What did you do yesterday? My Saturday mornings have changed a bit of late. My daughter, ever the girly-girl, has recently started ballet and I often take her.
It’s not a bad deal, I kiss her goodbye at the studio door and then sit down and do some reading or writing for forty-five minutes. This is a very rare and precious thing called ‘free time‘. I vaguely recall having lots of it once, but like hair I took it for granted and now they both are increasingly less abundant in my life.
But back to yesterday.
Like the Saturdays before I carried the little one from the car to the studio because ballet shoes are, in her words, “very special” and she has decided that they can only touch the timber floor of the studio and definitely not the gravel of the car park. So be it.
We got inside and I pried open the door of the studio, little ballerina in one hand and laptop in the other. Now, normally when I do this there are two things I see: 1) two dance teachers and 2) the other girls surrounding the teachers like little pink, fluffy ducklings.
Yesterday, however, I saw something that was a) different and b) somewhat terrifying.
You know the look an introvert has when asked to give a speech? Well, imagine giving the aforementioned introvert giving an impromptu speech in front of a few hundred people on a topic they know nothing about: that was probably my expression. In fact, I think I stopped mid-step and nearly fell into the room when I saw what was happening. Surrounding the little pink ducklings, all resplendent and beaming, were the mother ducks that had turned up today to participate in the daughter-parent lesson. And now there I was, half way through the door, and I was being asked if I was going to join them as well.