonderful thing. They can gain skills, they can learn the importance of working on a team, and that hard work and effort can pay off. I believe I am the one who will make or break how good these experiences can be for my children. If I choose to behave badly and don't make the conscious decisions to carefully walk through this phase of parenting, my children will miss out on some amazing life lessons. Instead they will emulate my behavior and not see the value in the opportunities they've been given. Who they become is far greater of an achievement than what they do. As a mom of a dancer, baseball and softball players, I will choose my actions wisely no matter what happens on any stage or field.

My Grades = My Identity

I went into my first stats test confident that I knew the material (I did). I had worked through the test prep that was given to the class, several times. I was not nervous, nor did I feel like I should be. I was ready. The test itself was quite different from the prep material, and although it was a lot more challenging, I still felt good about it. That's until I saw my posted grade a few days later...83. My initial reaction was to cry. Then I got angry. Then I kept bouncing back-and-forth between the two. I don't know of a worse feeling than when I've put incredible amounts of effort into my studies and then my grade doesn't reflect it. No amount of crying (or swearing) is going to change my score.

But this is where I have made a connection to this growth process I am in...my grades have become my identity. I have put my worth in a grade book, in an A, a B, a C, or an F. Am I the sum of my grades? Am I valuable even when the most I can achieve is a D?

My husband reminds me quite often, during those times (multiple times a week) when I want to throw my books in a fire, log off of Blackboard, e-mail my professors and scream, "I QUIT", that this is more about the process than anything. It's not about my individual assignments, tests, or homework. It's about the big picture. That's pretty hard to keep in focus when I have a syllabus that says my tests are worth twenty percent of my grade. GRADE!!!!

Oh how I wish there was a school out there where you learn what interests you, there are no tests to be anxious about, just learning the things that pertain to your passion, and grades aren't the focus, just the learning process.

In the meantime, I must succumb to this system if I want my degree. I don't quite know how to detach from the elation of an A and the anger of a C. It's going to be a LONG few years if I don't wrap my brain around it soon. And a lot of ulcers too.

Stats Class - Day 1

It's still summer here in NC and yet, the Fall semester started today. On my schedule...my arch nemesis - statistics. I have done my best to avoid it, and tried to figure out alternatives to complete my math requirements without it. I even considered switching majors so I didn't have to take it. Statistics with the cranky, old man professor sent me packing as a student in the 1990's. I failed it and decided math and I would never meet up again. After twenty years of avoidance and the last seven months of math classes, I am ready to face the stats giant one more time. I am in MAT151 - Intro to Statistics.

My class site where most of my work will be done

Today was my first day of class. The stress has been building inside of me for months, and to be honest, the first few weeks of classes always make me want to run far, far away. Buying books, logging onto class sites, and figuring out what the professor's style and expectations are can be exhausting. But this morning I tried to offset my stress. I set my alarm for 6:00 to get my workout in before I made my way to campus. I felt great and ready for the challenge.

I got to campus and found a parking spot (not always an easy feat) with 20 minutes to spare. As I walked through the doors of the building, I was offered help to locate my classroom by a receptionist. Nice! Room 112 was a short walk from the entrance and there was my kind instructor; a young woman with a pleasant smile and she welcomed me to the class. I quickly met a fellow classmate who has five children of her own and that contact relaxed me even more.

After attendance was taken, the professor dove into the syllabus and I listened to a lecture. It wasn't too bad. In fact, it was almost enjoyable. I can see myself doing well and completing this class successfully. That's a good thing because I will make this trek 3 times a week until the middle of December.

Back to Reality

I thought the drive to and from Maine would never end. Other than the road trips, we had a wonderful summer vacation away from our everyday lives here in NC. Memories were made and relationships were nourished. One of the greatest highlights was our overnight stay in a family member's New York City condo. First Street and 50th Avenue could not be more different from our neighborhood, but it was that change that made the stay so great.

Our drive into Manhattan

There is something exciting and energizing about a city, particularly New York. People are everywhere and shops, restaurants, and markets are just a walk away. Alternative transportation is all around including buses, taxis, carriage rides, and bike tours. This is not my backyard!

We decided to take advantage of the twenty-four hours we had to basque in the city, so of course we walked. We headed to Rockefeller Center, Times Square, and Central Park. Our ambition remained strong until Times Square; it was there when our six year old decided she had no energy left. We urged her on so we could make it to the park of all parks. On our way back to the condo, I started talking with my daughter about what was different about this neighborhood from our own. The buildings were much bigger, apartments are where people live, it's noisy, and there weren't many yards to play in.

The city's beauty was even more evident at night. The lights from the buildings were reminiscent of fireworks - we didn't want to close our eyes and miss something. The energy continued to surround us even during the evening. It truly is the city that never sleeps.

The best spot for looking at the city AND for a card game

In the morning, none of us wanted to leave. With my large cup of coffee, I sat in the best spot of the home - a window seat that overlooked the buildings on 1st Street. I felt a slight tinge of sadness knowing this beautiful place existed and I would have to say goodbye to it. I soaked in the last moments of the amazing view, took a deep breath, and felt incredibly grateful for this 24 hour gift. What a wonderful break from reality - but it was time to go back and do life the best I know how.  

A Family First

My husband is passionate about baseball. He often talks about his college days and how he would run through a wall to catch a ball if he had to. I'm amazed at how he has found baseball to be a source of growth and inspiration in his life. It isn't surprising that our son has grown to love the game. He started out in tee ball, moved onto coach pitch, and finally Little League.

