Twinkle

Last weekend was all about ballet. Well nearly. In amongst rehearsals, Friday, Saturday and Sunday we hosted an annual Christmas party, complete with wheel barrow, sack, egg and spoon and three-legged races and Santa showing up on a four-wheel motorbike to the kids’ delight.

The next morning, first thing, it was into Forum North for the final rehearsal before the junior ballet show Twinkle.

After much anticipation, Jayla excitedly donned her butterfly tutu before being ushered to the stage where the entire cast was to sit for an hour throughout each others’ dances.

I zipped around to the audience to watch the rehearsal, anxious as to how long a three-year-old would last. But my anxiety was unnecessary as she sat transfixed watching the other girls’ dances.

Then I remembered she hadn’t been toilet and began to fret.

Once rehearsal was over I raced backstage and found her walking around in circles calling “Mamma”. But upon spotting me, instead of the congratulatory/reunion hug I’d anticipated, she stripped off her leotard and tutu and, noting my displeasure, took off giggling across the large and chaotic dressing room near-starkers.

“What are you doing?” I asked once I caught her.

“My show finished now? Can we go home?” she asked.

Oh I see. I tried to explain that that was only the rehearsal and she had to do it all again but she continued to play up.

The idea now was to get them ready with hair and make up. I’d been informed that red-heads shouldn’t wear red lip stick as it makes them so prominent their mouths walk out on stage long before the rest of their face. Brown was the go, as with mascara.

Feeling slightly disturbed at applying make-up to my three-year-old I kept it minimal, all the while trying to coax her back into her costume.

Then I remembered she still hadn’t been toilet so, abandoning the make up, went to queue.

Ten minutes later, the reason for her odd behaviour was revealed. It seemed we’d had a wee accident – and probably while on stage!

Emerging back into the dressing room we discovered her group had already left for the curtain call – Jayla was still half-naked with only half a face of make-up.
Just then an announcement was made that all parents who intended being in the audience should go now.

Panic began to set in as, with the help of another mother, we frantically changed Jayla as best we could before going on our way.

Finding my family in the audience I took a seat and continued to fret.

What if her damp tights were irritating her? What if she was rubbing mascara into her eyes? What about the fact right now was her midday sleep time?

“Now you know how I felt with you all those years ago,” mum leaned over and whispered.

I relaxed as the curtains opened and we spotted Jayla’s golden head amongst the others.

The show was beautiful, twinkly and Christmassy. All the girls were adorable. And seeing Jayla’s 30–odd second dance made it all worth-while. Admittedly, more like a baby elephant than a ballerina, she did manage the odd twirl in amongst waving to her family. As the music wound up, Jayla finished at the back of her group but popped her head round for one final wave.

I think there were several generations in our row who could barely see through the tears from laughing at the cuteness of it all.

Positive she’d be well over it this time, I ran backstage only to find her sucking happily on a lollypop.

On the way home I asked if she’d like to do ballet again next year.

“Or what about hockey or netball?” interrupted her father.

“Ummm … meatball!” she exclaimed.

It seems food will win over everytime.