But I’m trying.

My daughter is a girly-girl and somewhere along the line she chose me to be her mom. Me! Doesn’t she know I’m “hair challenged?” Doesn’t she know I suck at mascara application, costume sewing, nail doing, and body glitter know-how?

I can’t choose a tiara. I can’t do a bun. I don’t shop at MAC, and those old ladies that run every dance shop in town scare the bejeezus out of me.

So what can I do? I can cheer my girl on. I can cry when I watch her lyrical number, and I can comfort her when not everything goes her way on stage.

Just think of me as a dance mom in training.