So, about my day. (I have a feeling that many of my blog entries will begin with this line.) Let me correct myself: So, about the first half of my day. Really, it’s been quite full and entirely exhausting, but that’s beside the point and nobody cares. Least of all the two children that will be looking for me to continue feeding, watering, cleaning, “helping” and playing with them for the 3+ hours between the time E wakes up and Daddy gets home from work.
Wednesday mornings are prescheduled. We have enrolled E, for the first time, in a ballet and dance class. She has the gear, loves the tutus and ballet shoes. She doesn’t love the tights, but puts up with them for the sake of the overall look. Usually she is thrilled to get dressed for ballet class, though it can take anywhere between ten and thirty minutes.
Not today.
Today, E was pretty much oblivious to my voice, or my instructions. I’m not sure which. Lately, I have become accustomed to her saying, “No!” or “I DON’T WANT TO,” or “NO WAY, JAY!” when I ask her to do anything, including getting dressed. We have our little routine and bantering, which is fairly unremarkable. Today, however, E changed the rules of the game. She just didn’t respond. At all. To anything I said about getting ready for ballet class. So after getting annoyed, I decided to just move ahead on my own. I picked the tutu, the pink tights, and the pink ballet shoes (as opposed to the tutu dress, the white tights, or the silver ballet shoes). She had already picked a pair of crazy jeans and put them on, all by herself. Note to self: she can put a pair of pants on by herself. This I didn’t know. She squelched (read: squealed in protest) when the shirt came over her head, but that’s typical. We just move on.
To make a long story short, I decided to bring along the ballet gear because it was getting too late to try and get E into the clothes. To make the story even shorter, E wore the crazy jeans with leopard prints, the pink and pink-striped, long-sleeve hooded used-to-be-a-dress-now-it’s-a-shirt shirt, and purple sneakers to class. She either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the lovely, fru-fru ballet outfit that we brought along and that the two other kids were wearing. (The story about the class size is an entirely other story. It’s ridiculous, too). She had a great time in class and tried all (3?) of the ballet positions that were suggested. She and I did some running between the too-slowly-introduced-and-executed activities. Well, she ran and I shuffled, holding her hand and holding the bouncing baby K, in the Bjorn. (I know I’m not the first person to have done this.)
E was also oblivious, too, I hope, to the different parents stressing and complaining about the class, the teacher, and the impending recital. Today, I found it all only a bit stressful, and somewhat entertaining, and I can’t help but wonder about the future opportunities I’ll have to witness parental baggage being taken out and explored during children’s activities. I have enough of my own (baggage and children, but I was referring to the baggage), and I continue to delude myself that it comes out appropriately (at most) or privately (at least). More about this later.
