Dance, Baby, Dance

The Girl started ballet class this week. Apparently, dance class is all-the-rage among the under-5 girlie set. Perhaps because I had a boy first, or perhaps because I took a single 6-week session of ballet as a child (and hated it; what I really wanted was to wear a tutu!), ballet class was never on my mama radar until recently.

But an outpost of ARCC just opened on Irving Park Road in Old Irving Park. I love my neighborhood, but Lakeview (or even Lincoln Square), it is not. I’m thrilled to see something other than a megachurch, laundromat, or greasy spoon. And Allison has been sending her daughter to ARCC’s Saturday morning class in Wicker Park for the past six months, so it came well-recommended.

When I asked The Girl if she wanted to take ballet with Allison’s daughter, her answer was an enthusiastic yes. So I signed her up, and she started today. I have no idea what they did in class, and I don’t think The Girl particularly cared — she got to flit around in a uniform of pink tights, pink leotard, pink skirt, and pink ballet shoes with a gaggle of similarly dressed 3-year-old girls.

The Boy, The Baby, and I headed across the street to Starbuck’s to snack on milkboxes and cookies. The Baby sat nicely in his own chair — so cute! so big! — and flirted with the usual Saturday morning crowd. When the girls were finished, Allison kindly brought The Girl and her daughter over to join us.

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