Ballerina Stampede

Yesterday, I took Marley and Rudy to the Boston Children's Museum for "Nutcracker Day." Along with EVERY OTHER family within fifty miles of the city. I had talked it up to Marley for a few days, because I read online that she could take a class with a Boston Ballet instructor, and watch an actual live Nutcracker rehearsal. "Real ballet-ers, Bean!" I gushed. She was totally into it, she hopped all around the house while we got ready to go, and she kept asking me to tell her the Nutcracker story. Again. And again.

[Important to know: I'm taking that kid to the Opera House Thanksgiving weekend for the real deal. We are going to get dressed up like fancy ladies and Marley's head is going to explode at the spectacle that combines Christmas, fairies, candy, and ballet into one sparkly package. When we talked about it last night before I tucked her in, she told me that she wants to have some glitter in her hair and on her hands because she wants to be "really super fancy." Isn't glitter how you know it's a special occasion?]

Marley is my sweet, sweet little girl, and she wants to be a ballerina ("because they NEVER wear pants!") when she grows up (also an architect and a detective), and I was determined to get to the museum early enough to be sure that we'd get the 'first-come, first-served' tickets to the rehearsal. Here's what I hadn't thought about: lots of moms have their own sweet, sweet little girls who want to be ballerinas. I'm not saying Bean is a dime a dozen, so don't you go there. No way. But let's just say, amidst the throngs yesterday, during the crowded, sweaty moments I was packed into an exhibit holding a squirmy Toot while keeping a frantic eye on Bean, I got a pretty, oh, tangible sense of my larger community.

For the first hour, I wanted to turn around and go home. Here's a partial list why:

1. The elevator in the parking garage was out of order. And we had to park on the roof. So I had to unload the carriage as I pulled in with my ticket and then stomp down seven flights of stairs while holding Rudy, three bags, and Marley's hand. (Oh yeah. Did I mention? Todd didn't come along with us. This is certainly noteworthy, because just imagine how each item in this list would have improved if I weren't on my own.)

2. The line to get in the museum was out the door. I think it took us twenty minutes to get to a register.

3. We ate an early lunch first. And as we passed the bathroom, I said to Marley, "Do you need to use the potty before we sit down?" (You already know where this is going, right?) She said no. So I ordered some food, unpacked the snacks and drinks we bought, got Toot settled in a high chair with a sticky, disposable placemat, and thought about relaxing. Then Marley started wiggling on her bum and making that Three Stooges noise and I was all, "Hold it," through clenched teeth until it became clear that I was taking a risk, and we packed everything and everybody up to go to the bathroom, where:

4. Marley spilled her carton of milk on the grungy, H1N1-infested floor for me to mop up.

5. Then we found another open table and set up again. That's when I realized that Rudy had lost a sneaker.

6. Also, there were so many strollers in the building that there was an actual five-minute wait to get on the crowded elevator.

7. I couldn't put Rudy down to crawl around because I couldn't keep my eyes on both kids in that cattle drive. Therefore, Rudy was not her super patient, delighted self.

8. There was absolutely no way I was getting any tickets to the scheduled rehearsals. The museum released the free tickets an hour before each show, and at least thirty minutes before each release, parents and nannies were already lining up. The wait was easily over an hour, and I think the only people who got tickets tag-teamed the line or had children old enough to read quietly from their Harry Potter books while the crowd inched forward.

But I persevered. We found our way to a ballerina in full costume for Marley to pose with, and Bean got to dig in the soft, crystally sand in the "Peep and the Big Wide World" exhibit before we made our way to the Playspace, designed specifically for kids three and under. I quietly herded Marley into the area clearly labeled "for babies only" where Rudy crawled around the padded floors and blocks with an enormous smile.

And then this happened.

And things started to turn around. Ha, ha.

Next, we hung out by the illuminated table where Marley worked for a full twenty minutes completing puzzles and designing patterns with translucent shapes while the Boston Ballet orchestra set up for the (non-ticketed) demonstration we only listened to for three minutes. Then we waited for another elevator to get to the third floor for a "class" with a real Boston Ballet instructor. Bingo.

The tall, lithe, and appropriately silly Frenchman in white ballet shoes delighted Marley. She was mesmerized and, I think, feeling very grown up since some of the other girls in temporary tutus were nine and ten. She alternately screamed with laughter and took it very, very seriously.

And after over five hours at the museum, trudging up the seven flights of parking garage stairs to our car, I was weary but content. We listened to our new Nutcracker CD on the way home and Marley asked sleepily, "Is this the part where the tree grows?" at least seven times. That's my Bean. And there is no one else like her.