Thursday, April 22, 2010
My daughter went to sleep in her leotard last night. Yesterday was the first time she ever wore one. That morning she started whining that she didn't want to go to her ballet and tap class and after I shelled out the $25 for her shoes, uh, she was going. This is why I have a problem with required footwear. But she kept whining and that's when I pulled out my trump card. I remembered that my sister-in-law had given us a few old leotards that belonged to my niece so I found them and offered them to her majesty who just about peed her pants in excitement. Which is a not a figure of speech in this instance. We had to rush to the potty. But dance class was on! I picked her up after school and she was beaming in her leotard. No jacket, no tights. Fifty degrees out and raining here and she's in her pink sparkly leotard and her black Vans slip-ons with the skulls and monsters on them looking like a tot Madonna. It was only this morning that she agreed to take it off. I'm willing to wager it will be the first thing she puts on when she comes home. Who can blame her. A sparkly pink leotard is a portal to the imagination.