Noah was excited for dance class the moment he awoke yesterday. This kid never wants to change his clothes. As in we have to impose a two day maximum rule for him. Not yesterday. Yesterday he changed into his pink leotard with the built in chiffon skirt and sparkles around the top before we even hit breakfast. Yesterday he wanted nothing more than 4pm to come along so that he could be in dance class. Unfortunately for Noah I made blueberry crepes as a midday snack. I say unfortunately because his first bite slid straight down the front of that fabulous pink leotard. Fortunately for Noah, mama’s nothing short of magic with hydrogen peroxide. So with the exception of about 45 minutes in pink owl cords and a black and pink skirt (thanks Aunt M’amy!) he officially wore his leotard ALL day long. Nothing could make 4pm come fast enough, not even reading some of the much anticipated latest book in the Bone series, and definitely not math lessons. He twirled through it all. Fast forward to 4pm and he’s a bundle of energy that cannot be contained. It needed to come out: in twirls, steps and sashays; hip shakes and head swivels. The kid’s got moves. I only hope that at some point he pays attention to the instructor and the moves that SHE is trying to teach him…instead of paying attention only to his own moves and facial expressions in the studio mirror-for-a-wall. The untrained six year old moves he has now certainly won’t win him any scholarships, not that I’m hoping or anything.
Because we are at a studio in Carmel (no offense to my Carmel friends but your housewives can be, well, a little housewife-y and your husbands a little dude like) I was somewhat expecting a little more snark in the reactions to my six year old male version of Goldilocks parading through the studio in pink from head to toe, including the chiffon skirt and footless tights…topped off with a princess-y headband. Nothing. So far, anyway. Absolutely nothing. Everyone thinks he’s great so far…and I think that’s great! I was even chatting it up with a doting father towards the end of tap and he was great, too. He asked me which one was my daughter and I gently corrected him by saying that my son is in there. I pointed him out after doting dad says that he didn’t see any boys in the studio and the response was a completely unsnarky “Oh! He looks like he’s enjoying it…look at those facial expressions!” I mean, we are in a dance studio owned by a gay man. We are in a DANCE studio. And we do carry ourselves with a level of confidence that doesn’t really allow much room for open judgement and snarkiness. So I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised at the level of acceptance, or apathy…or silence because they are secretly judging us on the inside. Either way, it’s always nice to have one more place where Noah feels right at home.