Whitney and Heidi attended their first ballet class this morning at the YMCA. [The excitement level in this house nearly blasted it off it's foundation.]
[click above image for larger view]
And did your brain just go: "Ballet at the YMCA?" because mine did. Then it went right to: butch basketball coach and little girls in tutus dribbling down the court. Coach shouting things like…You're running like a bunch of girls!
But, I enrolled them anyway; even though they run like girls.
Oh man, then my brain went: all pink.
PINK!
Pink like cotton candy, or Pepto-Bismol. Pink radiating from my brain, and tinting my eyeballs. Because sometimes, I sort of understand how those moms in the reality series Toddlers and Tiaras got that way. I mean, as a mom to three girls, I think, I'm owed some pink tutus and frou-frou every now and then. This is where God makes-up for giving me girls.
Raising our girls has had its moments. It's forced me to exercise the mental muscle I use to parent girls, as I use to keep my cool and not spazz out on officious customer service reps. I have to work this muscle to a deep, throbbing burn, especially with Lexi.
Sometimes raising a twelve year old girl feels like I’m trying to disable a ticking bomb in the middle of a mosh pit, while scratching at inflamed hemorrhoids. I try to remember that the preteen years weren't my best years either; I have pictures of me with a perm to back this up. Personally, I think girls have it harder than boys.
I'm sure raising boys isn't a champagne buzz either. Boys come with all those stinky sweat socks, jock itch and radioactive body odor. Maybe I'm just biased, but I'd take anyone of these, before having to explain to a thirteen year old girl how to insert a tampon.
Anyway, back to dancing.
So the dance instructor didn't wear a whistle around her neck, or make them run laps. However, she did scold me several times for peeking into the classroom. She also reprimanded me for not sending ballet slippers along with Heidi.
I explained to her that I'd been unable to find ballet slippers small enough to fit Heidi…also, I reminded her, Heidi had refused to get off the floor through the entire half-hour class, and there really wasn't any reason for her to wear shoes, let alone ballet slippers…then I told her I knew this because I'd been peeking through the door the whole time [even though she’d told me not to].
I think I'll wait in the car next time.
