I have no life. I work, I sleep and I taxi children around. Much like millions of other parents who are in the middle of hockey, football or skating season. I seem to have spent the past month curling the hair of daughters, teaching them how to apply mascara and eyeliner, and actually telling them to put on more make-up and lipstick! They are 10 and 12 years old, and no, I haven't quite gone off the parenting rails yet.
It is dance competition season and in order to sparkle sufficiently for the judges, one must slather on the make-up in alarming proportions, and grin wildly while not forgetting one step.
I am verging on feeling very uncomfortable with the whole thing - it reminds me a little of those awful American beauty pageants for four year olds, with all the whooping and clapping pushy mothers on the sidelines, living vicariously through their poor suffering but eventually insufferable children.
I am not a good dance mother. I don't live and breathe this life, but rather suffer through dance season. I don't belong to the right cliques and my children so far are not bitchy, pushy, little madams. And they will soon be advised in the error of their ways if this ever happens!
But Daughter Number One loves this game and would sing, dance and act 60 hours a week if she could. She has some talent and the stamina, if not a little over-sensitive, and I'm just along for the ride. Daughter Number Two enjoys it but is not competitive at all, and just likes all the dress-up and music.
But you know what - it keeps them fit, socialized and gives them confidence. So what if they don't want to take it the limits? It costs a small fortune, but I am so proud of what they achieve. And if they want to dance till they are 20, and it keeps them off the streets and directs their energies away from the usual teenager distractions, I'll grin and clap, and slap on more lippy in the name of happy, healthy kids!