Dancing Dream Delayed

One of the crappiest things about our move to Fayetteville, NC is that even after nine years of being here, we pretty much live in a vacuum. We have no friends or family nearby; our big outing is going to church (nearly) every Sunday.

And the crappiest part about that, is our daughter, Mariel, is growing up in this vacuum. She does OK in the nursery on Sundays, but there are no play dates, no friends and no cousins nearby.

We had been thinking about enrolling her in a three-day-a-week preschool, so she could be around other children and have some variety to her daily activities. Michelle had a real promising program all lined up, but then the car repair expenses dealt a mortal blow to the ol' budget for such things.

Michelle put forth the proposition, "Well, if preschool three times a week is out of the question, then how about enrolling her in a weekly preschool dance class?"

Mariel's godmother "Aunt Denise" insisted on paying for the dance class stuff. It turns out that Denise's godmother had paid for her dance classes 'way back when, and she was anxious to carry on the tradition.

Sounded reasonable to me.

Mommy went about checking out the local dance studios to see which ones offered a preschool-age appropriate class. After much calling around and a few visitations, she settled on a local dance academy and went about enrolling the wee one in their program. Mariel would be in a small group of about eight other tots.

Then came the shopping expedition to buy the requisite tights, leotards, tu-tus, ballet slippers and tap shoes. As much as my wife dislikes shopping, she was able to score everything but the tap shoes prior to Mariel's first class. The errant tappers were back-ordered from the local dance supply house.

Mariel's first class rolled around amid great expectations from both Mother and student.

Things, unfortunately, did not go well at the first session.

Mommy had to wait outside of the classroom during the lesson.

Mariel didn't quite "get" that she was supposed to pay attention to the teacher. Apparently she was more mesmerized by the wall of mirrors.

When it came time to change into her tap shoes she was SOL. Michelle had told the teacher about the back-order and suggested that Mariel should keep her ballet slippers on for the whole class. Didn't happen.

Mariel was at a loss as to how to change into shoes that she didn't have. Mind you, at her age, she's not much on changing shoes anyway. She ended up doing the last half of the session without any shoes on. The feet of her new, white leotards became very, very dirty.

The icing on the cake came when someone walked off with her ballet slippers!

"Oh, I'm sure whoever did it will return them once they realize their mistake," the teacher reassured Mommy.

Mommy was not happy with the way the first class went. Not only did Mariel not listen to the instructor, but she ruined her tights and her only pair of dance shoes went missing.

This past weekend the back-ordered tap shoes came in and Michelle and Mariel went to the dance supply store to pick them up. They also bought a zippered bag to tote the shoes around in.

Class #2 was held this morning.

The errant ballet slippers were not returned.

Mariel was even less receptive to instruction than she was the week before. In fact, I understand she was downright disruptive. She's been screaming lately when she gets frustrated and we're trying to break her of this proclivity. (Any suggestions?)

The instructor took Michelle aside after class and suggested that perhaps Mariel just wasn't ready for dance class. Maybe in a year or two, she'll be able to listen better and work better in a group.

I guess I'd have to agree with her assessment.

But I look at it this way; for the price of some dancing supplies and two lessons we bought us a million dollars worth of aggravation!

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OOPS! I probably should have mentioned that none of the children pictured, above, are my daughter!
(Though some bear a strinking resemblance!)Here is Mariel, in happier times!