For weeks, months really, Ella has been talking about how much she wants to take a dance class. She watches the Dora ballet class episode almost daily. She calls every dress a dancing dress. She spins and twirls and leaps and (tries to) balance on one leg at every opportunity.
So being a Type A kind of mom, I researched all of the dance studios in town. I made a spreadsheet with class times, distance to our house, cost, and my perception of the vibe of the school. I agonized over how long of a commitment to make (a month, a semester?) and once I finally picked a school, I agonized over what ballet outfits to get for Ella. Should I get her tights? Ballet shoes? How many tutus (clearly, she would need tutus!)? Oh, the hours I spent thinking about this.
We have talked about dance class for weeks now. Finally, today, the first class rolls around and we seem to be off to a good start. Ella is super excited about her new leotard and her new tutu. She demonstates less clinginess than usual when we get to the studio. I leave her in a little circle with the other tutu-clad three-year olds listening to Teacher Danielle read a story about Angelina Ballerina. I wait in the tiny lobby with 10 other moms for a good five minutes, peeking in the window every now and then. Ella seems great. The school encourages us to go browse along Ninth Street until class is over.
So hooray! 45 minutes to take a walk with Dash! Since the dance school is on the second floor of an old building (no elevator), I've brought him into the studio in the Ergo baby carrier. I run down to the car, change out the Ergo for a stroller, and start walking. 20 minutes in, I'm hot and sweaty but feeling good. Exercise for me! Mommy-time for Dash! Ballet fun for Ella!
And then my cell phone rings.
Caller ID says it is the dance studio.
This can't be good news.
The receptionist tells me that Ela has come out class and "misses me". I promise to be back in 5 minutes. Dash and I run back to the studio, stop at the car to take apart and load the stroller back in the car, put him back in the Ergo (good times in 90 degrees, under time pressure) and race back up to the studio. I walk in, sweating and out of breath, to find a crying Ella surrounded by the 10 good moms who didn't leave the studio after all.
All I can think is Epic FAIL. Dance class was a FAIL. I am a FAIL as a mother for leaving. and I am probably a FAIL as a mother for raising the only three-year old in town who can't last through one 50 minute ballet class.
Ella cries, I rack my brain trying to decide what to do. Should we leave? Go back in the classroom? Just sit in the lobby? I spend 5 minutes talking to Ella, the other mothers kindly averting their eyes (but surely not their ears) from my blubbering speeches to Ella about dance class being a special fun time for little girls, how mommy is sorry that she wasn't in the lobby when Ella needed her, stammer, stammer, stammer, beg, beg, beg.
Finally, Ella agrees to go back in the studio if I will go with her. We sit on the side for the last 15 minutes while we watch Teacher Danielle lead the other girls through delightful routines of growing flowers, robot dances, and finally, the perfect ending to every preschool class, the doling out of stickers.
On the way home, we have a long talk about how things will go next week. Ella will stay in the classroom during class. I will stay in the lobby so she knows I am nearby. I have no idea if this will work
Before we left the studio, I texted Josh and asked him to have a cold beer waiting for me when I walk in the door. I downed it in about 30 seconds.
Here's hoping next week is better.
On the way to dance class. So much excitement. Sigh.
