Dress rehearsal

First, she got ready, in full (fake) hair and makeup:

Then, she posed for pictures in the theatre lobby (I didn't coach her on how to stand, I swear):

Next, she rehearsed the finale with all the (14,000) other dancers in her show:

This was actually really cute, because the girls' hats were so big that they couldn't physically do some of the required arm motions.  Plus, the girl on the left didn't participate at all, which I thought showed her tremendous strength of character.

And then, because somebody decided it was a good idea to have the class of 3- and 4-year-olds go 24th on the program, she sat around for almost two hours, waiting to rehearse her number.  I got to sit there with her, trying to keep her from messing up that god damn hat or the 15,000,000 bobby pins necessary to corral her hair into what her dance studio considers an appropriate hairdo.  And we got to see all of the acts that will go on before her, which in a way was good, because during the actual performance she's going to be sequestered backstage for the whole show and therefore won't see the other dances.  She was predictably entranced with the ballet numbers, while I had fun watching the pint-sized gangbangers in the hip-hop classes attempt to pull attitudes.  Dude, you're eight and you live in Berea.  You are about the farthest thing from "hip" that there is.

Around 7 pm - you know, the time we usually start getting Liza ready for bed - she finally got to go on.  My god, the horribleness of it is not to be believed.  As far as Liza is concerned, the entire choreography of her song involves randomly stamping her heels into the floor.  Apparently the occasional shuffle steps that the other kids are doing are just for wusses (or people who actually care about following along with the rest of the class).

Thank god I had previously sat through 23 other relatively out-of-step and out-of-time and occasionally clueless performances, or I think I could have actually suffered brain damage from watching my child.  I will never, ever tell her that, but gaaaaaaaaah.  She didn't look like she was having fun, she looked like she was trying to work through a painful groin injury or something.  We didn't even get one of her signature "there isn't a twirl in the choreography, but I feel that the dance needs one, so I shall spin recklessly anyway" moves.  

And I got to watch this hot mess again when I showed the video to Jason.  And I get to pay $12 per person so that Jason, my parents, and I can see all of this again on Saturday afternoon.

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True quotes from this evening:

J, on the phone: "So, how'd she do?"

Me, with Liza in earshot: "She made it on and offstage just fine!"  silence  "Oh, and she gets to be the first person to walk on stage for her class."

Liza: "I'm the line leader!"

J: "Well, that's great.  Not going to say any more?"

Me: "Nope."

J, at dinner: "Sounds like it's going to be a memorable performance."

Me, with forced cheerfulness: "Yep, it's going to have all the best attributes of an Amtrack collision."

J, watching the video: "Wow.  There's 23 more like this?  Oh, your poor, poor father."

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I was going to go ahead and post the video here, but I've come to the conclusion that if I can't stand the thought of watching it again to edit it for YouTube, that's probably a sign that nobody else is going to want to see it, either.  There's "so bad, it's cute," and then there's just "so bad."  I know where this falls.  At least the still photos are cute!  Maybe if I look at the one of her in divalicious mode long enough, it will supercede the performance in my memory.

Aaaaaaaah.  That's better.