Boo-Hoo Ballet

You may recall that #3 on K's wish list to Santa was for leotards, ballet shoes, and to go to ballet school.  Santa totally came through.  Kate loves her leotards.  She loves her ballet shoes.  And she NEVER wants to go to ballet school again.

Smiling before class, when she still believed her teacher would be a mouse.  Thank you very much, Angelina Ballerina, for that false expectation!

 I now know that the hands clasped in front of her chest means:  I am frozen and when I thaw out it will be with a rush of tears. 

 Where is my mom?  Out in the hall?  That's about 10 feet away!  Too far!   MOMMY!

 Intent little face as she listens to my pep talk.

 Hey, I'm a pretty good pep talker or K-T just really wants to touch the barre.  After all she has been practicing on the handicap rail in every bathroom stall we enter for months now.

K's teacher (who is not a mouse, but is redeemed somewhat for having Rapunzel like hair) gives everyone a glitter sticker for doing such a great job.

Mom and Dad only paid for FIVE more classes.

Sunday Report Card

Papa calls every Sunday to get the report on Katie's total crying time in the nursery. You know we've had some bad weeks if this has become a regular call! If you don't count the crying in the car on the way to church, or the wailing in the parking lot, then today's 5 minute total is not too shabby. That's a 2 hour and 55 minute reduction from her greatest crying triumph at VBS. The picture is after church. Once we pick her up, it's like the tears never happened.