The child and I, that is. And for 45 minutes per week. Namely when ballet class is running. The behaviour that I was hoping was a one off when she started ballet was apparently as she meant to go on. Culminating in a teary breakdown while hiding in the community hall kitchen. My tears, not the kid’s. She was having a grand old time prancing around completely ignoring her teacher. Not entirely the mother-daughter bonding time I’d hoped for.
The solution: she goes to ballet and I spend time knitting. No more tears. We have an agreement whereby I ask her at the end of the lesson if she’s been good enough for a treat, and she unflinchingly responds in the affirmative. We all know that’s a blatant lie, but in the interests of maintaining sanity, I play along.
I’ve also found an adult open class that runs on Tuesday lunchtimes just down the road from my work. So who knows, perhaps we can stage a duet together in our own beautifully choreographed pantomime. As it turns out, she’s not the only one who chooses to march[/dance] to the beat of her own drum…
Thanks to my mum for bringing these up to really rub it in my face that I’m just getting what I deserve after what I put her through.