Acute Cutsieitis

Today, as I watched my beloved 4-year old in ballet, I realized something I wish I realized three years ago. What a difference a year makes.

So this class is comprised of three very cute ballerinas dressed in tutus and head buns ranging in age between 3-4. You'd think this range, one year, one insignificant year, wouldn't make a difference in how the class functions, but it does. I can make this observation and safely dissect my choice now, a choice to put my cute three-year-old in a class where they're expected to do AND learn AND perform AND pay attention AND LIKE IT for ONE HOUR, because, I too, suffer from Cutsieitis. I get sucked up in the utter cuteness of puffy tutus and the grand finale; the end of the year Ballet Performance where my child will dance and smile and be the star of really cute home videos that we'll all sit down together and watch in 30 years. And it will be as exciting and fun as the Brady Bunch doing their potato sack races. Oh yes it will. Except it never goes that way. Not with my kids, anyway. Not at three. I did not pass on the precocious toddler gene. I passed on the break down in tears and when someone looks or talks to me gene. This does not make for joyous home videos.

So I enrolled my oldest daughter in ballet when she was three because she absolutely, postively had to be in some sort of sport or class or she'd never socialize properly and start headbutting other kids on the playground. Or grunt instead of talk. Or have permanent stink eye and dress in black and read William S. Burroughs at recess. I was convinced of it. Especially since, gasp!, she wasn't in preschool. You may not know this, but you have to whisper such things in the presence of a certain sector of mommies. It's like discussing cancer fifty years ago. Thankfully, you can usually spot the appropriate sector of mommies to discuss homeschooling, attachment parenting, extended breastfeeding, homebirth and Diva Cups by their signature Moby Wraps and babies with ample cloth diaper bottoms. Oh, you're curious about what a Diva Cup is? In a few words, it's a cup used to collect menstrual fluid. And it's reusable.

To have a toddler at home with you full-time and not have them involved in anything extracurricular is on par with child abuse. Neglecting my responsibility as a parent to pay someone I don't know to do arts and crafts and sing songs with my child. Because I can't do that at home, apparently. Or I shouldn't. Not unless I don't want them to go to college and become the doctors I know they're destined to be. And the busyness. They simply must stay busy because if they stop and do absolutely nothing, their brains turn to swiss cheese. It's true.

So at the tender and ridiculously cute age of three, we enrolled Bubba in ballet. She was ready. And cute. Let's just sum her experience with what I witnessed today because, really, it was like deja vu. The three-year-olds? It was basically one hour of using the bathroom, visiting the drinking fountain, refusing to participate, and running up to mom every 5 minutes to inform them that they're "all done". Okay, it wasn't that bad. The hour was peppered with darling toe pointing and stellar twirls, but let's be honest. They could care less about ballet. Freeze dance was the most fun they had all hour and I'm pretty sure this has nothing to do with ballet. Cute, yes. Ballet, no.

My kid is the oldest girl in the class and by far the most focused and ready-to-learn kid in there. No no, not because she's advanced or gifted or even talented, but because she's age appropriate. That year makes a huge difference. We didn't continue Bubba in ballet because, as we saw it, she didn't show an interest. She was three for cripes sake. Everything and nothing sounds good to a three-year old. How can you possibly show a true interest in learning ballet, or anything for that matter, when you're more focused on the baggy of Cheez It's I bribed you with in my purse.

Yeah yeah, I know. But your baby really wants to do ballet. Just like all those mini JonBenet Ramseys in Toddlers and Tiaras want to be beauty queens. This is strictly for adult entertainment, and that's okay. I like to watch Take Home Chef for the same reason, and it isn't because of the cooking. Have you seen Curtis Stone?

Yeah, I'm judging, but since I made the same mistake it erases the judginess. I can think of a thousand different things I'd rather spend $600 a year on. Like a plane ticket to California and a snazzy outfit so I can go hang out in Gelson's and hope I run into Curtis Stone. As for my Cutsieitis? Thankfully I discovered it's acute, not chronic.