308/365 Recital Day

308/365

Today was the day of your first ballet recital. We dressed your brother in a shirt and tie, fluffed out your tutu,  put your new stockings and shoes on, glued your hair to your head with a few cans of hairspray and headed off to the big event. The show played out like any other. There was the ballerina who stopped mid performance to call out to her mother, the ballerina who refused to go on the stage and, of course, the overzealous ballerina who was still lingering on stage, waving to the crowd long after all the others had left. It was organised chaos, a sea of uncoordinated limbs. It was perfect. But the highlight of the show by far was the disgruntled little ballerina who emerged onto the stage mid-performance, marched over to her sister, kicked her in the shins, turned on her heals and stormed back off the stage. When it was finally your turn to make your grand entrance you had a look not unlike that of a deer
in the headlights, you stood bewildered, a little unsure of what to do. But you soon warmed up and by the end you were
twirling and bounding with the best of them. When we got home we lay on the bed, admiring your trophy and talking over the days events. I don’t think I could’ve been any prouder of you.