Mommy Owned and Operated

Mommy Owned and Operated

I strongly respect local Moms who have taken risks and opened their own businesses.  I think it’s amazing that they have the knowhow and more importantly, courage, to go out on their own and make their dreams come true.  I was thrilled when I found a local children’s dance center that was Mom owned and operated.  (For the sake of their business, I will never reveal where it is… unless you ask me personally in passing- then I will quickly throw them under the bus.)

Anyway, I remember calling and being thrilled that they had a Mommy and Me 2’s program.  I almost jumped out of my skin in excitement when they informed me that they teach the children ballet and that there is a mandatory uniform.  I could envision my little princess with her tutu on, ballet slippers in place, performing perfect plies’ with the bar.  I immediately called my three closest Mom friends and gushed that we MUST send our girls there.  No arguments from them, we were all signed up and had “fittings” scheduled within a week.

All I could think about was my own childhood dance memories.  I danced at a place called Center Stage Dance Studio in Stamford.  They are still there.  Still Mom owned.  Still awesome.  They, unfortunately, did not have a 2’s program.  I strongly attribute my serious dance skills (whether it  be zumba or just shakin’ it at the local bar) to the amazing teachers I had from such a young age.  I couldn’t wait to give this to Hayden too.

At the fitting, I started to get the feeling that maybe this whole “mandatory  uniform” thing was kind of a rip off.  The tutu’s were very overpriced.  They were required to only wear their clothing.  And they pretty much insisted I would need a ballet bag.  I politely, but sternly said no, I could very easily transfer her ballet slippers in a Walmart bag.

First day of class- coloring.  Now, I don’t know about you, but when I envision a ballet class, I think music and possibly some dancing… not puzzles and coloring.  I didn’t pay a ridiculous amount of money that I can’t even admit to husband for her to color.  Next the Mom (owner) sat with us and explained how she wanted to send her youngest to the most expensive “elite” pre-school in the area but she wasn’t sure about spending the money since it would be her fourth child she would have to send there.  I wanted to tell her to get her ass up off the floor and teach my child how to dance since this is how I choose to spend my money. 

Here’s something you may not know about me.  I wear my heart on my sleeve.  That can, and usually does, get me into trouble.  I didn’t like this woman, and she knew it.  She made a few comments on the size of Haydens tummy (insinuating she was heavy for a toddler) and then as far as I was concerned, I would bad mouth her company forever.  I would like to point out that she, in fact, was fat.  Again, not something that would normally come across my mind, but grown women in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones at small girls. 

Another time, she announced in front of the class, that Hayden’s hair was unacceptable.  That all children should have their hair tied up in a bun for her class.  I had Hayden’s hair half up.  No one ever told me about this rule.  She would prance around the class singing while the kids ran wild and become annoyed that they would run off.  She had absurd flowery things hanging from her windows and literally almost had a heart attack when one of the children pulled one down one day-  I knew that I had led my Mommy friends wrong.  The girls did not belong in this establishment.  I applaud her efforts to run a “professional” dance center for children- but all I could think about was those poor Russian 11 year old gymnasts who will never get their period.  I could never let Hayden have that type of experience.

At my parent’s restaurant one night, I saw a beautiful young girl come in with her recital outfit on.  I eagerly asked her parents where she went and they told me about another local dance center that they very much liked.  Then, to my shock, they immediately warned me about the very place I had sent Hayden.  I laughed and shared my stories with them.  I’ve learned a lesson- Just because a place is Mom owned and operated, doesn’t mean it’s a good place.  Needless to say, none of us returned to this dance school and we joke regularly about how often they call/email us in hopes that we will return. 

I’m not taking any chances.  I don’t care that it will take me 30 minutes each way to get my daughter to Center Stage which is where I went.  I need to guarantee her a good experience so she will grow up with the same love of dance that I have.  Best part?  No uniforms.

Time.

According to Hayden anything that has happened in the past happened “yesterday”.  So, imagine the awkwardness when I overhear her telling her teacher that she went swimming at the beach yesterday… and it’s clearly the middle of January. 

I’m having a hard time explaining to her the theory of time.  If you really think about it, it’s not an easy thing to explain to a child.  How do you have them understand the difference between five minutes and five hours- or even harder, last summer versus last fall? 

At first she would say things like “Mommy, five more minutes before bed… okay?” and I happily agreed.  Figuring, okay, she understands that five minutes is a little bit longer.  But then, after five minutes she would scream and protest.  Then she would keep asking for “forty-three more minutes”…  Well, she gets that 43 minutes is longer than five… That’s good right?

