Ballerinas or the Mafia?

When I signed my daughter up for dance class, I didn’t realize they were making me an offer I couldn’t refuse. The dance studio seemed like such a safe place. Bright flamingo pink walls. A crystal chandelier. Photos of lithe dancers in graceful poses. Who would’ve thought that behind all those tutus lurked the Don of Pointe Shoes? But here I am an “earner” for the Ballet Mafia. Actually, in Mafioso terms, I’m a big-earner (one who makes the family lots of money).

It starts innocently enough. Tap and ballet shoes for class. CHING. Leotard with school name on it, along with tights, wrap skirt, and personalized dance bag that you can only buy through them. CHA-CHING. Like a shop owner paying for protection, you think “Okay, that was a lot of money, but it’s only once a year.”

This is when an unemployed Sopranos extra named Vinnie should emerge from the back room and smack some sense into me. You silly mook, that money was just the initial payment. Now comes the vig. Tights on a 3yr old has the shelf life of a case DVD players that fall off the back of a truck in Jersey. So they hit you up for an extra $10 every other week. Then the recital payments kick in. My daughter ends up with a costume made by third world laborers, but carries the price tag of haute couture. $200 dollars for an outfit she’ll wear one day and will have stained with chocolate milk in under an hour? Meanwhile, for the recital I’ll wear a $10 shirt for Wal-mart, unless she needs another pair of tights that week. If that wasn’t enough of an expense, there are pictures for the program that you have to buy a $50 ad space in to tell your little angel what a great ballerina she is. (While the mom with the Prada purse makes you look bad when she buys the $140 full-page ad for her uncoordinated prima ballerina, oh and Prada Mama will take 3 pair of tights while she’s at it. This is when I have to suppress the urge to whack Prada Mama with my last season, T.J. Maxx clearance purse.) After the individual picture packages, there are the class pictures. One mother asks if we can buy a copy of the class picture. Another mother who looks like she’s ready to enter the Ballet Witness Protection Program sneers, “Of course you can buy them. You pay for everything here.”

I’m just glad there are only time-outs and no rub-outs in ballet class, but then I’ve never bounced a check to the dancing Don....

Welcome Tired & Cranky Mommies!

This blog is for mommies who need naps, let their kids eat too many M&Ms so they can get five minutes on the phone to schedule that GYN checkup, despise Dora and Diego (save those stinking marmosets already!) and dread attending other kids birthday parties (unless there is a margarita bar). I will not talk about the beauty of natural childbirth or how your child should know sign language by 3 months and spell his name by 18 months. There are enough of those nuts already blogging. This is for the moms who wanted a cocktail to top off the epidural and have normal kids who may not know sign language or speak French, but know the entertainment value of a nervous cat combined with some finger paints.