Curls for the Girl: Frozen Fantasy

A few years ago, I started seeing signs for daddy-daughter dances. Daddy-daughter dances? What are these newfangled parties? Are we really sending little girls on dates with their dads now? I don't even get a date with Gigi's dad anymore (yes, we're still married--I know how that sounded). I scoffed. I poked fun. I wondered at the wisdom of spending hard-earned cash for toddler dancing dresses. If you spend $30 on a dress for a dance when they're two, what on earth will you be spending for prom? Or for a wedding dress (shudder)?

Then I had a baby girl. A pink bow on her head (I would say in her hair, but I'd be lying--my little woman was darn near bald, but bald is beautiful). Her daddy wore pink the day she was born, and so began that relationship that can only be understood by another daughter who thinks her daddy hung the moon too.

Gigi and her daddy have a thing going on. I'm okay with it. My daddy and I had (have) a thing going on too. There used to be a cute little warning label that made the rounds on the Internet--something along the lines that men should look out for any grown woman who still called her father "daddy."

Gentlemen, look out. This pretty little lady will be calling her father "daddy" for a while:

She requested curls for her big dancing date.

Major thanks to our little Lutheran school for giving my baby girl the best night ever. (Someone really should talk to this one's mother; she needs to learn to sit like a lady.)

She asked for pink lipstick too. 

And for days leading up to her big dance, she boogied to her own beat. She was singing "Let It Go" before letting go was what the cool kids were doing. She's got the beat, and she just wants to have fun.

I promise, they really do have a thing going on. She just wanted to dance. 

The sky was awake. She was awake. And it was time to dance. 

I can't wait until I have to spend way too much on a prom dress and make him pose with his little sister.  Actually, I can wait a few years. I didn't have to worry about her dad getting her home safely before curfew. 

We had our own date night (to soften the blow when he learned that sons and mommies couldn't go to the Frozen dance. He likes to let it go too.)

I used to question daddy-daughter dances. They seemed extravagant and unnecessary. I didn't have a daddy-daughter dance until my wedding. Until then, fishing trips with my belt-loops tied snugly to the truck bumper were just as fun as any princess dance could have been. (I love you too, Daddy.) 

I hear that Gigi partied hard. The word around the playground is that she shook her bootie for two hours straight. She came home that night, snuggled into the chair and told me, "I had fun. Can I have nay-nay?" She's a dancing queen and a daddy's girl, but at the end of the night, when her curls have fallen, and the lipstick has faded, she's still my baby. 

And didn't this baby have fun! (She has worn the crown everyday since the dance.)

P.S. To the moms who made it happen, thank you! The effort was well worth the memories you made for a whole lot of little girls.