Winter Dance

Last night, Caitlin had a dance put on by her school (made up of 3rd, 4th and 5th graders).  Before I get into the meat of the story can I just give you today’s dose of WTF??  When I dropped her off at the dance, there was not one, but TWO limousines.  As in, some parents had obviously paid to have a limousine take their child (a 3rd, 4th or 5th grader, remember) to a 1 1/2 hour winter dance.  REALLY?  Does this mean that by the time prom rolls around they will be showing up in helicopters?  I. Mean. Really. 
ANYWAY.  This story is really about Caitlin.  When I found out about this dance, I wanted to make sure that Caitlin was going to have fun.  (Low key fun, NOT limousine fun of course).  Turns out Caitlin and I have very different ideas about what makes a dance fun.  (I think I was projecting my 8th grade self…the age I was when I went to my first dance on her third grade self.  Not a good match.)  Here’s how it went down:
About 30 minutes before the dance, Caitlin comes downstairs with her wet hair thrown up into a tight ponytail, in tee shirt and jeans.  I cringed a bit at the hair (yes, mom.  now I understand your mortification at having The Daughter With Perpetually Unbrushed Hair) and said she was ready to go.  I was about to comment on the hair, when Matt stepped in (he was NOT the kid with perpetually unbrushed hair.  Or untucked shirt.  Much the opposite I think).
“Caitlin?  Don’t you want mommy to blow dry your hair?  I mean, it’s nice, but…”
“Hmmm.  Daddy you might be right.  I might get sick with wet hair.”  Whatever. 
So upstairs we go.  Before we do a quick blow dry I quietly plugged in the curling iron.  Just in case. 
And she let me curl her hair!  I got caught up in the victory and asked her if she wanted to wear make up!?  And take my cell phone?  And wear some perfume?  And maybe some of my earrings?  (all of which would have thrilled me at her age).
“No mom.  No make up.  And PLEASE don’t make me take your phone because I won’t be able to dance with that big thing in my pocket.  AND I don’t need perfume.  Ew.  I put some lotion on my hands here smell this-“ (She put out her hand…it had a very faint lotion-y smell)  really mom, I’m good.  CAN WE GO NOW?  I’m ready to get my dance on!"
Sigh.  I guess all she wanted to do was dance, dance, dance. 
Afterward I was pumping her for information, “did you have fun?  Who was there?  Did you see any boys?  Did you dance with any boys?” 
“What?  EW! No!!  But I sure am gonna be sore tomorrow.  I was dancing a LOT!  And the dinner was so good!  Oh!  And look at this balloon I got!”
…and that was it.   
I probably should be thankful that she is so uninterested in the social aspect of these things. That it’s still fun to just go and dance like no one’s watching.   And also thankful that she is so patient with my spastic parenting.  I’m sure these days are numbered….