choosing a party

Mini wanted to register for three more competitions before her 4th of July finale at National Championships in Orlando.  Three more attempts to hopefully bring home her next first place - one one necessary for Mini to retire at the highest level of competition.  Open Championship.

The first two competitions were held the second weekend in June in Indianapolis.  Curly’s foot had healed.  She was ready to compete.  

There were two more competitions the following weekend in Chicago.  Only 20 minutes from home.  Mini only wanted to sign up for the Saturday one.  The Sunday feis landed on Father’s Day.  She preferred to skip that one.  I didn’t blame her.  It was a new competition.  I had noticed a recent trend.  Irish dancing competitions being scheduled on Father’s Day.  This was the first one to land near our house.  Pass.

The new trend must be in response to the nutty, competition-crazed people over involved in Irish dancing.  Where would they draw the line?   (Yes, this might be a bit of the pot calling the kettle, but honestly, my kids were the last to wear wigs, etc.  Promise.  I fought the good fight.  And lost).

A few weeks after I registered the girls for competitions in Indianapolis, I opened an evite sent to my email address for Mini.  It was an 8th grade graduation pool party invitation.  Guess when the date was?  That’s right.  The party was on Friday, June 8th. 

The other new trend in Irish dancing is for a group to host a competition Friday night and then follow it up with another competition the next morning.  A Friday/Saturday competition was even better than a Saturday/Sunday competition.  If you could make the Friday work, then Sunday was left untouched.  A whole day on a weekend unaffected by an Irish dancing competition.  Beautiful.

You know in cartoons, when the character's eyes bug out . . .
imagine me doing this when I saw this invite. 
Summer kick off/ graduation party -
 a mom-who-has-paid-dancing-competition-fees
worst  nightmare!

Anyway, I gasped when I saw the date of the party.  I shared it with Mini.  She gasped too.  In an effort to not be labeled ‘dance mom’ by Mini’s brothers, I gulped and then told her that it was up to her.  If she wanted to attend the party, then I was fine with it.  We would drive to Indianapolis Friday night after the party and she could dance on Saturday only.

I admit it.  I hoped she would choose dancing.  Because 1.  I hated to toss the registration money out the window.  2.  And the other part was the true dance-mom part who is somewhat addicted to these silly subjective competitions..

Mini chose the party.  Duh.  That was fine.  Really.  I couldn’t blame her.  It stunk that I had already paid.  It also stunk that by skipping this competition, she would only have two chances left to win a first.