I Hope You Dance

I have big dreams for Mimi, and one of them is that she will be a contestant on one of my very favorite TV shows So You Think You Can Dance. If you're a fan of the show, I'm sure you secretly wish the same for your daughter, but it's no secret around here. Mimi will be a great dancer . . . at least I hope.

An amazing dancer must start somewhere, so we started with ballet.

Oh my goodness. Have you ever seen anything more precious?

We enrolled Mimi in the Tutu Tots class at Baby Take a Bow. It is absolutely the cutest dance studio I've ever seen, and the owner Kristin and Mimi's teacher Nikki are so sweet and patient with my little monkey. When I registered Mimi, all of the 2-year-old classes were full, so we decided she was mature enough for the 3-4-year-old class. Ha ha ha haaa . . . yeah, right. At the beginning of the classes, she has been so excited to be there that she followed the other girls in and sat on her carpet circle.

About three minutes into stretches Mimi's attitude totally changed. She noticed herself in the mirror and made funny faces and twirled and kicked her little slippered foot out into the air. She marched around the other girls in circles while singing Frosty the Snowman to the top of her lungs. She ran and jumped and squealed with delight. She threw herself on the floor and announced that she was very sleepy and was going night-night. Meanwhile the others learned first position and "teddy bear arms." So maybe ballet might not be her thing, but I'm not giving up hope just yet. We're trying Hip Hop for the spring session, which might be her thing.

I can't quite remember what the issue was that she had with Isabella's shoe, but it must have been pretty funny.

And I truly hope that she dances.

Last week I was working near Peoria, which I've realized is southern Illinois. Okay, basically anything south of the Chicago suburbs is considered southern Illinois. Lots of beautiful farmland and gigantic windmill contraptions. And country music. I haven't heard country music on a radio station since I've lived in Chicago, so as I was flipping channels a warm, fuzzy feeling grew within me as Lee Ann Womack sang.

I hope you never lose your sense of wonder
You get your fill to eat
But always keep that hunger
May you never take one single breath for granted
God forbid love ever leave you empty handed
I hope you still feel small
When you stand by the ocean
Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens
Promise me you'll give faith a fighting chance

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
I hope you dance
I hope you dance

I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance
Never settle for the path of least resistance
Living might mean taking chances
But they're worth taking
Lovin' might be a mistake
But it's worth making
Don't let some hell bent heart
Leave you bitter
When you come close to selling out
Reconsider
Give the heavens above
More than just a passing glance

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
I hope you dance
(Time is a real and constant motion always)
I hope you dance
(Rolling us along)
I hope you dance
(Tell me who)
I hope you dance
(Wants to look back on their youth and wonder)
(Where those years have gone)

Ah, tears. I get so overwhelmed with all of Mimi's energy and curiosity at times, but I couldn't be happier about the little girl she's becoming.

I'm also pretty happy about how Mack is, well, so stinkin' happy. I don't mean that he's just pleasant -- he's HAPPY with a capital H. All. The. Time.

I can never be upset when I see his sweet little squinty smile. I can't seem to get a video to upload on blogger in less than a bazzillion hours, but I did post a hilarious video of his cackle on Facebook recently. I've never seen a baby laugh as much as he does. Whenever I need calming down from sitting in ridiculous traffic, I just pull up that video on my phone and laugh until I have tears in my eyes.

How great are these legs?

I hope Mack dances, too. And not after some girl has to force him or after he has had a few beers. Watch out, dance floor. The Darbys are taking over.

But whether Mimi is a ballerina or not, she will always be a princess. Excuse me, I mean a "pwinsthesth." We can't stop making her say it with her sweet little lisp. We keep her dress-up clothes in a pull-out drawer in the ottoman, and when she gets restless and wild I'll tell her to look in the drawer because there's a surprise.

"A thurpwise? Oh, wow! My pwinsthesth dwesh!"

And the little ugly burgundy velveteen thing in her arms deserves an introduction. Meet Teddy Bear.

There's a funny story behind Teddy Bear. There's a restaurant in Memphis named Mortimer's that normally serves people above the age of 50 with meat and veggies and food I normally don't find appealing . . . but I was pregnant at the time, so just go with it. Anyway, this was at a time that eating at a restaurant with Miss Priss was quite difficult, so Clint had gulped down his dinner as quickly as possibly so he could entertain Mimi. He let her run around the bar while I finished eating, and meanwhile they made friends with a nice lady who was sitting at the bar. The lady left after a while and returned with a present for Mimi -- the little velvet bear. She told Clint she lived near the restaurant and had a box full of toys for whenever her grandchildren visited. So we left Mortimer's that night with an old bear that reeked of cigarette smoke and moth balls. I have tried to hide Teddy Bear at the bottom of the toy basket, but he emerged about a month ago. The two have been inseparable.

And speaking of another two who've been inseparable . . . they're beginning to like each other a little more. Makes my heart smile.