Shall we dance?

We had a for-real dance showcase this year! In a for-real theatre! With all the usual things that go with a for-real dance showcase in a for-real theatre!

Of course, nothing went quite as planned.

Last week, two of the senior girls got The Dread Disease. That put a huge ol' monkey wrench in the works because they were in about eleventy-bajillion dances each. Cue much mad scrambling to pull in replacement people and/or change choreography, etc. The ballet piece I was meant to have been in but pulled myself from because of the whole pinched nerve situation suddenly became more replacement dancers than original dancers. Our Thursday rehearsal (Yes, I was still in rehearsals. Someone had to keep our choreographer on task!) was chaos with two completely new people learning the whole piece in an hour, from scratch. But learn it they did, and we were on track again.

Until...

Yeah, Friday? Another dancer out sick--my replacement. So our choreographer had to stand in at the VERY last minute, and that meant that I had to stand in the wings during the piece and mark it for her like we do for the baby classes so that she had a security blanket.

Still, we muddled through. The closing number--the senior girls doing an abridged version of Cell Block Tango from the musical Chicago--became a trio rather than its original sextet, with two of the three girls standing in for the break-out solos which, of course, belonged to two of the sick girls. Still, it could have been worse. Maybe. Probably. I guess.

Since I was only doing one of the three pieces I was originally supposed to be in, I volunteered to help out at both shows. (I mean, I would have volunteered anyway, but it's harder to do the actual work when you're running around dealing with costume changes and the like, you know?) I think I went up and down the stairs from stage level to dressing room level about eighty-seven times, usually with about twelve small humans trailing after me. Of course, the small humans provided an entertainment all their own. One especially small human--who had to be newly three, if she was a day--got hold of my hand on the trip down to the dressing rooms...and then wouldn't let go. One of the older girls, we'll call her J., who helps in that class spotted this and together we did our best to get the kid to go to her, but I think the noise and chaos got the better of the little booger, because she was not having it. We finally had to pry the kid's hand out of mine and shove it into J.'s so that I could get away and collect the next batch of children to be delivered.

I now know how mama ducks feel. All the kids in a row, following behind, sometimes falling behind and having to be rounded up...

I was stationed in the older, non-competition-team girls' dressing room for the second show, mostly to make sure that no one died and any necessary costume changes got done. These kids were old enough to entertain themselves...for the most part. As we were finally getting toward the end of the show, one of the younger girls sidled up to me.

"I'm bored!"

I need you all to appreciate the fact that I did NOT respond with, "Hi, Bored! I'm Elizabeth!"

So, yeah. It was A Day. It felt like a battle. If battles were engaged in in tulle and sequins. But we made it, it's done with, and we don't have to do it again until next June, by which time we will have forgotten just how much effort it takes and will run gleefully into the fray...for about five minutes before we start questioning all of our life choices. Again.