Dance, dance, dance

September 18, 2009

Kathryn Evans Dance at Centenary Church

First day of dance classBrynn, Addison (lives two doors down) and Kaitlyn Truth be told, the first day of dance was a disaster on so many levels. I should have realized the lack of communication between the instructors and parents was a huge red flag, but I had hope it would all work out.

Months ago my nieghbor Laurel told me about a dance class she was going to sign her daughter up for that went from mid-September until December. So, I too sent in the registration forms and fee and then waited to hear back. Weeks passed, with no word. So I called the church. "Send her an email," they said. So I did. Twice. Then nothing. I called the church again. "Send an email." It was like a broken record. So I did. Again.

That night I finally recieved an email telling me what class the girls were in (Friday 10 AM) and what they needed to wear. I had been under the impression the girls needed ballet and tap shoes, so I bought both, only to see that the email stated we needed ballet. So I took the tap shoes back the following day. Who needs $40 of tap shoes your girls will soon outgrow.

Three days before class, I get a second email stating the girls in fact did need tap shoes. So much for being prepared. I was not going to pay full price for shoes I had initially got on sale, so I scoured the Internet for shoes and knew the girls would have to do without for one week.

The day of class arrived the girls were giddy and darling in their new outfits and were a constant whirl of twists and twirls as we packed up to leave.

We got to class ten minutes early (huge accomplishment for us) and dashed into the bathroom so they wouldn't have to go during their lesson.

When we came out, I start to realize how many little girls were showing up. They just kept appearing. When I thought there could not be any more pupils a long line of girls in leotards and tights walked in, students from the upstairs preschool.

I begin to count. Six. Seven. Ten. Twelve. Eighteen. NINETEEN.

And ONE teacher.

Did I mention I paid $145 per girl for this class?

And had spent a hundred dollars on all the apparel.

The dollar signs swirled in my mind as I saw the chaotic mess that was supposed to be dance instruction.

Did I also mention that parents have to wait in the hallway, so the dancers can focus?

Truly, no child on this planet could have focused in that set up.

Or adult, no less.

The music began and I sat and waited feeding Zach, hoping this could/would somehow get better.

It did not.

I peeked in through the window and spied Kaitlyn sitting on a folding chair sucking her thumb.

Brynn soon followed her sister's lead.

Then half way through, they switched their ballet shoes to tap.

Not a wise move since one woman cannot tie 4o tap shoe laces very quickly.

The girls were minus their shoes because of the initial email's oversight.

The girls sat.

And sat.

And sat.

Until the class was done.

I sat in the hallway,

fuming and seething anger from the lack of professionalism, organization and adequate instructors.

If I were to have given the class a grade it would have been an F- times ten.

Finally the older sister (not the instructor of my girls' class) arrived and asked if the mother of twins would mind moving her girls to a smaller 11 AM class on Friday. She asked two my neighbor to move as well, plus the other LDS girl in the class. There were only supposed to be 12 girls in any class and they had far exceeded that amount in the 10 AM class.

Ya think!

How in the world you can go from 12 to nearly 20 students without realizing it is beyond me.

It took every fiber of my being to stay calm and not tell her what I really thought.

But I said yes and prayed next week would be better.

As we walked to the car, I asked the girls what they learned.

Brynn's response: "Nothin."

Kaitlyn followed up with: "I sat on a chair and sucked my thumb."

Nice.

I called my mom on the way home and Rich and Kristi.

I had to vent.

What should I do?

Kristi told me to stay calm and give it another week. You don't want to be the angry mom that yells and then the instructors hate your kids until the end of the session.

So I waited.

Patience has never been my strong suit.

And you know what, last week was better.

Yes, there were still FIFTEEN girls in the 11 o'clock class, but it was calm and focused and the girls danced.

They really did.

I peeked through the window and saw them sway and twirl and point and tip toe and shuffle.

And smile and giggle and laugh.

Yes, after almost quitting, I am willing to give the class a second chance.

It's not like I expected a three year to become a ballerina, but I did expect them to move and enjoy it.

And they finally did.

Fingers are crossed that this week will be even better.

I really think it will.

Because seriously, it could never, ever be worse that how it all started out.