Stage Mother May I

Photo by ilco/StockXchange.com

One thing missing from this week's dance recital rehearsals: stage moms.

Not that I'm complaining, mind you.

Maybe you've seen commercials for the television show, Toddlers and Tiaras? Young children compete in pageants. Their moms look like momzillas--overbearing, trophy hunting pageant winner-wannabes who think the world revolves around their child.

I've been a room mom for Christa's dance class for three years now. Each dance class has at least two room moms--and please don't ask me to do the math. Just assume there are a lot of moms backstage looking after the kids.

Once we're all backstage, it's a team effort. We help out with makeup--even if we're not that group's room moms. Every mom has her own individual emergency "bag of tricks"--sewing kits, wet wipes, makeup remover, snacks, bobby pins. Side note: Bobby pins are gold during dress rehearsal and performance night. There's a share and share alike policy when it comes to emergency supplies.

There's been no "My child is the star of the show" attitude paraded around by any of the moms.

And that attitude plays out in the auditorium too. The kids can watch the other dancers perform when they aren't getting ready to go onstage. Everyone--and I mean everyone from the littlest dancers to the most advanced--are applauded and cheered.

Maybe a drama-mama will show up tonight.

I don't think so.

But I sure hope somebody brings some more bobby pins . . . the supply I bought disappeared during dress rehearsal yesterday!

When I grow up I want to be . . . a dancer's mom!

When I was a little girl, I dreamed of being a dancer.
I grew up to be a dancer's mom.
Sure, I am known to dance in the kitchen with my husband. But that kind of dancing doesn't require costumes. Or makeup. Or practice, practice, practice.

All of my daughters took dance, but Christa is the one who stayed with it the longest. She's finishing her fourth year of dance.

Her studio, Barbara Ellis Studio of Dance, culminates the year with a performance at the Pikes Peak Center. Preparation for the recital involves rehearsal week--hours and hours at the recital hall.

For the past three years, I've volunteered as a room mom. I don't know why. At first, I felt like Christa was too young to just drop off at the door. Now--well, I just find myself saying, "Sure, I'll help."

A room mom is the equivalent of a bouncer, in the sense that I provide crowd control. The main difference between a room mom and a bouncer is that I provide snacks for talkative young dancers--and keep them occupied with games and books and DVDs played on my portable DVD player until it is their turn to perform on center stage.

As a room mom, I've also learned to apply stage makeup. The basic rule is to make young girls look like streetwalkers--heavy, heavy applications of foundation, blush, eyeshadow, mascara, eyeliner and lipstick. Once they get on stage, it's amazing how the makeup tones down to normal. Off stage, well ... you just squint a lot.

While I'm applying makeup, I give basic instructions: Look down. Look up. Close your eyes. Open your eyes. Pucker.

And then I tell each girl she looks beautiful.

I watch them practice their dances. I hug Christa before she heads to the stage. I take lots of pictures.

It's all part of being a dancer's mom--all part of being Christa's mom.

And I wouldn't miss a minute of it.

The Art of (Behind-the-Stage) Mothering

This week has been all about dance rehearsals.

Christa and I have spent each afternoon--except Tuesday--at the Pikes Peak Center, along with hundreds of other girls and the other "room moms". There's a lot of waiting involved. Waiting for your first number and a chance to perform on stage. Waiting again for your second number and another chance on stage. Waiting to practice the finale.

Then we pack up our blanket, books, portable DVD player, water bottles, and my editing assignments and we head home.

Today was dress rehearsal, which meant each girl was supposed to show up in costume and in makeup. It never happens that way. Inevitably, girls show up missing parts of their costume or without a trace of lipstick or eyeshadow. So I turn into a makeup artist and slather on foundation and blush and multiple layers of black, gray and purple eyeshadow. More is definitely better when it comes to performing on stage.

It's like a dancing rainbow backstage. From itty-bitty girls in blue and white tutus to more accomplished older girls who've danced for years wearing hip-hop outfits or leaotards and tap shoes, there's color, color and more color.

There's lots of chatter too. The girls talk nonstop until the ultimate mom-in-charge comes in and yells for "QUIET" and calls for the next group of girls to line up outside the stage doors.

I remind the girls to smile before they go onstage. I cheer for them out in the audience during practices. I tell them, "Good job!" when they come backstage. I hang out with the other room moms and figure out what the girls need: bobby pins, lipstick, hairspray.


This is my third year being a room mom during rehearsal week. Why do I do it? Well, the first year I felt like Christa was too young to just drop off and leave her with someone else during rehearsals. And then it became something we do together--me, her and all the craziness of practice and costumes and makeup and performance. It's a way to be involved with her life and say that what's she's doing is important to me--important enough for me to be part of it.

Sometimes mothering happens behind the scenes while your child is front and center stage--and that's the way it's supposed to be.