first off, we got her dressed in her best "theatre" pink (check out how they spelled "theatre". omg. how elitist can you get? - god forbid it be "carnation" pink or "bubble gum" pink. tsk tsk, our low unplucked brow is showing...) to attend her first "REAL" dance class at a "REAL" dance school. i'd link up the school but i took some photos on the sly... well, not too sly since the teacher was standing in front of me, and the flash kept going off. but they specifically asked that photos not be taken. so, ixnay on the otophay akingtay!
she and her classmates were so cute... under normal circumstances, i am my usual non-traditional self, boo-hooing and bah-humbuging the pink=girl, boy=blue paradigm. but, it was almost primeval. i could feel the overwhelming cuteness factor enveloping me while i watched the graceful whirling and floating brushstrokes o' watercolored pink... ok. i seriously have to listen to some sex pistols or something now...
the class is called creative movement 2 for 4 year olds. it's the class they take before pre-ballet at this particular school. i was so bummed that there were no boys in the class. the pork chop LOVES to dance and i think he'd love to take this class eventually too. he'd look so cute in one of those white shirt, black pant ensembles...
did you hear that? that was all the dads collectively rolling their eyes and their masculinity groaning in severe pain and anguish. oh relax. go pee on something standing up.
they started by doing some stretching. then, they did a lot of character dancing - dance like a bird, dance like a cat, dance like you have ants in your pants... and for the most part, the girls (who (we, the parents agreed ) are apparently a bunch of snarling blood thirsty wolves in sheep's clothing) listened very well. and of course, we were also thinking, don't kill the nice ballet teacher and pianist, girls! you look better in theatre pink than jailhouse orange!
the ballet school is very close to crown fountain in millenium park so, because she
apparently, while the three of them were splashing around and i was off talking pictures. the paloma got admonished by another parent. the thin man told me later that the paloma splashed a boy with water. then, the boy splashed her back. then, the paloma angrily said something like "hey! don't splash me!" to which the boy's mother responded with something like "IF YOU DON'T WANT TO GET SPLASHED BACK. MAYBE YOU SHOULDN'T SPLASH SOMEONE IN THE FIRST PLACE."
although the thin man had no problem with this, i was NOT amused. i get that the mom's problem with the paloma was that she was screaming about her kid splashing her. but, knowing the paloma like i do, it wouldn't surprise me if she had done something like this to a good friend or a cousin or the pork chop. however, i cannot imagine her just splashing another child without provocation. it's just not like her. it bothers me because the mom took her son's side immediately, instead of trying to figure out the whole story and maybe help the children to play together better. the paloma ends up being publicly humiliated and comes away feeling "bad" instead of with a lesson about how (not)to treat people who may or may not become new friends. and really, is it EVER ok to yell at someone else's kid? really? 'cause short of a threat of serious bodily injury to my child, i just wouldn't do that.... and no, it's not a "model minority" thing. it's a "i don't think i'm really helping any situation by yelling at 4 year old" kind of thing...
this reminded me of a conversation i had with another mom about our moms' generation of moms and how we grew up feeling like the the "alleys had eyes". i remember saying a swear word once in the alley (two alleys really) behind my house. i thought i was SO cool. until i got home. where i got a "severe talking to" by my filipino mom, who found out about it thru the mom of a polish kid, who had overheard me say the word while playing in their puerto rican neighbors backyard.
despite all the 70s' "irresponsible" parenting mistakes and horror stories we hear about... sleeping on our tummies, our lead laced environment, all the missing safety restraints, the monkey bars of DOOM, the merry go rounds of NEVER RETURN and the see-saws of DEATH... i dunno... at least, our parents seemed like they were playing on the same team instead of against each other.
lastly, the paloma got to ride her new bike after a visit to jamba juice, a lunch and a restful nap.
i'll never forget my first bike. it was an old, rusted, dented, purple, kid sized schwinn that we got at a garage sale. i got up really early one morning. it was still a little dark. i taught myself to ride it by getting on, pedaling for my life and falling off - over and over and over again. by early evening, my knees and elbows were shredded and bloody. but, i'd figured it out how to ride a bike.
later, my mom bought me a DREAMY bike from another garage sale. it was another schwinn but close to mint condition. it was a glitter sky blue color with a white and silver glitter banana seat. it was heaven.
as you can see, the paloma has the "luxury" of a helmet and training wheels. yea! how i worship ye, oh safety product gods!!! i thought she did pretty well on her maiden voyage. she really never figured out the whole tricycle thing. but, the thin man was complaining about the bad pavements preventing her from really getting the hang of it.
yeah right, babe. you just keep on blaming the pavement. ;) i can't wait until you have to teach her how to drive stick.