Micaiah began taking dance lessons last week. It was maybe an exciting moment for Mommy because I've always wanted my children to find something they love and have the opportunity to pursue it. And this girl loves to move to music.
We had chosen a program taught by dance students at a local university (some may not realize our town actually boasts two small religious-affiliated universities within its borders, but, in fact, we do). I had spent absolutely zero time in my past eleven years in this region (more than a decade! How is that even possible?!) on said university campus and felt like a freshman all over again as I roamed the small grounds attempting to find the one spot I was supposed to be.
Except I would be the only freshman toting an over-eager near-five-year-old in leotard and tights as I sought the one university student awake on a Saturday morning who might be able to actually help me find where we should be. It was not an easy task as my eyes combed the tree-laden grounds with not a human being in sight. We did finally prevail upon one lone baseball player on his way to breakfast (it would appear the sports players are the only ones alive at that hour) who attempted to aid our quest, but his directions ended us at a locked door.
Finally, after 10-15 minutes of searching (which is a long time when you're standing in a square of about four buildings and, thus, have limited options, really) and some questionable advice from a cafeteria worker who, apparently knows nothing about her workplace beyond the cash register or the tables of the dining hall (and who can blame her - it's not like she's ever needed to find her way to the fine arts building for ballet), and a few tears (the frustration of arriving early and being in the proximity of the desired location but having not a clue how to get there may have worn on Momma's stress level just a tad), we made our way to the right place, just in the nick of time.
In fact, Micaiah was the only student in her class for that first lesson, so I suppose we could have been as late as necessary - but you could not have convinced me of the fact as I desperately sought our destination.
Week Two was bound to be much better. I was toting two extra boys to entertain for that 45-minute span and this fact made me a little nervous, but at least we knew where we were going and that fact alone thrilled my sometimes-nervous soul.
On the way, as Emmett chattered about going to sissy's ballet (pronounced "buh-LAY") class, Micaiah asked me ever so sweetly, "Mommy, did you take ballet class?"
Thinking fondly upon my one year at the city hall in small town Nebraska, clad in tights and little pink ballet shoes, I responded, "When I was very little."
"Did Grandma know how to get there?"
I responded tentatively, unsure where we were headed, "Yes . . . "
"Well, maybe she should have taken me last time."
Thanks, daughter, I love you, too.