Today we were graced with the presence of a sweet little three year old who came for a play date. She is so adorable and looks just like a very young Julie Andrews. With a smile like a kewpie doll and a sweet disposition, she is one of my favorite little people (other than my own, of course!!). Ennyhoo, so, my friend, Nanny McPhee, was getting ready to take her to "bala-lay" class and gets her all dolled up in the complete bala-lay ensemble: tights, black leotard, and black, gossamer-like skirt. We make a big ordeal over how adorable she looks. Then I pull her hair into the ever appropriate "bala-lay-do" and off she skips with Nanny McPhee to the car....er... to her chariot.
So, pan the camera to my green-with-envy three year old who is also suffering from a major case of I-need-a-serious-napitis. He is like a Looney Tune character as I see the look of "oh, yeah, that's a good idea" run across his face and *whoosh* off he darts upstairs. A couple of minutes later, he comes downstairs just crushed, crying, then screaming, "Mamma, help me find a ballet, I mean, bala-lay outfit."
For nearly 20 minutes he hoots and hollers about how he wants to go to bala-lay and how I need to find him an outfit like his friend's. At one point, the pressure was so intense, that my hand, no doubt haunted by the spirit of Billy Elliot, started to reach for the phone to call and see if they took 3-year old all-boy dancers in cowboy boots. Then the thought of my son in tights snapped me back into reality and I very carefully started weaving a white lie: "Well honey, actually, bala-lay class is only for girls, there aren't really boys in her class. But if you want, I can show you some bala-lay or the next time your friend is over, we can ask her to show you some of her dances."
Satisfied with that answer, Cindy Lou Who, er.. I mean Number 4 toddled off to his bed for naptime. Whew! I dodged the bala-lay bullet and during his naptime, I even got Whoville a little spiffed up.