When we went to the library yesterday, I noticed a flyer that our Community Center is doing summer dance classes. There's no recital, it's just to get a kind of head start on the fall. I asked Sarah if she wanted to do dance or a sport like t-ball or soccer again, and she immediately said, "Dance!" Ballet was full, and she wanted tap over jazz, which works better with our schedule anyway.
Classes started last week, but the instructor said it was ok for her to start up anyway. We got there just before class started, and luckily the instructor had some tap shoes available (she took orders last week, so Sarah will get new ones in September).
When Lauren saw the shoes, and the class, she got so excited. I'd been telling her that she would take classes when she's older (she can start in September with the regular class), but she still thought she would be able to get out on the floor and dance with everyone else. She danced at the Chuck E. Cheese birthday party last month, she dances at home all the time, so why should this be any different?
Well, it is different. As I took her out of the classroom, she was sobbing. She'll play the boo hoo sometimes, but it's obviously fake. This was sincerely confused and heartbroken, poor thing. We went to pay for the class and get a drink of water, and when we came back, she was glued in the open doorway, swinging her feet to do the "shuffle step" along with the big girls, and kept asking for her princess shoes (they have hard soles, so make noise when you walk).
There are six more classes, and luckily there is a very nice playground on the other side of the parking lot, so Lauren & I will spend our time there while Sarah's in class, because it's too pathetic otherwise.
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