Ballet I can handle. Soccer, I was not so good with. I danced ballet for 18 years at a studio similar to the one we found here in town. The pink tights, the little leotards, the bobby pinned hair, the lingering moms, and the muffled classical music coming from different studios--I feel like I never left.
On her first day of class, Eloise could not contain her excitement. She rushed home from school, got all suited up and gabbed and gabbed while I brushed her hair into an 'off their face' style. She was telling me that she would practice really hard at ballet so that she could be in a Company and make some money that she could later use for veterinary school.
I know what you are thinking, "Why can't this kid get serious about something and lay down some plans for her future?? "
Rest assured she managed to bring out her inner (outer?) 5 year old and had a delightful, fun filled time in her lesson.
Everyone seemed to be aware of the fact that Harriet would not be taking ballet class with Eloise. Everyone except Harriet. Ouch. That was a painful realization. Mostly for me, and the entire ballet studio and adjacent parking lot, as we had to listen to her scream, "Sissy! Ballet!" for 20 minutes.
To make up for it we had a little Kitchen Ballet performance when we got home and everyone was permitted to attend.
ready to dance!
(harriet is looking at me and wondering why
she isn't in the shot as well)
I die.
practicing plies in the kitchen
harriet's ersatz ballet slippers and moves
at the kitchen ballet
No comments:
Post a Comment