There are definitely times in our lives when things occur and forever change us. I can name several "events" that realigned the stars in my universe, but the one that my mind is focused on is the day in 2001 that I walked my three-year-old to her first pre-dance class.
I still harbor some guilt over what she put her young teacher, Miss Dantzel, through. Sorry Dantzel. I hope that you were not scarred for life. She loved dance from the get go. She loved Miss Dantzel. She loved to "run, run, leap." Unfortunately, she also liked to pretend she was a dinosaur during dance. This led to moments of embarrassment in the waiting room when one would overhear sweet Miss Dantzel saying, "Bailee, we don't roar in dance class."
Okay, you can probably already assume that my daughter was on the road to becoming a ballet legend. We live across town from the ballet studio, which means a 20 to 30 drive. Just long enough for a busy kid to fall asleep. Okay, my favorite "put the child to sleep" tactic did come back to haunt me. Unfortunately, my tiny ballerina did not wake up well. I would pull in to dance, take said child out of her car seat, wake her up, and then haul a screaming raptor into the junior dance studio. The office staff would look up and smile, "Bailee's here!" Yup, enter the legend. Once she saw Dantzel, she would stop crying, roar, and go into attack mode (her two fingers extended in proper T-Rex fashion). Yup, just slap a tutu on that tyrannosaur.
Believe it or not, she DID finally give up the whole dinosaur thing. By Christmas time she was ready for her first public performance at The Festival of Trees. The 3-4 year olds were decked out in blue tutus, glitter, trim, and little headpieces that completed their "ornament" costume. They were stinking cute ... and when they walked out on stage, the audience laughed in delight.
Oh oh - did I see a latent flash of raptor light in her eyes? Her eyebrows knit. She frowned. Was she going to freeze up and cry? No ... all was well. She danced, performing each step and pirouette with 4 year old perfection ... right down to the well timed sticking out of her tongue each time she turned back to face the audience. Right on the beat. In perfect time. Miss Dantzel's face froze in horror. It brought down the house. When I got to her afterward and demanded to know why she did that, her response was -
"It made me mad! They laughed at us. Dance is serious!"
Now my baby ballerina is thirteen. Dance is still very serious. Our lives revolve around dance. Christmas means Nutcracker. Fall and Spring mean recitals and school shows. Winter means try outs for summer intensive programs. Summer brings summer intensive, parades, and festival performances. We talk about professional ballet companies, and our young ballerina makes plans for her future.
I'm one of the senior moms now. I know more about ballet, costuming, makeup, and set/prop construction than I ever cared to. I'm one of the members of the office staff as well, shepherding those little 3 and 4 year old baby mice around during Nutcracker. This year one of the baby dance moms commented on how patient I was with the little ones. I had to smile as I remembered.
Patient? I owe it to Miss Dantzel. After all, I'm the mother of a legend. My baby ballerina was a dinosaur.
I still harbor some guilt over what she put her young teacher, Miss Dantzel, through. Sorry Dantzel. I hope that you were not scarred for life. She loved dance from the get go. She loved Miss Dantzel. She loved to "run, run, leap." Unfortunately, she also liked to pretend she was a dinosaur during dance. This led to moments of embarrassment in the waiting room when one would overhear sweet Miss Dantzel saying, "Bailee, we don't roar in dance class."
Okay, you can probably already assume that my daughter was on the road to becoming a ballet legend. We live across town from the ballet studio, which means a 20 to 30 drive. Just long enough for a busy kid to fall asleep. Okay, my favorite "put the child to sleep" tactic did come back to haunt me. Unfortunately, my tiny ballerina did not wake up well. I would pull in to dance, take said child out of her car seat, wake her up, and then haul a screaming raptor into the junior dance studio. The office staff would look up and smile, "Bailee's here!" Yup, enter the legend. Once she saw Dantzel, she would stop crying, roar, and go into attack mode (her two fingers extended in proper T-Rex fashion). Yup, just slap a tutu on that tyrannosaur.
Believe it or not, she DID finally give up the whole dinosaur thing. By Christmas time she was ready for her first public performance at The Festival of Trees. The 3-4 year olds were decked out in blue tutus, glitter, trim, and little headpieces that completed their "ornament" costume. They were stinking cute ... and when they walked out on stage, the audience laughed in delight.
Oh oh - did I see a latent flash of raptor light in her eyes? Her eyebrows knit. She frowned. Was she going to freeze up and cry? No ... all was well. She danced, performing each step and pirouette with 4 year old perfection ... right down to the well timed sticking out of her tongue each time she turned back to face the audience. Right on the beat. In perfect time. Miss Dantzel's face froze in horror. It brought down the house. When I got to her afterward and demanded to know why she did that, her response was -
"It made me mad! They laughed at us. Dance is serious!"
Now my baby ballerina is thirteen. Dance is still very serious. Our lives revolve around dance. Christmas means Nutcracker. Fall and Spring mean recitals and school shows. Winter means try outs for summer intensive programs. Summer brings summer intensive, parades, and festival performances. We talk about professional ballet companies, and our young ballerina makes plans for her future.
I'm one of the senior moms now. I know more about ballet, costuming, makeup, and set/prop construction than I ever cared to. I'm one of the members of the office staff as well, shepherding those little 3 and 4 year old baby mice around during Nutcracker. This year one of the baby dance moms commented on how patient I was with the little ones. I had to smile as I remembered.
Patient? I owe it to Miss Dantzel. After all, I'm the mother of a legend. My baby ballerina was a dinosaur.
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