Last weekend, we went to a ski race with no snow in Craftsbury, Vermont. Well, the skiers skied on a mile long course where some folks had gone to an awful lot of trouble to make snow, truck it in, and spread around, making a kind of snow path several feet thick. The kids could not warm up on it, and they had to have someone brush the mud off the bottoms of their boots before they were allowed to even step up onto it, it was so fragile. Instead of racing through the woods on trails for their multi-kilometre race, they went around and around the one course, which made the race easier to see than usual, though it was surprisingly cold after I got soaked in the forty degree rain that was falling. It took me until Thursday to warm up. But it was fun to watch two kids I care a lot about flying around, going uphill faster than I've ever skied downhill.
This has truly been a year of first experiences for me, ballet mom of probably seventeen years. I knew that not every kid danced, but it never really sunk in that there were other things that parents got so passionate about their kids about doing, like playing football, basketball, and now ski racing.
I know that ballet is a discipline that takes years to master and can involve some very scary injuries, and I have nothing but respect for those flying kids, but I kind of wanted to say to those parents standing around in the brutally cold, rainy mud, "Hey, you know, you could be sitting in a warm, comfy theatre listening to music and watching your daughters in beautiful costumes, you know."
I kept my mouth shut. Most of those moms were armed with pointy poles.