Fast forward to a few weeks ago; her first day. In Diva fashion she jumped right in, she was involved, she kicked the ball around, ran up and down the field and then she began to very slowly dissolve into an anxious, terrified puddle of tears. She had realized that this is something new. Something she’s not familiar with; an activity in which there are kids better than she is, BIGGER kids, faster kids. And I made the rookie mistake of cheering for her on the sidelines. It was the five words, “C’mon honey kick the ball!” that triggered her entire meltdown. And we never recovered.
That’s not to say we didn’t try. We continued to take her the following few weeks but the final straw was a grand exit in which I carried Diva over my shoulder, carrying on in full hysteria, while holding Munchkin’s hand, a camp chair over the other shoulder, my bag and a couple dollies under the crook of my other arm (wait do I have three arms? I wish p.s. Hubby was out of town). I felt 25 pairs of eyes on my back as I made that walk of shame and 50 eyes is 50 too many to witness such a parenting failure. So I said to myself, “Not gonna happen.”
In between soccer attempts Diva asked, “Mommy WHEN am I going to do princess ballet again?”
So much for well rounded.
Munchkin was in on the ballet-ness.
The room was way too small to take pictures, and the window too reflective to get a good shot.
Munchkin got a little antsy but nothing a good cup of fro-yo couldn’t cure!