We'd talked up Rosie's new "big girl" ballet lessons all weekend. Last Monday, we arrived only to find the studio dark. In the Rec. Office, the front desk lady breezily apologized for not informing me earlier that the class had been cancelled due to low enrollment. There are few things sadder than a tutu-bedecked three year old with a broken heart. As Rosie realized what I was telling her, the tears started. The loud kind. I didn't exactly hustle her out of the office. Only after the front desk lady fully appreciated the gravity of her error did I take Buzzy to the cupcake place to recover.
Wednesday is Buzzy's day to dance. This morning, I got up before the kids, cooked them a hot breakfast (oatmeal, and not the instant kind)--and got Buzzy to the studio promptly at 11:05, glowing with maternal achievement. (Anything under 10 minutes late is 'prompt' for us.) Unfortunately, Buzzy's class started at 10:00, just as it has since it began in September. Cue Buzzy's tears. They're huge. She really should be in drama class, but I'm afraid to feed the fire. "I won't know the steps for the recital! I won't know the steps!!" We headed to the bakery for pre-lunch M&M cookies all around.
As I munched on my cookie, I realized maybe I'd been a little harsh on the lady in the Rec. Office. I remembered that my own superstar mother had once miscalculated the time of one of my ballet recitals, and I'd missed the last performance. I remember nothing about that ballet class, but I remember the revolving pie case at the Odyssey Restaurant, which is where she took me to find comfort in a pile of meringue.