A Christmas to Love You (11 page)

“Ok girls, you know the deal. Start doing your warm ups until the others get here.” I wave to the moms on their way out the door.

I shake my head in disgust thinking about my conversation with one of my girls’ moms just the other day. Apparently, when the moms drop off the girls most are dressed like they are going to the gym to meet up with their “trainers” and others are dressed to the nines going to meet their “sugar daddies.” I live on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, which is safer and more upper class, but it’s repulsive to think of what the moms are really doing when they drop their daughters off.

A few days ago, the mom of one of my favorite girls, Mia, asked me to babysit for her because she had a business dinner on a Saturday night and her normal sitter was home with the stomach bug. She offered to pay me two hundred dollars for two hours of my time. I think I had a lapse in judgment that day. When she got home that night, the two of us sat around and finished off a bottle of wine in front of the fireplace. When Mia fell asleep, she spilled the details of some of the other moms. It was more than I ever cared to know about.

Within ten minutes my jazz class is full of eight year olds and we get down to business. I work the girls hard but I know they can handle it. A few of the other dance instructors have commented to me a few times about how well they are doing. I smiled and told them of course they were doing well; they had one of the best teachers. If there was one thing I was good at, it was dancing.

Two hours later, class is over and the girls are ready to drop.
You’re welcome moms!
As for me, I was just getting warmed up.

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