First, I have to say that I am a stage mommy with absolutely NO skills when it comes to hair or makeup, and my poor kid has to depend upon me to make her look presentable and meet the dance studio's requirements.
Last year, they insisted that the girls in Precious Daughter's group have curls for their Shirley-Temple-ish performance of "Animal Crackers." God knew what he was doing when he gave me a child with poker-straight hair, because I don't have the temperament to deal with curly hair, even though I know I'd never make my daughter endure the hair crimes visited upon me by my own mother. Precious Daughter endured two nights of me torturing her hair into curls, but by the Sunday performance she loudly protested, and I really couldn't argue. I sent her off to dance with a ponytail, and she was a much happier dancer.
This year, they wanted the kids' hair up in a bun. Okay, I thought. I can manage a bun. HA. My first attempts at making one consumed half a package of bobby pins and my daughter looked like she was wearing a porcupine on her head.
I ended up with a braided ponytail anchored to her head with several dozen bobby pins, and on dress-rehearsal night I sent her into the studio with her bobby-pinned bun and wearing more makeup than the average streetwalker. May I say that heavy makeup on a six-year-old is disturbing?
Dress rehearsal practice was a bit...disjointed. Precious Daughter did all right, though, and I felt she'd survive the performances, and she did, with each performance improving over the last.
I had an hour to snap these pictures outside the performance hall. I've mentioned before that I still bear the scars of a rather nasty punctuality problem. Somewhere along the line, my paranoid mind changed "The show starts at 2:00; get there at 1:00" to "The show starts at 1:00, so we have to be there by noon."
My poor kid doesn't stand a chance with a mother like me.
The next two photos picture Precious Daughter with her Aunt V (my sister) and Uncle R. And, yes, she has a smear of chocolate on her face. Aunt V. didn't like that and insisted upon a retake. (Thanks again for the flowers, Uncle R.! She has them right next to her bed!)
The trouble is, though, that Uncle R. wasn't included in the retake, and I didn't want to leave him out. What the heck, Precious Daughter is a kid, for crying out loud, and I'm not going to fuss over a little chocolate smear on her cheek, not after the weekend she's endured.
And the next breath: "I wonder what next year's costume will be."
She wants to take hip-hop next year. So far. I asked her if she likes the music they play for hip-hop and she says, "not really." It's going to be an interesting year.