Twinkle Toes: The Bun, The Tutu and the Stuckeys

  

In preparing for Lucy's first Ballet lessons, I felt as though, I was going to ballet. I have been that excited. Not in that scary "TLC dance mom" way but enjoying it in a vicarious, magical way. When we received the handbook, I was impressed with the professionalism shown with even these tiny little girls.

      She was to wear her a very specific color leotard, tights, shoes, no tutu and... wait a minute. No Tutu? Yep, that's what it said. No tutu except once a month on "free day" Let me just say, it took me all summer long to convince Lucy that we had to follow the rules and that no one else would be wearing a tutu either. Also, she was to wear her hair up, preferably in a bun. A bun. Well, knowing that I gave birth to Princess Flyaway, (second only to me, the REAL problem behind the ozone layer in the 90's. Me and my can of Vidal Sassoon, that is.) I took my task very seriously. (Maybe too seriously for anything hair related?) I came to battle with my brush, rubber bands, hairspray, water and bobby pins. (Because after watching the Summer Olympics for the weeks prior, no kid of mine was going to wear a head full of those little mismatched colored "bang barrettes." Please, someone tell me some Mom-Tre-Preneur was watching the Olympic Gymnasts this year and sketching out a prototype for ground breaking hair care which will politely take the place of these little barrettes in 2016. Let's not arrive in Rio looking like the 80's. Enough said.) On second thought, I'm definitely taking this too seriously. Ha!
      Anyway, one Doc McStuffins episode later, a nearly perfect bun emerged and I ran off to throw my clothes on while hoping it wouldn't get messed up. Not sure what kind of tomfoolery I was thinking Lu might get into. If her bun couldn't survive cartoons, it certainly wouldn't make it through her first petit jete'. The bun ended up holding quite well all the way until nap time and I laughed at myself at what a sense of accomplishment this gave me. It's the little things.


    Of course, my major concern was about Lucy having a good time and making friends. She has a sweet, tender heart and it really puzzles her when others aren't kind so I was just watching through the glass, steeling myself and watching her bloom. As stretches commenced and everyone lined up at the barre, the music from Cinderella played, So this is Love and I could see her face tense up as if she was unsure if she should stay at the barre or kick off one shoe and take off running. (As we play Cinderella at home.) Thankfully, she stayed put for the moment.
     For most of class though, I was that mom watching her daughter have her very own private ballet lesson.--sans Teacher. It was pretty funny to watch how putting on a leotard unleashed some sort of artsy spunk which gave her license to pirouette all around the room, while everyone else plie'd. She quite literally danced to the beat of her own drum. We did eventually gently discuss the importance of listening to the teacher and following directions, (After all, a perfect bun only goes so far.)

  Without a doubt the funniest part of the morning was when we were getting out of the car, and Lucy spotted a few other little girls. Amongst them were one or two Rogue Ballerinas whose mother's allowed them to wear Tutu's to class. After about a hundred conversations about this, and as recent as 15 minutes prior, Lucy looked up at me with a withering look, and sharply whispered, "MOMMY! Look. (Obvious point at offending frou-froued tiny dancers) They. Have. Tutus." (All of a sudden, she was 13 and I knew nothing and she knew everything.) So I gave her some sweet and corny (but true) phrase about following the rules and we went inside and fun was had by all.