Ballet. God Help Me.

Miranda's dance class at the gym is not being offered next session. Since she is doing a lot of "shows" and putting on leotards and dancing around the living room, saying "Watch Mommy!" while pointing her toe, I thought I should try to find something for her. Luckily in the Bay Area, there is no shortage of kids classes. So I signed her (and Elizabeth) up for a 4 week trial pre-ballet class about 2 minutes from our house. My hope is that Miranda loves it and Elizabeth hates it. (Actually, I hope they both hate it, but that is just my crazy ballet background getting in the way.)

On a tangential note, I was talking to Amy over break about how I don't ever remember going to the gym where she worked out and being forced to watch and I was wondering how that was possible since it seems at least one of my kids will be doing a lot of watching of the other one or two kids for the near future. She said that I didn't watch her a lot, but she, in fact, did watch me a lot. So much so that she knew all the kids names in my ballet class, followed all the gossip, and had tons of memories of sitting there in the balcony bored out of her mind. Apparently, there are perks to being the older sister.