So, in true Mommy form,  I had to come up with a way to teach her time.  So, for a lack of a better plan, I started relating time to her favorite television shows.

Remember yesterday, when Mickey Mouse traveled to outer space?  That was YESTERDAY.

Remember when that annoying show that Mommy hates started?  Dino Dan?  That was LAST YEAR.

Your friend will come over in half an hour, that’s one episode of Dora.

One minute is the length of one commercial.

I didn’t say my method was perfect, but it kind of works. 

The other day she said to me “Mommy, it’s dark outside.  That means Bubble Guppies will be on TV soon”. 

Overall, a tremendous success, I think.  I have no idea who the Academy of Pediatrics thinks they are saying that television is bad for children.  Old school thinking right there.  Old school.  Next, they’ll say they don’t want us to give our children iPads.  Hayden can work an iPhone like no one’s business.  Let’s be realistic here- When she grows up and goes to high school, do you really think she’ll need to know how to write in cursive?  Or will she need to be fluent in operating a Mac and a PC?   She knows what an app is, she asked me the other day what chalk was… and honestly, she doesn’t need to know.  But she does need to know how to tell time… unless they come up with an app for that too.

What Would Michelle Obama do?

Growing up, I was the fat kid.  It’s a weird thing to be the fat kid, because no one tells you that you’re the fat kid until about age eight or nine.  Then some jerky ten year old looks at you and says “You’re fat”- You look down and realize that it’s true.  You look at your friends and they all are wearing jeans and you’re wearing gym pants with an elastic waist.  The cool thing about being the fat kid is that you usually end up being the funny kid too.  That was my experience.  I loved being the class clown.  Even as I got older and thinned out- I kept that sense of humor.  Getting the superlative “Class Clown” in high school was a strange but fulfilling achievement.  I was also named “Loudest” and “Class Dreamer”.  I am ridiculously loud.  I was named “Class Dreamer” because I slept through first and second period religiously every day for all four years. 

Anyway, it’s one thing to be the fat kid and it’s another thing to be the unhealthy/fat kid.  I was the unhealthy fat kid.  Before age ten, my cholesterol was ridiculously high.  Like over 200 high.  That’s horrible for a fat 70 year old man, let alone a ten year old school girl.  I was sent to specialists who taught my mother how to control my high levels.  By exercise and diet alone, I returned to normal.  I remember the first day I could fit into jeans.  My Mom put them on me and took pictures of me before I left for school.  I remember being so proud that day.

I have that similar feeling nowadays.  After getting married, I managed to gain a lot of weight again.  Last year, I got rid of it.  The good old fashion way, diet and exercise. 

As Hayden and I were getting our nails done last week (yes, Hayden gets manicures with me- she loves them) I heard the Spanish girls that give massages talking in Spanish about how big Hayden was.  I have never let on to them that I totally speak and understand Spanish.  It’s more fun that way.  I like to listen to them whisper about all the customers while I get my massage.  Unlike the Korean manicurists, I actually know they’re not talking about me.  At first, I thought they were just commenting on how “big” she is as in “old”- then I realized that they meant “big”, like “heavy”, like (gasp) “fat”. 

Gordita.

For the first time, I turned and looked one girl right in the eye and told her that Hayden was very healthy and she just happened to like her pasta a little too much.  She quickly shut up and looked at me in surprise.

Then it dawned on me.  Not that Hayden is fat.  She’s a healthy kid- but I let her eat crap.  I let her eat pasta for lunch, then for dinner if she wants it.  If we’re out and she wants French fries, I get them for her.  If she’s watching TV and asks for a piece of chocolate, I hand it to her.  I let her eat crap that I wouldn’t even eat anymore. 

What would Michelle Obama do?

So, my New Years Resolution is to change Hayden’s eating habit in a more healthy way.  Will I deprive her?  No way.  She’s just a kid.  But will I eliminate all the junk from her diet?  You bet.  The kid also needs some cardio, so I’m looking into a baby treadmill or maybe just some kind of new cardio-intensive gym class.  Do they do weight training for kids?  I did buy her some one pound weights at the Sports Authority.  She needs to start somewhere.

At the end of the day, I never want her to look at that ten year old boy who just told her she’s fat and realize it’s true.  I guess as Mommy’s that’s what we want to do, protect our kids. 

I want her to win superlatives like "Most Gorgeous, Smartest, Caring".