Last year, I must have gone absolutely crazy because I did something I’ve never done before. I signed up for an adult dance class, and danced in my first recital. My daughter dances there, and our studio offers several classes for moms. Mind you, I dance in the kitchen with the broom, or around the living room with the kids, but I’d never put on a ballet slipper. Ever.

Well last year, I did. And I loved it. This year, I decided to be brave and sign up for two. Why not, right? So I picked jazz (not the best idea for someone who is as uncoordinated as I am) and lyrical (it looked pretty, why not?)… at least, that was my logic at the time.

Fast forward 9 months.
What was I thinking? Truly, I must have been in some delusional state of mind in which I rendered myself invincible. That’s the only explanation. 

Jazz? Well, I finally (after 9 months) have mastered this particular move that makes up 50% of the song.

Lyrical? Oh Lord. Help me. That’s really all I have to say about that. Everything within me wants to ask the teacher if I can just lay out this weekend.  There’s this rolling-around-on-the-floor move. Let’s just say I can roll around all day long, it’s the getting up off the floor that is the problem. 

I don’t know what I was thinking.

Clearly, I wasn’t. 

Oh that’s right. I was thinking I would be skinnier by now. More capable. That I would float through the air, graceful, and beautiful like a swan. But no. There is no grace in this dance whatsoever. It is like putting ballet slippers on a T-Rex and pushing the poor thing onto a greased roller rink. I jest not. 

Have I mentioned that I realllly really want to quit?

But I won’t.  Because my sweet baby girl is watching me. She’s watching me do things I’ve never signed up for before. She’s watching me do things I’m afraid of. She’s taking note of our family rule that you don’t give up on things even though you’re afraid you’ll mess up. You see, she’s too young to care that I’m not as skinny as I planned on being by now. She doesn’t see that. She only sees the me that God sees – the one that makes her proud, the one she claps for when the song is over and the one she’ll snuggle on the couch with when the night is through. 

So even though everything within me is begging to quit and I am truly scared to death I’ll not be able to get off of the floor, I’ll pray I don’t mess up, and dance these two dances like no one is watching. As long as her and Jesup are clapping at the end, that’s all that really matters. 

Wish me luck. And prayers. I’ll need them. 

XOXO,

~ Karen