Tiny Dancer

One of my longest-held dreams has finally been realized.

My little Isabella is finally taking dance lessons.

As much as I have always dreamed of my little girl taking ballet, I must admit that I initially had a few doubts as to whether or not she was ready. You see, I made the rookie mistake on the way to registration of telling her that she was going to get her foot measured for ballet and tap shoes. Since she had no idea what this actually meant, she assumed the worst and proceeded to do what three-year-olds do best: become negative. "No, mommy, I don't want to get my foot measured. No! I don't want Isabella's foot measured." She repeated her mantra for the next ten minutes, as though she truly believed some unspeakable horror was about to befall her feet.

However, when we walked in (or I should say I walked, she was dragged), she saw another little girl trying on shoes that to Isabella looked as though Cinderella herself had recently cast them aside. She immediately climbed up in a chair, ripped her tennis shoe off, and stuck her pale pink-painted toes into the face of a studio worker. While I paid her tuition, Isabella amused herself by trying on every shoe in the box. When she had exhausted the pile, she ran over to me and shouted, "Mommy, I got measured!" Oh, the joy on that little face.

Afterward, I took her into the studio and showed her where she would be learning how to "dance like a princess." With no hesitation whatsoever, she began to twirl around the room. With this bit of encouragement, I decided it was safe to indulge myself (and my wallet) in purchasing all of the dance accessories I could (I mean, "she could") want. I had more fun than I care to admit picking out leotards, tights, ballet skirts, a personalized dance bag, and even a ballet slipper key chain for her bag (yes, of course, she had to have one).

Her first day of class arrived, and unfortunately, her dance class falls on one of the days she attends preschool. What this means is that she must take a very condensed nap and I must wake her up a full hour before she is ready. And not only must I wake her, I must immediately wrangle tights, a leotard and ballet shoes on her. That first day, she was less than happy to cooperate. My memory is a little fuzzy, as I tried to erase the experience completely from my mind, but as I recall, she screamed something like, "I DON'T WANT TO WEAR THESE TIGHTS! I DON'T WANT TO WEAR THIS 'LEETARD!'" And, she proceeded to pull her shorts and tee-shirt out of the clothes hamper while attempting to rip off her tights.

(Obviously, she is not the happiest child when she first wakes up). So, I pulled out the big guns. I broke my rule about allowing her to watch the DVD player in the car while not on vacation. I have found that there is very little that an episode of "Max and Ruby" and a Hello Kitty thermos full of orange Gatorade won't fix.

We made it to the studio, clothes intact. Once there, she remembered that this was the place where princess shoes abound and little girls can twirl themselves into oblivion in front of full-length mirrors. She would hardly stand still long enough for me to tighten her tap shoes. She ran into the studio and after one short hour she had learned to "run like a ballerina," do the "First Position," and make really, really loud noises with her tap shoes. After class, she ran into the lobby with a stamp on one hand and a green lollipop in the other. On the way home, she told me repeatedly what a wonderful time she had. And for a super-frilly mommy like me, I couldn't have asked for more.