All morning long she begged me not to take her to gymnastics. When I insisted she put on her beaded leotard and "flowy pants" she became distraught: "I don't wanna go 'nastics," she bawled. "I wanna stay here!"
I wonder, do all little girls of three go through a phase in which wearing pants is tantamount to torture?
Her voice had deteriorated into a high-pitched, indecipherable lament when I interjected a reassurance: "You don't have to go," I said. "We'll just peak our heads into the foyer so you can look at all the trampolines. If you don't want to stay we'll turn right around and go home."
But - just as I suspected - the moment never came. As soon as she saw the large padded floors, the high bar, and the cluster of bright-faced children, she forgot about me, and all her apprehensions, entirely and walked straight to the nearest cubbyhole to deposit her red-sequined slippers. By the time I got out my camera and aimed it in her direction she was seated on a large piece of foam, embroiled in conversation with the teacher. "My birthday's not til March 'teen," she was saying, "It's not right now. It's tomorrow."
"Ah," said the pony-tailed instructor, leaning elbows on knees and straining to convey a profound sense of enlightenment and interest. "I see."
"Yes," continued Audrey with circumspection, "My mommy said you halfta be patient. You halfta wait three minutes."
Oh, what unbreachable waves of pride rushed through my heart! It isn't every day that I am given such irrefutable evidence that my character traits are beginning to take a decided effect - or should I say, toll? - on my children.
1 comment:
When I told Brody that we would have to run from the rain into the store today he promptly replied, "No! God will take his sword and fight all the bad dreams...and rain." I think I will need to come up with a new strategy for dealing with scary dreams! :)
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