On Teaching My Own Kid

Teaching 6-year-olds is fun

I was really nervous to teach my daughter's class because I really, really don't want to turn into a psycho dance mom. But we've both ended up really liking it. We've settled upon a slightly schizophrenic approach to class (which is ironic considering how I specifically don't want to be a psycho dance mom). Mother-and-daughter is one relationship; Miss Chelsea-and-dancer is a completely different thing.

I like that I get to see her progress every single week, but I miss out on watching the demonstration classes. I like that I know exactly what's going on in her dance education, but I don't want to get used to that because I won't be her teacher forever. I love spending time with her doing something we both enjoy, but I want her to have her own thing too.

I was nervous my daughter would be a little sassy or less respectful because, duh, I'm her mom. She's only sassed me once and I handled it just like every other time a little kid gets mouthy in class. (I give them a small sideways hug and ask "Is that how you speak to a teacher?" It's worked every time.) And given her age, being mouthy once in two years is simultaneously age-appropriate and very good.

I was nervous I would be harder on my own kid than everyone else's. Every once in a while this happens. But my daughter saves her comment for when we are in the car going home and then she says, "You know, mom, I'm not your assistant. It's okay for me to not be perfect." She's right.

When I tuck her in at night I always ask, "How was ballet class?" I don't think she appreciates this because her response is usually, "You were there. You know how class went." I explain that I know how I thought it went, but I also want to know what she thought of the class. If I didn't ask how class went I wouldn't know that standing next to C bothers her because he is distracting, or that A is her favorite ballet friend right now. I wouldn't know that her favorite step is balancé, or that she misses doing the freeze dance game like she did in pre-ballet. 

I'm glad I touch base with her. It helps reconcile the strange mother/teacher split we live with.

My Feelings on My Daughter Taking Ballet

my daughter during the tech rehearsal for Brigham Young University's Snow Maiden

Clearly, I love ballet. And obviously I want other people's kids to take ballet. But I will admit to having mixed feelings about my own daughter starting classes. Mostly I was worried that I would put too much pressure on my young child. 

(I remember a mom walking into the studio after I had finished teaching a class and saying to her 9-year-old "Was that how a winner dances?" "No," the poor girl answered. "Then do it again, this time like a winner," the mom demanded. I don't want to be that mom.)

But after her asking many times over many months, and watching her dance along with Swan Lake just about every afternoon, I finally signed her up. I'm glad I did. She has had a wonderful time. Last year she even auditioned for (and danced in) a production by the local university's ballet program and it was a great experience for both of us.

I still remind myself to back off and just let her have fun. So what if she isn't the best in the class? Dance is supposed to be fun. I'm still worried I might go over the "crazy, no-fun, dance mom" edge and I work to stay far away from it every day.

My other concern with signing her up for classes was that I didn't want her to feel like she had to dance. I often teach girls whose mothers are really the ones who want to be in class. This is why adult beginner classes are so great--it's never too late to dance! But when the child is in class to live out the mother's fantasy it almost never goes well. I wanted to give my child space to develop her own interests. As it so happens, right now her interests dovetail nicely with mine. But I remind myself that someday she might pick a different hobby and I want to be okay with that.

Did I bring too much baggage into this decision? Possibly. Being a mom is hard, and we're all working to make the right decisions. One of the hardest parts is that there is no universal right answer. We just do the best we can.

Where I'll be Tonight

I'm excited to be seeing Provo Civic Ballet tonight! This preprofessional company always delivers a beautiful show. Since my husband is busy with graduate school, I'll be taking my daughter to the show and she's just as excited as I am. My little girl is getting a little burned out on ballet classes so I'm glad that there are elements of dance that she's still enthusiastic about. I'm not sure if this performance will inspire her to continue her training or if she is transitioning into a lifelong audience member, but either way tonight we will have a great time.

Oh, and if you'd like to come the performance is at the Covey Center for the Arts.

Diets Are Not the Answer

photo courtesy of stock.exchng

I trained under a director who made us weigh in weekly. Rumor was that if you weighed 110 pounds or less you were allowed to partner. Experience taught that if you looked like you weighed less than 100 pounds you didn't have to weigh in.

Needless to say, I've spent (wasted) a lot of time dieting. I've been so hungry I couldn't think straight. I've met horribly unrealistic and probably dangerous calorie goals. I trained myself to look at pictures in cookbooks instead of actually eating food. After a while I just stopped feeling hungry at all. I've gotten professional help.

When I think back on that poor girl (and I was under 21 for almost all of it) I just want to hug her. It is so tragic to think that weight is that important to anyone, and I know I'm not the only one who has felt that way. Weight is that important to someone right now.

(In all fairness, I do not blame my director for my issues with food. I am the one who chose to internalize messages, I chose to put ridiculous amounts of pressure on myself, and I distorted my own thoughts. But the weigh-ins didn't help.) 

Okay, that was then. I am now a happy, healthy woman who has worked very hard and decided not to waste another moment on a silly diet. I don't even own a scale. I thought I had put this all behind me.

Then I had a daughter of my own. 

In college I heard that girls as young as seven were going on diets and feeling pressure to be thin. "Surely not all seven-year-olds," I thought, "those girls must be the rare exception." No, not so much. My own little girl was seven when a classmate first introduced the idea of dieting and the importance of being thin. When I found out what was going on I truly felt physically ill. I want nothing more for my child (and yours) than for her to grow up confident that she has a special gift to give the world. And no one's gift is how they look.

This is such an overwhelming topic. How can I protect my sweet little girl from this unnamed, ever-present pressure to look a certain way--especially when I couldn't even protect myself? I don't pretend to have all the answers. All I have is one decision:

I've decided that the Beatles were right when they sang "love is all you need."  Love is what I need to hold off this pernicious voice that tells us to look a certain way in order to be "good enough." I'm not talking about increasing my love for my daughter--I have that in spades. What I was missing for so long was unconditional love for myself. The key is to love myself just the way I am. Right now. With "imperfect" weight, blemished skin, unfinished goals, whatever. 

I love myself it won't matter who says what about diets, because I won't listen. But this doesn't just help me. I truly believe that love multiplies and that if I love myself without conditions, I can love and accept you, too. If we love ourselves we can stop comparing ourselves to each other or to air-brushed/styled/professionally-crafted standards. We can simply be ourselves. And our daughters will see that whoever we are is "good enough." Whoever they are is good enough. We will build their strength and resilience by showing them our own.

Our daughters deserve to live this way. And so do we. Love is what I have to offer.