This email came through to me last night.

Thank you for signing up for the Rockettes event at Radio City Music Hall! This email confirms your space at this event. We can’t wait to see you there!

I’d be totally lying if I told you I didn’t tear up. And squeal out loud. And immediately call my 14 year old niece.

This is totally a dream come true for me.

Let’s back up a little… like to when I was two.

At two, I got my first pair of ballet shoes and started taking classes. I danced non-stop until I graduated from high school, taking ballet, tap, and jazz.

In 7th grade, I was a majorette and a cheerleader in 8th grade.

When I was a freshman, I was one of two freshmen to make the high school dance team — The Vespidaettes.

Dancing took me many places.

I went to camps during the summer, training with several professional ballerinas.

My dance team earned the chance to dance in two Cotton Bowls at NCA Camps.

I was invited as a senior, to dance in the St. Patrick’s Day Parade in Dublin, Ireland. My whole family went. (Shoutout to Mama and Daddy for doing everything they could to allow me to experience these trips.)

Twice I was invited to dance in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. The first year, the 5 of us who went from my school were front and center. We opened the parade and it was AMAZING! The second time, we were almost front and center, in a group of 1000 high school girls. We marched the parade route and experienced the whole shebang.

There were two groups that, all my life, I’ve looked up to. The Rangerettes from Kilgore College in Texas, and obviously, The Rockettes.

I knew I would never go to Kilgore College, so my dream of being a Rangerette was dashed (although I could totally kick my hat like they could) (they didn’t call me Miss Dance America for nothing, you know).

But I did look into auditioning to be a Rockette. Crazy? Hell yeah. But why not?

Only… I was too short.

My hopes for being a Rockette were dashed, also.

In college, I took ballet from a wonderful man, Mr. Curtis, and kept myself semi-in shape. But now? Not gonna lie… I’ve let myself go.

I could blame it on grief, marriage, laziness, birthing babies, arthritis. Whatever. At the end of the day, I’m out of shape.

So it’s highly likely I’ll rip pull a muscle on Friday morning. It’s highly likely I won’t care one single bit.

I’ll be dancing with the Rockettes, y’all. Probably with tears rolling down my eyes from both joy AND pain!