I love kids, mostly because
everything has a different meaning with them. It's like reading a
cheep novel: nothing's too complicated, everything ends up happy.
Our friend's daughter,
Laura, walked around on her tippy-toes all day yesterday and I
couldn't figure out for the life of me why. She's only about three
years old and I didn't even notice she was standing on her tippy-toes
at first, just that she seemed abnormally tall since we last saw her.
Then I saw her later standing by a chair with her heels in the air
and her face saying, “nothing abnormal about this!” Why was she
doing that? Did her mom get a new pair of high-heels or something?
The next day it hit me when
her mom pulled out a filmed production of The Nutcracker and, as the
movie began, Laura began spinning around the room with her arms in
the air.
“She wants to be a
ballerina when she grows up,” her sister informed me.
“It's the eighth time
we've watched this movie in two weeks,” added her Dad.
'Tis the season to become a
ballerina.
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