Sarah took ballet – ahem, creative movement – when she was three and four. And at the time, she loved the dancing but not so much the feel of the tights on her baby belly and the having to wake up early from her nap. And I didn’t so much care for the wrestling a baby alligator act that I had to do in the waiting room with her baby brother each week. So after a year we were both happy to let it go.
Which is why I was hesitant when she came to me last year and said she wanted to take dance again. Organized activities have never really been her jam (she’s always been much more interested in organizing activities) but I was willing to let her try again. I warned her though that the first time she said she didn’t want to go, I was pulling the plug. I’m all about the whole “you’ll finish what you start” thing, but I’m not all about shelling out big bucks every month for an activity that no one’s interested in thing. She said she got it. So I signed her up for Jazz at the closest school I could find.
And I believe it just may take this time, this whole dancing thing. She’s hooked.
Sure, it probably has something to do with the glittery costume, the makeup, and the $40 hair piece* to create the perfect dance school mandated curly ponytail, but for the most part the girl just loves to dance.
*This outlandishness rocks me to my very core. Never would I ever have though I would shell out that amount of money for fake Barbie hair. I don’t even know who I am anymore. Next thing I know I’ll be watching Dance Mom and buying a flipper.
Earlier this month her school held its annual recital at our civic center. The grandparents were in full force, with the exception of Papa who had already paid his dues at the American Girl Fashion Show a couple of months back. A story for another time but suffice it to say that after 2 1/2 hours of watching little girls prancing on stage with matching dolls, Papa was most definitely off the hook.
I was there too and was excited to get a picture with my girl. She and I actually snuck away before the recital for a bit of Mommy-Daughter time over a few crunchy tacos and a bowl of (bad) guac at our favorite local Mexican place. We had plenty of time so we lingered. Then we left the restaurant, drove a couple of miles, realized we hadn’t left a tip and quickly had to turn around to take care of business, devouring our time surplus in the process. Oops.
Oh well, we still made it.
And so did Betsy Boo…
And Margaret…
And Chenoah…
Sweetest girls ever.
Especially that one.
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