Twirl

Two weeks ago I mentioned a mommy and me dance class to Julia.  I thought her girls would love it.  They really know how to tear up a dance floor, those two.  Little did I know that I would be prodded to bring Harper.  #3 taking a class of any kind had never really crossed my radar.  Too busy with #1 and #2  I guess.  I had no interest really, in another dance class.  I already had to quit the creative movement class I had been teaching due to schedule conflict.  Why would I want to go to one and be taught?  Well, its Harper being taught but you get my drift.  I told Julia no and then Pru slathered on some pressure.  Something about kids deserving chances in life etc.  I thought that was stretching it.  Harper is not even 3 yet.  Her grandmother intimates I keep her locked in a closet with no outside stimuli.  Anyone reading this blog probably knows something about Julia and Pru.  When they want something, they are relentless. It was my own fault for mentioning it.  So, dance class it is, for all 3 girls. 

After signing up for class, came wardrobe.  Julia was a house of fire on this.  I admit, I was kind of ready to delve in myself.  Once the decision was made, it was time to get the girls outfitted.  I hold some very traditional ideas regarding dancewear.  Having started dance when I was just a wee one, I was always always impressed with the instructors and dancers who wore the "uniform".  It spoke volumes to me.  Black leo, pink tights, black skirt and ballet shoes perfectly molded to their beautiful arched feet.  Of course, there were variations on the theme. Leg warmers added for actual function vs. form, different styles of leotards, maybe an errant pair of sweatpants. However, NEVER NEVER was there much derivation in color.  My own mother always encouraged a splash of raspberry tights, electric blue shiny lycra unitard or maybe a sparkly leotard to augment my dance wardrobe.  When I started dancing in college, that changed!  I put on my uniform and got to work. 

When Julia asked me about dance clothes I gave her a checklist.  She followed it dutifully. No lame Target crap.  She skipped the silly princess leotard and the ballet slippers that looked more like cardboard on feet than an actual ballet slipper.  The ladies came to class bedecked in black leos with sweet as can be black tulle skirts, ballet pink tights and lovely form fitting ballet slippers.  Their laces were hanging out but that was easily remedied.  Who was that little girl next to them?  The one in the chalk blue princess leotard, white (!) tights and cardboard dance slippers.  Holy crap, that was Harper!! And she looked darling, I must say.  Harper let me know when we visited Target earlier in the week, that there would be no black and pink and certainly nothing without silk screening on it.  I hemmed and hawed, I cringed, closed my eyes and bought the stuff.  It was perfect.  

Seeing those 3 little girls in an old school dance studio in SE Portland would warm anyone's heart.  No matter what they were wearing, it was so fun.  They pranced, they danced, they rolled and they marched.  Harper wanted to be nervous, but her compassionate aunt swooped right in, grabbed her small hand and danced away with her until she was comfortable. Once she got her footing, she tiptoed to her hearts delight.  She twirled with great enthusiasm.  Daphne followed the rules.  She did exactly what the instructor asked of her with a little help from grandma Jean. When the Barney songs started, Daph was in 7th heaven.  A happy smile spread across her face.  Penelope, well, she was Penelope. She took that class on full throttle.  She didn't just march, she really marched.  She threw her whole body into it.  

By the end of the class, the little girls were running the tumbling mat.  I expected Penelope, the yard boss, to start taking money from the other little girls.  There wasn't really going to be any standing in line or waiting for turns  with the twins.  Certainly, not from being naughty.  Far from it..... they were just loving the experience of dance class.  They wanted more more more.  I think Harper would have stayed and flounced for another hour as well.  

When it was over, and time to leave, I knew the girls would be happy to be back next week.  Its a one  hour roundtrip commute to a dingy dance studio for a 1/2 hour class.  Its worth it though.  It was fun to see, no matter how small the step, that the littles are growing up. Sooner than I think, it won't be mommy and me anymore.  That's a sad thought! So, for the time being I will just enjoy the heck out of our cousins and our funny little class.