Amelia the Ballerina

A few weeks ago I enrolled Mia into her very first ballet class. Despite the fact that it was through community ed and there were pretty much no expectations besides that she would show up and probably stand in the middle of the dance studio at the local high school staring into space, perhaps picking her nose, we were both very excited. We made a day of going to Shopko (or maybe Kmart, it had to be one of them because those are the only stores in Spanish Fork) and bought her cute little pink tights and the whole ballet she-bang. I even bought the sparkly pink legwarmers, just because I knew I would never get away with wearing them, so I had to live vicariously through my daughter. Want to see the adorable picture? Ok


Tee hee....

Ok, so here was the surprise, from the very first class Mia had a laser like focus reminiscent of one of those freaky good Chinese ping pong champion players. She was going to learn everything that poor overworked teacher was going to throw at her and then do some kind of Vulcan mind meld and learn some more. It's kind of adorable, that she takes it all so seriously when all the other girls in her class are just happy to stare at themselves in the mirror as they slide on their leotarded booties across the wooden floor, or stare at their parents sitting along the wall and wave at random intervals, just to make sure they are still conscious. I'm expecting Mia to correct her teacher's posture any time now.

And it isn't just in my "my-child-is-a-prodigy" mother blinded imagination either. Her teacher actually stopped me after class and asked if Mia was really only three ,firstly because she is as tall as most adults by now, but also because of her amazing concentration and coordination (which must be a result of a genetic mutation because I once tripped over a leaf and dislocated my shoulder). Of course, she just meant that Mia has yet to run head first into the mirror like some of the other girls and in my logical mind I knew this was just a mild observation. But in my latent stage mother mind I started planning her career, starting with her playing Clara opposite Mikhail Barishnikov (I know he is really like 60 years old and retired,but he is the only ballerina boy I know.) Yep, it turns out I'm one of THOSE mothers. I will try really hard to suppress this, but my sudden certainty that Amelia (that is her name in ballet because Mia says it sounds more like a ballerina name, whatever) is a brilliant talent just waiting to be formed kind of came as a surprise. I'm going to have to check out Brittany Spears' mom's book out at the library and read it for pointers.

"Vacation" Time

This weekend I get to go on another "vacation". Yippy. At least this time the soccer tournament is in St. George, so it will be a good 10 degrees warmer than here. Not exactly laying out by the pool weather, but beggars can't be choosers. This time I have schemed to leave Mia in Salt Lake to play with her cousins for three days instead of trying to entertain her in a foreign city while not spending any money. So this means I will get a lot of reading done. And maybe I could even go see a movie or two...by myself.

I actually don't mind seeing movies by myself. I mean, you can't really have a conversation with someone else during a movie anyway, but it is kind of creepy to see someone sitting alone in the dark glow of a movie theater. So here are my tips on attending a movie by yourself without having security escort you out.

1. Try to go to a crowded movie, then no one will even notice you're alone.

2. If you end up in a deserted theater, put your coat on the seat next to you so people think your date just went to the bathroom...and then ditched you, then they will pity instead of suspicion.

3. For heaven's sake, do not go to a kid's movie alone, ever.

4. Show up after the previews have started, then it is a little bit darker and most people aren't paying attention anyway. And then leave the minute the movie ends, don't wait for credits and make sure you sit on an aisle so you aren't sprinting over old ladies and their giant purses in the dark.

5. If you accidently arrive early, keep checking your watch and looking around you, then people will assume you are waiting for someone again, and that you got ditched. Which is pathetic, but again will not creep people out.

6. Rent a movie and stay home, theaters and kind of sticky and gross anyway.

So there you go, you can go see whatever movie you want without having to wait for someone to consent to go with you. You could go the more risky route of taking a dummy with you, or piling a bunch of paraphanelia in the seat next to you and talking to it like it is a really short person, but that takes a lot of practice, so that isn't really something I would recommend for novices.

The month of love

Happy February everyone! February will always be known in my mind and the month of freezing cold disappointment. Let me first clarify that statement by stating that this is in no way my husbands fault, he makes a herculean effort every year to make Valentines day special. It's just that Valentines day sucks no matter what. There is too much pressure on one little mid-February day. (February has too many r's in it.)

In my youth I always made it a point to not be in a relationship on Valentines day, because that was just too much to plan and execute, and you know, care. There's no way you could meet expectations of a grand sweeping romantic gesture that your partner is sure to have. Especially for guys, poor little fellas. And when I began dating Charlie, I made a point of letting him know that I really wasn't a fan of flowers, because they cost lots and then they just die, and not to buy me a heart shaped box of chocolates because that was just way too cliche and I am too cool for cliches.

So, really it's my own fault that the flower delivery guy never knocks on my door. Now that I have a little more experience in my relationship with my husband I know that he will never magically understand that while my logical, non-emotional mind I think flowers are a huge waste, in my I'm-a-girl-and-want-you-to-buy-me-pretty-things-anyway state of mind I really want to be showered with lame over-sold gifts. He's a guy, and therefore doesn't know anything, unless I tell him in direct, monosyllabic words. But, this won't happen, because I am a woman. I never tell anyone what I actually want, but I reserve the right to be ticked off if I don't get it. That's what makes us so intriguing, and none too scary.