Last year, when he was about three months older than Juno is now, I took Seve to a ballet class. It did not go well.
Today, almost fully recovered from that experience, possibly high on tutu dust and definitely feeling the judgment-impairing effects of a terrible night’s sleep, I took Juno to her first ballet class.
Not without asking the prayerful folks on Facebook to beam me their very best:
I was smart about it. Her class didn’t start until 10:00 AM but I showed up an hour early to let her “get her zoomies out,” so that hopefully she’d be calmer and less distracted when class began.
Oh, but you know what wasn’t smart? Showing up somewhere without an extra diaper for your kid who isn’t yet toilet trained. That was super duper not smart. I mean, we avoided an in-class pooptastrophe, but we sure flirted with one, and that was Ultimate Grand Supreme levels of Not Smart.
As it turns out, I could have easily run home to pick up replacement peentaloons because this is how effective my child-exhausting strategy was:
Why was I upstairs and not sitting in on the class? Well, it looked like that was sort of the thing (not) to do, and I’m eager for any excuse to fly at a distance, even if it’s earlier than I’d anticipated.
I do wish I’d thought to ask about props, though, because this:
And as you can see here, actual Bedazzled Beatin’ Wands:
I’m pretty sure she didn’t beat on anyone. I mean, we didn’t have the “maybe this isn’t the best environment for such a spirited child” conversation, so I’m guessing we’re still welcome to show up next week?
Juno’s listening was, as expected sup-par. She’s the youngest in the class, I think, and the least likely to know what the teacher is referring to when she says, “Okay, so now we swish our tails like Ariel and then we do a mermaid spin and then we go sit down on our rock.” That’s partly because she’s never been exposed to the “princess” stories (books or film) and partly because, well, she is who she is. As likely to be captaining the Orca as she is to be faux-sunning herself on an imaginary shoal.
We wouldn’t have it any other way.
At the risk of being that guy, I’m going to mention the new Joy and Woe Facebook page one last time, before letting it fade into obscurity and/or this blog’s sidebar, which I’m pretty sure amount to the same thing.
I do repost some of what you’ll see here there, but there’s also Facebook-exclusive content, such as the stuff below, which is, as of posting here, no longer exclusive to Facebook, which is good news because I’m told by those in-the-know that even thinking the phrase “Facebook-exclusive content” — let alone typing it — is the fourth gateway to the fifth circle of douchebaggery, which, in case you missed it, has no fewer than 67 definitions on urbandictionary.com.
Here’s what you’re missing:
I’ve found lately that Juno doesn’t follow direction with the same … enthusiasm … as her older brother.
A good part of that can be chalked up to personality but it dawned on me that it might also be because we tend to use a lot more language than is appropriate or necessary, eg:
Juno, if you leave the flowers on the tomato plant, they’ll eventually grow into tomatoes. But if you pick them while they’re still flowers then they won’t have the chance to turn into tomatoes, which would be sad.
I’m not in any way advocating the use of baby talk, or toddler talk, or “dumbing down” your natural spoken language — Seve knows that the seat belt clip needs to fasten over his sternum, because that’s the word we use — but there’s something to be said for determining the key message and sticking to that, eg:
Juno, no picking flowers without asking first. If you want to pick a flower, you have to ask first.
This latter approach is more successful, but you know, she’s two. It’s not perfect. Which brings us to this quote, which has been making the rounds online lately, attributed to various sources but lovely whatever the origin:
When a child gives you a gift, even if it is a rock they just picked up, exude gratitude. It might be the only thing they have to give, and they have chosen to give it to you.
And that’s where I’m at with Juno and her fists full of foliage these days. Our garden doesn’t need more tomatoes, but more gifts, more sharing — can’t get enough of those.
I finally drank the Koolaid / bit the bullet / canned the spam and followed WordPress’ advice to start up a Joy and Woe Facebook page. I’m there, you’re there … we should, like, hang out or something.