Over the weekend, my daughter attended a Homeschool Fall Dance with three of her sweet girlfriends. One thing I appreciate about the homeschool sponsored dances is that generally, modesty is required, and the chaperones are extra vigilant.
My friend Jenny and I were among the chaperones. Which basically meant that we were there to keep laser eyes on our shy-prone daughters. Plus the two sidekicks who we were there to protect by proxy. We let it be known that we were present to keep order and were not afraid to go back to jail.
Another fun aspect of a homeschool dance is that it’s totally cool for the moms to dance as well, and if your name is Jenny, you might get pulled up on stage to do the twist. Jenny took one for the team. Had it been me, I might be writing this post from traction.
After we had been there awhile, I received a text from a concerned father (aka Fiddledaddy). “I’m surprised I haven’t gotten any pictures yet!” So we sent him this:
I guess this is what the youngsters call a “selfie”? And yes, I really need to study the instruction manual for the iPhone camera.
At one point we felt like the girls were doing fine as they were all four singing, dancing, and jumping in a tight circle (no boy could have distracted them if he tried). So we felt it was safe to step out into the hall to allow me to readjust my Spanx which was up under my armpits. And also to check to see IF OUR EARS WERE BLEEDING. Because OH MY LORD. THE MUSIC. IT WAS LOUD. And that “techno-funk”? IT SHAKES YOUR VERY BONES.
We spied a father patrolling the perimeter. He sported rather obvious day-glo orange earplugs. We pounced on him, WHERE DID YOU GET THOSE? He disappeared briefly and then presented us with two brand new packages of day-glo orange earplugs of our very own. We stuffed them into our ears and mustered the courage to return to the dance floor. Wherein we completed the Electric Slide without incident.
The girls insisted on staying until last call (or eleven o’clock). The chaperones considered laying down on the chairs for effect. Our charges had a fantastic time (just dancing with each other) and the mothers didn’t have to employ any ninja moves to deflect the boys.
Jenny astutely noted at one point, “You know, they could have just done all this in the living room.” Word. But then we wouldn’t be walking around all WHAT? SPEAK UP, I CAN’T HEAR YOU. Where’s the fun in that?