It starts the same every day. The alarm goes off. We sigh and I hear the dogs yawn and stretch. Emmy plants a wet good morning kiss on my nose. The water turns on. The closet door creaks, and that's when I roll over. He heads to the coffee pot, laces his boots, and shuts the door. It's quiet again. Sometimes I get a 'morning, I fed the dogs,' and occasionally I get the sweetest kiss on the cheek. I live for that kiss on the cheek, but he knows I'm tired, (probably because I'm snoring) and he lets me sleep.
Fifteen hours later...
The dog barks. I walk in the door. I set down my things and get covered in sloppy Presley kisses. Ember howls and I shush her. I peek my head in the bedroom and usually he's out like a light. I sigh. I head to the coffee pot. It's got to be set for 5:00a. I follow my bedtime routine and carefully slip into bed. Sometimes he wakes up and a hand reaches for mine. I love those nights. But most night's he's exhausted, and I try not to wake him.
On some nights when I get home all is right in the world... because he's awake. He waited up for me. Those nights are the best nights.
The hardest part of owning a dance studio is not answering endless e-mails or fielding numerous messages a day. It's not picking out music and choreographing routines. It's not exchanging costumes, running to the post office, It's not hearing 'miss meg' endless times a day or rubbing tiny ankles where tap shoes have kicked. It's not catching up on book work, or running social media, or cleaning up endless amounts of hair on the dance floor (so. much. hair).
It's missing dinner, not hearing 'how was your day,' and longing for goodnight hugs.
It's consecutive days and nights of two ships passing in the night. Of surviving off of a few text messages a day, the occasional phone call, and I don't know how many 'I miss yous'.
I remember when I wanted to open the dance studio, one of my dance teachers told me this would be the hardest part. And that if and when I had children it would be even harder. And here we are 7 years later... she wasn't wrong.
But the truth is, I would not change it for the world. I absolutely love what I do... and I am thankful every day for Mr. Miss Meg and the sacrifices he makes so I can continue to live my dream.
...because the hardest part of being a dance teacher, is being the person waiting at home for them.
Leave a Reply.