We Are (THAT) Family...

Oh Boy! Prizes and blog fodder, two-in-one. I have made it a point to post this week and while searching for inspiration, I came across We Are That Family's Blogoversary. Imediately, I had a vision:

Followed by a memory: I'm pretty sure that when I found those PJ's in the toilet and inquired exactly how this scenario had come about, the then four-year-old-in-question replied by informing me that she 'thought that's where they went!?!"

A special moment had just occured.

A connection made...

Oh Yes, we are THAT family too.

So, in honor of this new fellowship, and to further illustrate the point, I offer you something from the archives.

Please don't hold it against me...




Saturday the girls spent the morning outside bug hunting while my husband tried to get our backyard ready for fertalizing (we had to find it first). An hour before class began, I remembered that the girls had ballet. We thought my youngest daughter might be coming down with something so we opted to have her stay with her daddy, just in case, while I went with Asher to her class. For some reason the attendance was really low and at one point the teacher asked if a couple of the moms wouldn't mind being 'bodies' to provide a reference point for the dance that was being done. It never occured to me that she would even be considering me when making this request. Did the fact that I'm eight months pregnant and look much more like a belly with legs, than a bellerina somehow escape her notice? As I looked around though, I realized that there were only two moms present and that her request had been in the plural. Ha! She did mean me! Was I permitted to say 'no'? It's not something I typically have a hard time doing, but somehow I found myself dutifully standing at my post holding flowers like the rest of the children.

When my daughter smiled over at me from her posistion I relaxed a bit and thought, "Oh, this could be fun,' but then she started correcting my positioning and directing me to hold my flowers 'like so'! I hadn't know how serious she was about her ballet until then. She suddenly seemed very concerned, and it occured to me that I might be wittnessing the first documented moment of my daughter worrying about how bad I was going to embarass her. Could I really have come to that place in life already? I wanted to say, "Hey kid, you have to remember, this was not my idea. I know tutus and pregnant ladies don't mix!", then instruct her to go talk to her teacher, but instead I thought it might be best to just do what I was told.


Some momements later, the need to convince every one of what a poor idea combining uncoordinated pregnant ladies and ballet was,faded. I figured why use words when I can just demonstrate. I am not only pregnant, but I am also short and my pants never do fit me very well length wise. So, even though I was bare foot and should have had traction on the wood floors, I didn't. When the teacher had us skipping around, ring-around-the-rosie style I seized the opportunity to wow them with a few moves of my own. My pants got caught underfoot and I lost my balance. Everything went into slow motion as I saw the horrified looks on the faces of the ladies who had their arms outstretched to steady me. They looked scared and all I could do was laugh. "Oh no, the pregnant lady is going DOWN!"


I never did fall. I have weeble blood in me, I guess. I am almost certain that I won't be invited to dance for sometime, though. It looks like my clever little plan worked wonderfully.