I got a very courteous phone call today informing me that the ballet class I send my eldest princess to once a week was cancelled. What to do with 3 active little girls? I certainly wasn’t going to risk playing in the snow again (half an hour to kit up, half an hour to de-kit, half an hour to soothe various hurts, all for 6 minutes play-time. Ummmm…).
Luckily The Boss had spotted and nabbed Aldi’s latest special: a wee ballet kit for a tenner. You get a little leotard, wraparound skirt, wrap top, headband, legwarmers and a bag to keep it all in. It’s not wonderful quality, but for £10 it’s great. Big Ballerina got one to wear for her class, whilst my little
elephant acrobat got one just to dress up in, being only 2 years old. So while their youngest sister watched with eyes as big as eggs, I helped P & L clad themselves head to foot in unrelenting pink, and encouraged them to prance around to the only piece of classical music I could find in my CD collection (I kind of prefer indie and euphoria, rather than piano concertos…).
Well, it gladdened my black old heart to see them point their toes and twirl, remaining upright for maybe 50% of their pirouettes. Whereas P would happily smile and leap and look pretty all day long, L soon tired of this performing and decided that forward and backward rolls, accompanied by loud un-toddler like cackles, were the done thing. Then she showed off her ability to bend entirely in half, putting her head onto her shins. All too soon, I was separating them in a squabble again, before they drew more blood:
P: “You jump too hard! Bang! Bang! Bang! You’re too noisy! You’re not a ballerina!”
L: “Yes! I! Am!”
P: “No you’re not! Ballerinas don’t push buggies!”
And with that, L swiped P’s ankles with her buggy-prop in an obviously practised move as she swanned off to the other side of the room to ply her thumpy style of ballet to a more discerning audience (One-Eyed Annabel: naked, grubby, missing battery, wonky of limb and actually owned by P but much beloved by L. The snot smears over her are a kind of toddler territorial mark). All the while, baby R is watching and learning, watching and learning…