My daughters performed their year end dance recital last weekend.

It’s always such an undertaking, getting through the weekend.

Each of them were in two different dances which meant four different costumes and four different rehearsal times.

Our day started at 7am when we all woke up to get ready, including full hair and makeup for their first rehearsal. SO.MUCH.GEL.AND.HAIRSPRAY. My hands felt sticky for hours afterward. Getting a 9 year old and an 11 year old in dance makeup is always hilarious…it’s so much more “extra” than I ever thought possible. The lipstick is a shade of red that will never be found in nature. The blush makes them look like 1980s realtors. And the mascara? I cannot handle how long their lashes are right now. It’s wildly unfair. And, of course, I always sprinkle a little glitter in their hair for good luck (which they don’t need because they crushed their dances, but they always like it).

By the time we arrived at the dance theatre, I’d already been in my boots for 2 hours. And my head was pounding. We rolled in with two garment bags (two costumes with accessories and shoes, each), a bag of hair and makeup stuff, another bag of snacks, two giant water bottles, a backpack of books and activities for the hours between rehearsal and recital, and my own purse. Then we had to find something for lunch and a place to eat it while making sure their costumes didn’t get dirty (always pack their bathrobes for just such an occasion), I made my husband go get us coffee and smoothies, and then…the horror of horrors. We forgot a piece of one costume and had to send my husband out AGAIN to go buy the missing piece. He got caught in traffic on the way back and managed to get to the theatre in jut enough time for my daughter to throw the piece on and dash backstage to meet her class. And yes, the recital had already started.

“Batshit crazy” doesn’t even begin to describe how I felt.

And the amount of running around to get them into and out of costumes eleventy billion different times? I wish I’d have looked to see how many steps I got in that day. And I’ll tell you what: even a pair of Lucchese boots couldn’t hold up for 16 hours (quite literally). I thought I was going to die by the time we got home. I nearly did. Did you know you can get a cramp behind your shin? You can. And that pain was worse than any labor contraction I’ve ever experienced.

I’ve never been so glad to be done with the dance season.

Then I was texting with a girl friend whose daughter has been dancing for nigh on 15 years. “It gets easier!” she told me. “Eventually, they’re able to do their own hair and makeup!”

And, oh, how I got wistful. It made me excited for the next season, for the moments I get to spend with my girls – how ever many are left – when they let me do their hair and makeup and ask me which color lipstick would be the best. When they still need help getting in and out of their costumes. When they want me to carry their crap.

I’ve been a dance mom now for about 5 years. But my girls are getting older, more experienced, more capable. They’re ready for new challenges (they want to add another style to their repertoire next year and maybe even audition for company) which will bring new challenges for me.

But for now, they are still little.

And I’m planning on savoring every chaotic second of it.