I live in a house with two ballet students. There is not a conversation to be had within my home that is not accompanied by two jetés and a pas de bourrée dessus-dessous. My eldest daughter is known at school as “that girl who pirouettes down the hall,” while the younger one likes to say, “Wanna see me do a split?” at the dinner table and then assume the position on the kitchen floor before anyone can stop her.

All of this is to say that I completely understand the appeal of the Lifetime show “Dance Moms” to them. For the uninitiated, the reality show follows the exploits of a group of moms and their highly flexible daughters under the tutelage of dance teacher Abby Lee as she attempts to win trophies at competitions seemingly held every single weekend up and down the Eastern Seaboard. My girls watch it religiously and then talk about the costumes, the music, and the routines for days on end, until the next episode comes on.

But I think the reason they like it best is because it MAKES ME INSANE.

Let me count the ways. You have to start with Abby Lee, a dance instructor with the shape of a donut factory QA tester and a voice that ranges from a loud squeal to a guttural honk. Forget playing Van Halen outside the embassies of recalcitrant dictators: just give Abby Lee a microphone and have her provide feedback on the quality of the dictator’s backbend.

Because Abby Lee isn’t one of those warm, feely, encouraging kind of dance instructors. She’s modeled herself on a marine drill sergeant, tearing down 9 year olds with sloppy footwork so that they can be rebuilt in the image of…her? Their brittle, combative mothers? Judging from the skimpy performance costumes caked in sequins – streetwalkers?

Speaking of the mothers, they appear to have no life beyond their daughters; Abby Lee gets pissed off when the moms aren’t present at each day’s practice and every performance. So what you end up with is five high-maintenance ladies whose children are in competition with one another, stuck in a grey windowed waiting room for hours on end while Abby chews out their children. Wasn’t that the subject of a Buñuel film?

With every episode, at least two of the moms get into a screechy fight that involves the b-word, directed at each other or at Abby Lee, and always in front of the children.  But their main nemesis is a certifiably crazy woman named Cathy who runs a competitive program called The Candy Apples; despite her well-coiffed appearance, I am pretty sure she learned her tricks through a stint in the Big House, probably for elder abuse or something.

I have been reading “The Blessings of a B Minus” by Wendy Mogel for hints on how to navigate the choppy sea that is parenting tweens and teens, and one of her big pieces of advice is to share in an activity that the child likes, and to not criticize it. So I try to watch this show with them. The not criticizing piece – I’m not so good at that.

Each episode we watch together is like a private version of Mystery Science Theater 3000: The Feminists Attack. “Why are the mothers always there? Don’t they have other children, or jobs? Don’t the girls want some independence from the mothers?” “Why does that tiny child have false eyelashes on? What message do you think that sends her about the importance of physical beauty?” “What, couldn’t they find a smaller costume? And what’s the feathering on the butt about?” “WHY is Abby Lee’s voice so awful? Does she ever stop barking?” The girls watch the screen, then me for the reaction shot, then the screen, then me, for the whole hour.

I will say this. It’s a rank above “Toddlers and Tiaras,” in that there is some talent  involved, primarily the ability to lie on your stomach on the stage and kick your legs over until they are touching the floor in front of your face, and to crumple prettily to the floor for the final pose.

But so far the best thing about Dance Moms is this: my youngest kid looked at me suspiciously as I wiped the foam off my mouth after one episode and said, “You’re gonna blog about this, aren’t you?” When I told her yes, she said, “Then I want to write the opposite point of view.” And immediately scurried to the office to write, then edit and polish Midlife Mixtape’s first-ever guest post, below:

Counterpoint: By the Youngest Daughter

Lifetime’s  Dance Moms is my favorite show. It’s about talented young competitive dancers, and their occasionally psycho moms. It’s “Toddlers and Tiaras” with ballerinas. And a frightening teacher. But, you have to admit what amazing dancers these girls are.

You’ll love Cathy’s craziness, Chloe’s solos, and yes, Abby Lee Miller. Every Tuesday night, I flip on Dance Moms to see all of this. It’s hilarious watching my mom’s face as these ladies yell and swear at each other.

I think that this is an awesome show my mom should stop hating on. All the quotes below are the craziest things that have come out of these ladies mouths, the quotes from the little girls, and of course Abby’s cruel words:

“I love dancing, but I don’t wanna go on Broadway. I just wanna stay at home and eat chips.” – Mackenzie (dancer)  age 6

“Your eyelashes are drooping. Do I need to staple your eyebrows up?”- Cathy ( Vivi’s mom)

“Everyone wants to see them fail”- Abby (teacher) on the girls

Believe me, watch from episode one, and you’ll never want it to be over.

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So Dance Moms: I thank you. For giving my child a self-imposed writing exercise that allows her to showcase an excellent appreciation for the unintended humor in your program. I couldn’t be more proud.