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Tiny Dancer-ish

August 28, 2013

 

It's been a big couple of weeks here at the Desmond house.  Tiny has started school and dance lessons.

I use these terms loosely. By school, I mean this great Mom's Day Out program two days a week at a church right by our house. This gives ol' mom a much needed break from my precious darling, and Tiny a chance to spread her wings and fly little bird! fly!

 

 



I know we both need this...  Me, for my sanity and to actually get a few things done both professionally and personally.  I'm now responding to emails, and successfully taking showers every Tuesday and Thursday.  I also have been (gasp!) making dinner and have even managed to find the bottom of the laundry hamper and its only week 2! 

And Tiny, for the simple reason that I'm afraid she may be smarter than me and I feel I've taught her almost everything I know.  God help us when we get to Chemistry. Being a stay at homer, I want to make sure she's ok leaving the nest, making friends, learning to share, blah, blah, blah. That, and let's be real, its not fair to the world if I'm the only one that gets to see her fashion creations.  She now gets to see and be seen.

 

 



In addition to school, Tiny started taking Pre-Ballet and Tap Class.  Every Monday afternoon we squeeze on a leotard that is so cute it should be illegal and head to Kaleidoscope Dance Academy where Tiny learns how to properly shake her booty with Ms. Laine. In theory, this is how its supposed to work.  In reality, let's recap the last two Mondays.

We've got the appropriate attire down (kind of), although both weeks I've had to wake her up from her nap and basically wrestle tights and a leotard on a half asleep Tiny.  She doesn't say much until its on, and then she whimpers..."too tight, too tight."   And, each time I explain its supposed to be tight, they're called tights for a reason.  Following the squeezing, I mean dressing, I'm supposed to make sure she has her hair up.  This is a joke, because Tiny has been boycotting pony tails of any kind for the last 3 months.  If, by the grace of God, I actually get one in, she rips it out within minutes.  She only wants to wear bows, and knowing this is a battle I can't win I let this slide and pretend she's not the only one in class without the proper hair.

 

 



So we get to the first class, and I don't know if she's in shock or awe, but Tiny's legs are suddenly made of cement and she doesn't move.  She doesn't boogie, she doesn't bounce, she stares stone faced.  Ms. Laine is doing everything she can to engage her, and yet she continues to stare at her teacher and classmates like this is the first time she has ever laid eyes on the human species.  After class, the teacher tells me, "Don't worry she'll be fine, at least she didn't run away screaming.  Those are the ones we have a hard time getting back."  Now it's my turn to stare, Is she serious?...and yet I'm oddly comforted that we've set the (ballet) bar so low.  I suddenly feel all Lloyd Christmas kinds of optimistic..."So, what are my chances of her becoming a dancer, like 1 in a 100? No, I'd say more like 1 in a 1,000,000.  So you're telling me I've got a chance!!"  And, I leave with a dumb smile plastered across my face, because if it was nothing else it was entertaining and well, the teacher said "I had nothing to worry about," which is almost the same thing as "she's a great dancer."

That is until this Monday...Class #2.

This time, Tiny is supposed to go into the studio with Ms. Laine and the other students while all the mommies and daddies wait in the lobby for their dancing queens to complete their 30 minute session. (The first class we were allowed in the studio to get them warmed up to their teacher and fellow classmates.) Ms. Laine extends her hand to Tiny and she recoils like she is trying to hand her green vegetables.  She grabs onto my neck with a Ninja-like death hold and starts to cry...and I'm having flashbacks to last weeks words of encouragement...."at least she didn't run away crying."   Oh cr@p!

 

 
The teacher tells me I can bring her in when she's ready and let's me sit by the door and try to get my little dancer to dance.  But, she continues her hold on me.  Half way through class I can tell she's interested... I caught her tapping her toe! But still she won't let go of my neck.  Class ends, and Ms. Laine suggests we try the Mommy and Me class on Fridays to try and get her used to being there.  And, I can't help but feel like we've been demoted.  We are now the kid you have to worry about.  And, a fear runs through me...Mommy and Me?  Does this mean I've got to squeeze my butt into a leotard too? I just may run away screaming myself.

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