Today’s the day the teddy bears have their picnic.
It’s Sophie’s first ballet recital. Annabelle’s a veteran of the stage — she’ll be performing twice, ballet and jazz (my mother the ballet purist was slightly horrified by the latter, til she saw Annabelle rehearsing) — but for Sophie, this is only the beginning.
Or perhaps the end, depending on how well she behaves. (Not how well she performs; this dance studio isn’t about perfection. But if she takes a dive off the stage or tries to remove her leotard, we might not be invited back next year.)
No matter the outcome, I have promised to try to figure out my Flip camera (I got it for Mother’s Day last year — you’d think I’d have mastered it by now) to capture some of this on film.
I have been teary for months, ever since Sophie’s ballet teacher hit play on the CD player and “Teddy Bear Picnic” filled the room. I only danced with (for?) my mother for a very brief time, but I have great memories of the music she used in the 70s — “Free to be You and Me,” the cast recording of “Zoom,” “Peter and the Wolf.” And “Teddy Bear Picnic.”
There are only a few hours to bathe, comb, curl, dress and lip gloss them, so I better get cracking. As they say in ballet (in lieu of break a leg), “Merde!”