Thursday 10 January 2013


I took the King to a ballet class today. Yes, that entire sentence is chock full of contradiction. Let’s just say the kid is no Baryshnikov. Firstly, as you can plainly see, I’m not into gender confining activities. One man’s ballet is another man’s football. However, on the surface I will be honest that when I think of the King, ballet is not the first thing that comes to mind (although I’m currently envisioning his father in tights and it is simply the most amusing thing ever). But I’ve been desperate for some new activities to burn off some of the King’s mind boggling energy and the class was billed as a dance/movement kind of thing. So, in my mind, I envisioned a few pliés, a fun flying jeté and perhaps some mad running around the room where the children pretended that they were part of Swan Lake on acid.

Well let’s just say the teacher and the King had something far different in mind. We showed up to the class and I could tell from the word go that the King was in one of his, ‘I’m not in a cooperative state of mind’ type moods. In fact, this has been a running theme all week. With every passing day, I’m starting to realize that the terrible two’s that we thought had passed us by were just taking a detour. So we walk into the room and the peace and quiet of the space suddenly alarmed me. Peace, Quiet. The King does not do those words very well, let alone do it in a pink tutu. The second problem, the room contained three little girls. Not that that’s a problem in itself, but they were sweet, docile, wearing full ballet get ups (as was the teacher), whereas the King was dressed in a normal dude get up, jeans, t –shirt and was anything but docile.

Trying to stay positive, we watched the previous class do their thing and I tried to sound as encouraging as possible – while in the pit of my stomach I had a feeling this was not going to go down like an episode of Fame. The King seemed interested for a bit, he looked at me eagerly and said, ‘Mamma dancing dancing,’ as bits of cracker fell out of his mouth (I was getting dirty looks from the other mothers as I don’t think crackers and ballet go hand in hand).  So I took this as a good sign. Meanwhile, he was also lifting up his shirt and exposing his belly to all while singing the lyrics to Twinkle Twinkle at the top of his lungs (in all fairness, he was simply copying the class) to the ire of the other mothers who were trying to record their little ‘princesses in pink’ on their iphones.

So the moment arrived for the King to start his class and for the first few minutes I felt pretty positive. He followed direction, he did a little split (sort of), he even pliéd in a kind of strange crunched down style that I’m sure would not impress the Bolshoi Ballet. But hey, the kid was trying and he seemed to kind of like it. Then, I’m not sure what happened, as he suddenly dropped to the floor and rolled around making funny noises (to the confusion of the teacher) and then got up, headed for me and demanded his shoes be put back on. I smiled at the teacher who was coaxing him back and tried to encourage him that they were getting to the good part – ‘look sweetie, now you get to pretend you’re a bunny. Hop hop!’ Thinking the King would dig this.

Yeah. Not so much. The next few minutes were spent with him horizontal demanding a cracker at the top of his lungs, followed by him stating that Mama should go home with him, make dinner and put on Fireman Sam (!!!) (his favorite program du jour). Again, I looked around at the other mothers and tried to pretend like I had no idea what he was talking about [cause you know, I’m a good parent that doesn’t let her cracker shoveling son watch television (ahem)] and of course I had this all under control.

Let’s just say by the time they were doing their ‘princess tour of the fairy garden’ the King had lost his composure altogether and we hurried our ballet butts out of there. Of course on the way home he looked at me with a huge smile and said, ‘dancing mamma, dancing!’ Yeah, don’t quit your day job your royal highness, that’s all I can say.

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