A Dancing Mother Learns How To Dance With Her Children
The munchkins explore the space with Mommy in between dance sequences at her favorite place to dance in Washington, DC, the roof terrace of the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts.
I dance with my children all the time. In fact, my movement practice has evolved radically and abundantly since becoming a mother. The more children I have, the more time I seem to have to dance. Does that surprise you? I would have never guessed it would turn out this way either, but as I continued to experiment with how to integrate my mothering labors with my creative practice, a beautifully collaborative process emerged.
My kids have mixed emotions about mommy dancing. Sometimes they are all for it and spend the whole time with me, running circles around me, moving through my legs, climbing over me, swinging off of me, and taking turns leading me through dances that they’ve come up with on the spot. Sometimes they are whining that I’ve done enough and can they pleeeeeeease get their snack, NOW! Sometimes they are sleepy or fussy and they are on my hip, or on my back, or on my breast while I am still swaying, and dipping, and rocking, and discovering whatever it is I’ve tapped into for that day’s practice. Also, after mothering two sons and then having a daughter, I was amazed to see how different my dance sessions are when it’s just me and Jubilee are in the space. The mother-daughter movement connection is unlike anything I’ve ever shared with my sons. I’m really curious to see how our collective movements, and duos, and trios evolve as they grow up.
A large part of creating and actually experiencing more time to dance has been through undoing the conditioning that in order to have a meaningful dance practice I have to be away from my children. For me, facilitating long stretches of time where I can be on my own has never been a part of my mothering reality. The resources to facilitate that—open blocks of time, childcare, transportation, money for transportation, commuting time, time and energy to prepare food for everyone while I’m away—are not easily accessible or affordable for our family. I learned this early on, but I also just never accepted that those resources were the only way to nurture my practice as a dancing mother. I always came back to a simple question that led me deeper into the experiment: But what about my dance?
Years before having children I had a profound revelation that everyone’s movement, everybody’s dance, mattered greatly to the sustained wellness of humanity. When we dance together, we are kinder to each other, more thoughtful and sensitive about making space for everyone’s needs, and more positive about our shared futures. Dance competition shows perpetuate false narratives that in order to be worthy of being celebrated for our dance, we have to know how to move a certain way, and be validated by people who have reached a certain level of expertise in the field. But movement is an individual resource, no matter who’s watching, or appreciating, or liking, or understanding our dance moves. When we dance, we are enhancing our quality of life. We are regenerating blood cells, muscles, and brain power. We are adding new oxygen to our blood stream, and increasing flexibility, stamina, and energy. Simply put, dancing makes us better human beings in our day to day moments of life.
As a mothering artist I knew that not only did have to dance to nurture my creative practice, I have to dance to sustain optimal wellness while navigating the very physical, emotional, and mentally exhaustive labors of motherhood. From a logistical perspective, as someone who spends all day and all night with her little people, learning how to dance with my children became an imperative. If I was waiting on a moment to myself to dance, I’d always be waiting. The movement would pass me by, and my body and spirit would lose some of its warmth and vibrancy. An absence of movement was not an option. I had to figure out a generative and collaborative process. The dance, like me, had to grow and make space for my reality as a dancing mother.
Over the years I’ve made some exciting discoveries in my shared movement moments with my children. Each of my children experience their dancing selves in different ways. Sometimes they are content to move as solo operators in the space. Sometimes they like being the leader and getting everyone to follow along in their movement creation. So far, my daughter, who is also the youngest at two years old, has spent the most time dancing with me one-on-one. Many times I’ve noticed even when we’re not sharing an intentional collaborative moment, she’s still watching me, and will later imitate my movements, calling out to me, “Look Mommy, I’m dancing!”
My oldest son loves to come up with dances, and giving them wild and hilarious names. He loves jamming to his favorite song over and over again, and showing us all the movements he’s creating. My second son is very acrobatic and athletic with his dance movements. Oftentimes, he’ll find his way into the dance by imitating an animal, a robot, a creature of his imagination. Also, anything involving running or jumping, and it’s automatically his favorite dance. I learn something new every time I dance with one or more of my children. I become more aware of what is on their minds, of what memories are playing out in their heads, of how they are making connections and deepening understandings about the world at home and outside of home.
Dancing with my children also makes the moments when I am truly having a solo dancing moment very sweet. I appreciate those sporadic pockets of solo-bodied dancing time in a way I never had to before being a mother. Once upon a time I spent hours, days, weeks by myself, just immersed in my own creative inquiries. I didn’t have to consider bed times, snacks, diapers, disputes over a toy that no one will care about in five minutes. I used to dance in all sorts of public spaces, spaces that would be extremely dangerous for small children in my current reality. I used to only have to consider my body, my needs, my time. Now though, I have to factor in a multitude of needs every time I dance. Even if I’m not physically engaged with my children at the moment, I’m still hyper-aware of them and the constant possibility of their needs altering the dance practice I’m having in that moment.
For instance, when I am mothering an infant, even if I’m dancing while they’re sleeping, I remain in close proximity so that I can quickly tend to whoever might need to be nursed back to sleep, or picked up if they roll off the bed, or just held as they acclimate to waking up. If I’m playing music it’s low, so that I can hear my children and be responsive to their needs. If they’re out at the playground with their father I am debating how to use the moment: make dinner so people won’t be hollering for food when they come back, or dance, dance, dance?
There is no pure moment to myself where I don’t have to consider my children’s needs. A dancing mother is in perpetual communion with her mothering labors, no matter where or how her body is moving in the space. It takes time, practice, and lots of experimentation to come into peaceful acceptance and celebration of this new way of dancing, of being. In these first years of motherhood I’ve had to dismantle old ways of thinking. I’ve had to do away with ideas that left me feeling stuck and unfulfilled in my daily reality of being a mother and primary caregiver to my many munchkins.
The dance had to expand so that it could adapt to my new parameters. That’s one of the beautiful things about dance as an art form, and about creativity in general. Reinventing, reimagining, reshaping, redoing, repeating, restoring, recovering—it’s all a part of the process of discovering and accessing new movement possibilities. My children—ceaseless demands for snacks and all—have made me a better dancer, a stronger dancer, a more creative dancer. I move through life with more receptivity, more passion for the present moment, more joy in the revelation of every new thing my body can do.