I still remember my daughter’s huge eyes looking straight at me a few months ago when her dance teacher announced the Nutcracker auditions. My heart sank. We try very hard to keep our kids activities to a minimum and we were already over-committed for the fall. She was already taking three hours of dance a week and my son had joined a robotics team that I had agreed to help coach. December’s schedule already looked insane.
I found myself saying, “Well, it IS The Nutcracker…” How can you say no to a tiny ballerina’s dream?
My son asked, “Why do they call it The Nutcracker?” I explained the story in far too much detail. His eyes glazed over part-way through.
But this week I’ve learned the REAL reason it’s called the Nutcracker.
Because it’s NUTS. And the CRACKS in our schedule are showing.
“Okay, you pick her up from school and drive her to dress rehearsal. I’ll have her hair and bag ready.” “How many tickets do we need? How much do they cost?” “Where is your bun net? Where are your ballet shoes? What do you mean you left your black leotard on the floor and the cat slept on it?!” “It’s eight p.m. and they haven’t started running her scene yet?”
I had to laugh when I saw the sign-up sheet for backstage help. In magic marker it said, “Sign-ups for NUT-Moms.” Perfect. Now I’m offically nuts and I have the title to prove it.
I know it will all be worth it when I see our tiny dancer make her way across the big stage. It’s a dream come true for her. She’s having the time of her life. And I’m having the time of my life watching her enjoy it.
“Mom, I like being a toy soldier, but next year I want to audition to be an angel.”
I add a last spritz of hairspray to her bun. “That sounds like fun, sweetie. You’d make a beautiful angel.”
Yes. Next year. Sigh.
Nuts.