On Monday, March 22nd, a new season of Dancing with the Stars will begin. They claim to have the most controversial cast of dancers ever. I'm sure the set is bubbling with the anticipation of potential wardrobe malfunctions, intense competition and judges spats. But all that buzz pales in comparison to the growing expectancy in our home.
The only DWTS fan I know that's bigger than my mom is my dad. They often disagree, much like Bruno & Len, but they usually root for the same pair to win. Without fail, my dad is on the couch a half hour before the show starts, making sure the television channel is secure and my mom gathers her game-time treats in her corner of the room. It's an event. Every week.
As my time living with my parents draws to a close, I'm saddened. I had no idea, at the time, what a rewarding experience it would be nor that I would discover so much about my parents. For example, I would have never guessed that my dad had a passion for figure skating and ballroom dancing.
Not many people in their 30s would want to move back in with their 70-something parents but now, I can't imagine living apart from them. There are moments when I could use some alone time, when I'd rather not share the bathroom or the tv and when I'd do things completely differently. But there are more often times that I can't imagine being alone.
Tonight, my mom said to me, "Michele, God has given you so much." She's right. I am grateful for the last three years. And I will be equally as grateful for Monday nights without Dancing with the Stars!