Did I mention that I love dancing? Possibly not, it seems like a lifetime ago but once upon a time I was obsessed with it. I spent most of my teenage years attending dance lessons in every moment of my free time (beats drinking cider and throwing up which was the pastime of most of my peers). After which I went to university and did a degree in contemporary dance (I know, boy am I qualified).

I have avoided sending my children to dance lessons of any kind, despite my passion, for fear of becoming ‘that’ mother. You know the one, she is pushy and utterly convinced that her little angel is the most talented dancer that ever walked the stage. She spends all her free time either ferrying her charge to every dance/singing/drama class she can find or sewing sequins onto lycra (no easy task I can tell you).

Obviously I would love it if one of my children shared my passion but not at the cost of me becoming ‘that’ mum. So when Super Kid first showed an interest in dancing and asked to attend a class I held in the squueeeee’s of delight and waited patiently. I wanted to be  sure that he really wanted this, for himself, and that I was not influencing him either way. That was nearly three years ago.

I have to admit I’m not entirely innocent. I have forced Strictly Come Dancing onto all my children.During the winter Saturday evening are sacred, we watch Strictly and the children join in and dance around the living room. So this year when Strictly started Super Kid’s most recent request for dance classes began. I said I would sort it out, and did nothing. After three separate reminders from him I decided that he possibly actually did want to go to dance class and I should actually sort it out.

I have found him a class, and signed up for a term. He has his ballet clothes and cute little white leather ballet shoes. This afternoon the whole family was treated to Super Kid dressed in his kit showing us all his moves (picked up in a taster class) and bouncing around in excitement. So it’s fair to say he is as excited about this as I am, which is reassuring evidence that so far I’m not ‘that’ mum.

He starts next week and I will keep you posted on his progress. Please do me a favour though and slap me if I start to sound anything like ‘that’ mum!

ballet boy