The tiniest ballerina

As is often the case these days, my niece was at my parents' house when I called last week. At some point during our conversation, my mother or father will inevitably ask her if she wants to talk to "Auntie Shan."

(She calls me Auntie Shan. Not "Shannon" or "Aunt Shannon." "Auntie Shan." HOW CUTE IS THAT?)

And because she is three and has a very short attention span, she will grab the phone and we'll have a very short and mostly one-sided conversation wherein she tells me what she's eating and other three-year-old conversation topics until she's tired of me and she says, "OK, thanks for calling Auntie Shan, bye bye!" and hangs up on me, usually in mid-sentence.

I adore her. :)

The news du jour during our most recent call? "I start dancing, Auntie Shan!" And this time she didn't mean in my parents' kitchen.



Seems our little ball of energy is channeling her inner fire into a ballet class for tiny wee ones at the local health club.

Since she is three and going through the normal orneriness that goes along with that age, it was a toss-up: She'd either be super into it, or she'd be that kid in the corner jumping off a pile of mats while the teacher is leading the rest of the class in a round of plies.

Fortunately, she chose the former.




(They have to wear special outfits and shoes, and wear their hair in buns. Can you even stand the cute?)

No word yet on whether or not my brother is becoming a "Dance Mom." I'm betting it's only a matter of time.