Dance, Dance, Dance

Last night was 8th grade promotion at our school, following which was the promotion dance for all middle-schoolers.  Parents of the 7th grade students traditionally put this on, so that the parents of the kids promoting don't need to worry about that on top of everything else they must have on their plates.

Well, with all I've been juggling, signing up to chaperone the dance seemed like the least amount of effort for me.  I'd just need to show up. And therefore although #2 seemed too young at 11 years old to be attending, I told both of the girls that they could go, since I'd be there.  

They had a ball.  They were clearly (to me, anyway) new to the school dance scene, but they had a good time--always on the dance floor.  No wall flower kids for me!  #2 danced one slow dance with a boy who is in the flute section with her in orchestra.  #1 was disappointed that no one asked her to dance.  But other than that, they danced all dances, slow and fast, with each other and their friends.

One on-going situation with a few of the 7th and 8h grade girls made the dance a little less enjoyable for the chaperones.  Yet the only true regret I had in attending was how old I felt.  I am the mother of two dance-going, mascara-wearing, hair-spraying, Jonas Brothers-listening, middle school girls.  How on earth is that possible?  Wasn't it yesterday that I was putting on the teal eyeliner and heading to my own jr. high dances?  Wasn't it yesterday that I was 12 and thought I was a grown-up?  Of course there were some slight differences--we were requesting Madonna and Michael Jackson and the only "rap" was by Wham!  

I am fully aware that this lament only serves to make me sound older still.  But it's all the truth.  It's been 22 years since my first dance.  Yesterday was 22 years ago.  Even so, the comforting old adage applies-- the more things change, the more they stay the same.  Last night the kids rocked out to "Thriller."