Over the years, we have watched our buddy go from having a fear of the ball to being asked to participate on a travel team with other eleven and twelve year old boys. At the beginning of the spring baseball season, I could see that he was overwhelmed. He was playing alongside some talented kids and he was a bit rusty after taking the Fall off to focus on his new educational adventure - homeschooling. After a few weeks and a lot of one-on-one work with my husband, my son was playing confidently. His batting average was right up there, and he found a new favorite position; first base.

My buddy's broken ulna

The biggest change I saw in him, though didn't have anything to do with the mechanics of baseball. His attitude was amazing while he cheered his teammates onto victory and even through defeat. He was a total team player, as he sat on the bench screaming for his friends to succeed. This was when I saw that his passion for baseball was more about the relationships he had on his team. The encourager that I have seen in him since he was a young boy was overwhelmingly evident, and as parents, our hearts were full.

The end of the spring baseball season was thrilling as our son was put on the All Star team and my husband happily coached. The team was part of a local tournament and was the precursor to the big tournament in the following weeks that is the road to the Little League World Series. During the third game of the first tournament, my son was up at the plate and ready to get a hit for the team. Instead, he took a hit and the pitch got him in the forearm. He immediately went down and his arm swelled. Unfortunately, that ball broke his arm (our family's first broken bone) and he couldn't play in the big tournament. Except nothing held him back from doing what he did remarkably well - cheer on his friends. He hardly seemed phased that he couldn't play and was totally content to be the team's support from the dug out. His screams and shouts helped them earn runner up, and put a lot of smiles on many parent's faces.

What a proud moment as a parent. Lord knows I don't take the credit. I make a lot of mistakes in my parental role, but boy am I thankful that good happens in spite of my errors.

My Urge to Quit

Several years ago I realized I have an awful tendency to quit right when I get to the end of something. It could be as I near the end of a book, a goal such as weight loss, or even a class that I am acing. This desire became very real last year after my impulsive decision to run a 5k with a friend. I saw the finish line and wanted to stop. I wanted to end the challenge right there and justify quitting. I was tired, sore, my lungs couldn't take anymore, and who puts a finish line at the top of an incline? That's just silly! It was during my contemplation to quit when I heard a voice say, "This is what you do. You quit, right at the end. Don't stop!"

Here I am, yet again, at the end of a semester and the want to quit is looming. It reared its ugly head a couple of weeks ago when I realized I had to take a unit test on statistics and probability AND a cumulative final exam for that same class within six days of each other. I'm reliving the incline at the end of that 5k.

After a few hours of studying last night, I turned on my TV and watched the last half of Extreme Makeover Weight Loss Edition. The featured woman had abandonment and rejection issues that she carried from childhood, and with it came a lot of fear. At the end of the show, the trainer gave insight on his client and made a very profound statement that hit me pretty hard. He said, "She was afraid to fail and afraid to succeed." Whoah...that is intense! It made me consider why a person would be afraid of achievement and I think I made a connection; they're afraid to succeed because success will bring them to another place of growth and they could fail in that new place. If I get an A in my class, I move onto additional, more challenging classes, and those have the potential for failure.

Who says failing is all that bad? There is an incredible stigma with it. Yet, I have learned, through my own failures, that it's more about what I take away. My identity isn't wrapped up in what I don't accomplish. Failing doesn't make me a loser. I read somewhere that where you stop or fail, that spot is your new starting line. I can accept that, but I have a lot invested in my education and I won't quit. I need a minute to refocus and remember that I can DO THIS!

Math: My Love/Hate Relationship

Numbers have been my enemy. I could not escape them no matter how hard I tried. Actually, I used to love math in elementary school. And then I hit junior high. That was when my 30 year hatred for it began. Mixing letters with numbers (algebra) made no sense to me. Letters can be added and multiplied and divided? No.

With my aversion came falling grades. I was frustrated and had no interest in mastering what I began to despise. When I got to high school, it was as if someone was orchestrating my demise in the subject. My geometry teacher was fired half-way through the school year after allowing the class to steal her authority, and my algebra teacher sounded as if he came straight from a Charlie Brown special with his monotone voice and his lack of personality. At the end of junior year, a bomb hit - I failed. I couldn't do extra work or fix this F. I had to accept it and retake the class with the Charlie Brown teacher.

My math tools that are always close by

It was that F that solidified my failure status and I walked through the next 20-something years with it written all over me. It impacted how I lived; I was convinced I would fail at everything, so why even try? Relationships, my education, my health and fitness. There were times when I would muster up the courage to overcome those failure thoughts, but for the most part, they always won. My fear of math was solid and I had convinced myself that I was no good at it or anything else. Convinced!

After two miserable years of taking classes at a college and local university straight out of high school, I figured my continued failure was the nail in my educational casket. Over the past seven or eight years, a fire has been ignited to finish what I started and get my BA. But how could I do it without taking math? I tried every way I could think to skirt that obstacle, but it was impossible. Finally, after a few months of home schooling my son and teaching him 6th grade math, I mustered the courage to take a math placement test and begin my math requirements. That test was scarier to me than birthing my children. I had so much anxiety, I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest.

It's only been six and a half months since that test and I am getting close to finishing my second math class. I have gone beyond what I thought was possible. I figured if I achieved C's, I would be content. Apparently I am very good at math. I earned nearly a 100 average in my first class, and I am on track to do the same in my second class.

Here is what my math relationship has taught me: For every fear I have, whether legit or just perceived, I must face them. I had given my fear the power to change my life and with it, permission for me to fall short of who I can become. However, as I have looked fear in the eye, I have seen that it is weak, fear has no right to my life, and I am designed to overcome.

I am amazed at how much confidence is in me just from taking math. While I do not love math and have often said, "If math was a person, I'd punch it" my certainty is a beautiful byproduct that I had never anticipated.