A Little Moxie, A Little Mischief: Hold Me Closer Tiny Dancer

Last spring I signed my oldest girl -  the tiny dancer in the middle of the bunch - up for dance class and a love affair began. A love affair between my little girl and the art of dance began; and a love affair of me being completely captivated and entranced as I watch my little one get lost in the music began. It's quite a glorious thing to see your child develop a passion. To see their little eyes fill with excitement. To know that their little hearts are full. In those times, all the daily frustrations that go along with parenting slip out of my mind and I give in to the complete awe of the moment. 

Every Saturday morning, mornings I'd much rather sleep in, my tiny dancer sneaks into my room and quietly whispers, "It's Saturday, mommy. I have my dance class today! I need to get ready." Sure, that request comes two hours too soon, but even in my slumbered state, I can respect her enthusiasm. While I'm still hitting the snooze button on my phone, my tiny dancer carefully selects one of her dance outfits, pulls on her tights and attempts to pull her hair into a bun. The sound of little feet fill the room as she instructs her younger sister on dance moves, and I'll finally roll out of bed as my husband serves the kids breakfast. There's at least five inquiries of  "Can we go now, mommy?" before I actually fill up my coffee cup and usher her out the door. 

I love watching her put on her ballet shoes. I remember the day she stopped asking me to help her. That day she looked at me with her big brown eyes full of pride and said, "You don't need to help me mommy. I'm a dancer. I can do it myself." Heart. On. The. Floor. That was the day I knew this was going to be her thing. This was going to be her heart. That is what makes Saturday morning wake up calls worth it. Some days she tentatively steps into the studio, other days she walks in confidently, and every day she comes walking out beaming with accomplishment.  

The new moms are always nervous, peering in the door, face pressed to the glass making sure their little one isn't consumed with tears or standing shyly in a corner. I'm usually able to play it cool and fill that 45 minutes aimlessly searching the internet, basking in the silence. Every so often I press my face against that glass. It always gives me butterflies.

As soon as she comes home, she rushes to "give a class" to her 18 month old sister. Because of this, the little one has some pretty smooth dance moves! My tiny dancer pleads with me to turn the music all the way up so the two can "put on a show." This show more often than not is accompanied by the Frozen soundtrack, but it is so fun to watch them dance that I don't even mind that I've heard "Let It Go" approximately five-hundred-thousand and sixty-two times. 

The rest of the day is full of random twirls, pliés and jumps, each one accompanied by excited giggles and requests of "Mom! Watch this!"

My tiny dancer, dances her way through every day, and I wouldn't have it any other way.