From the time she first cracked open an ‘Angelina Ballerina‘ book and discovered the purpose of a tutu, Jacqui has wanted ballet lessons. For nearly three years now (and she’s only four), we have been her captive audience for her impromptu ballet recitals; sometimes after breakfast, often before bedtime (an effective stalling technique) and occasionally even in the middle of the night. Yep. Three am. Full ballet regalia, full throttle stereo… “Ladies an’ gebblemens… Please kinely take your seats for ‘da ‘mazing Jacqui ballerina show!…” No. I am not kidding.

She has begged, whined, pleaded and cajoled in an attempt to convince me to start ballet lessons for her, and I would have… had I believed for a minute that she was capable of sitting still for the instruction. I told her, ” Let’s start small… how about gymnastics? As soon as you can follow directions in a gymnastics class, we can talk again about ballet.” She scowled and crossed her arms. The portrait of a prima ballerina if I’ve ever seen one.

She finally acquiesced. Mainly because she didn’t have a choice. I had seen what had happened when we attempted to attend pre-school story time at the library. I don’t know how often kids get kicked out of that sort of gathering, but the impression we made on the librarian was lasting for all the wrong reasons. I wasn’t anxious to replicate the event among the impeccably choreographed line-up of perfectly coiffed, pink-tutu’d perfection undoubtedly awaiting us at a ballet lesson.

So yesterday, it was off to gymnastics again. The start of her fifth month. We all piled into the mini-van and headed off down the road, singing along with the radio. Our radio can be tuned to any number of things, from classical, to jazz, to contemporary Christian, or the occasional talk radio or news station (if Ken was the most recent driver). This morning it was tuned to Air One. Jacqui often pipes up with a question or two about a song that is playing and yesterday was no exception.

A song by Nicole C. Mullen called Talk About It, was playing on the radio and the lyrics filled the air:

The song went on and Jacqui decided to become conversational. “Mom, what’s reely deemed mean?”

“What?”

“Really deemed. What’s it mean?”

“What in the world are you talking about?”

“Like in ‘da song ‘da lady’s singin’. What’s reely deemed mean?”

“Ohhhh… redeemed. Remember when you asked Jesus into your heart?”

“Yep.”

“Well, when you did that, Jesus redeemed you, so you can be with him in heaven someday.”

“Oh.”

It was quiet for a minute as the song went on and then Jacqui piped up with the following:

“Mom. I guess we better go to ballet lessons den.”

“What?”

“I needta have ballet lessons.”

“Yeah. I’ve already talked to you about that. We’re going to gymnastics right now.”

“But Moooom!! You don’t unnerstan’! I neeta go to ballet lessons right now!”

“What? Why right now?”

“Cause I’m really deemed.”

“What??”

“Just like in ‘da song.”

“Yeah, I know, but what does that have to do with ballet lessons?”

“Mommmmm! Da lady dat’s singin’ says, ‘Let da really deemed of da Lord say, ‘Go… do da ballet’ say, ‘Go… do da ballet!’”

“Umm… I think she actually said, ‘Let the redeemed of the Lord say so, talk about it, say so, talk about it.”

“Noooooooo! I hab ears on my head, Mom! Dat’s not what she said! ‘Da reely deemed of ‘da Lord must do da ballet! I needta have ballet lessons, Mom!”

Honestly. Who can argue with theology like that? Looks like I’ve got some tutu shopping in my future.

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*No eating marshmallows with your toes. It’s not a very good idea.

*Watch out for bumbly bees. Dey’ll stink ya - Peeeeewwww!!

*You havta wash your hands after you go potty. It’s da Ten Ammandments!

*Kermit crabs have very ‘crusty-shins’!

*(After reminding her to ask to be excused from the table…) Okay (sigh…). May I be a goose please? Honk, Honk!

*(When I was pregnant…) Mommy have a baby inner tummy. Mommy eat a baby.

*(To another pregnant lady…) You eat a baby too?

*What’s at da China Forest? (referring to a local amusement park called The Enchanted Forest) I dunno… China people, maybe?

*(In response to a baby crying at the doctor’s office…) Sumbuddy give dat baby a sammich!

*(At a rest stop…) Look Mommy! I making snow angels on da floor!

*(At rest stop number two…) Look Mommy! Magic Toelets!! Dey already have potty in ‘em! (I replied that they were not most emphatically NOT magic toilets. She in turn asked, “Who do dat den?” I responded, “Moral degenerates, sweetie.” )

*(At rest stop number three…) Wow! Mommy - Look! More gen rats do dat too?

*(To one of her physicians…) You’re funny, doctor. Not funny ‘ha, ha’. Funny weird.

*(To another one of her physician’s who asked her if they weren’t friends…) You need to go be someone else’s friend right now. Mommy, he’s a nice doctor, but he’s a very ouchy kind of friend, isn’t he?

*(To another physician who told her to ‘wait right there’…) No. I havta be someplace else right now! (When asked where?…) I dunno. Anyplace else!

* It’s not very easy to eat peanut butter with a straw!

* No eat boogers Mommy, dey taste yucky. (I replied, “EEEWwww! Don’t even say that.” To which she responded, “Ok. I sing it den. Booooogers taste yuuuky!!…. Booogers taste yuuuky!!….)

*Awwwwww! My balloon needs a rest. It’s to tired ta fly!

*(After explaining where baby cows get their milk from…) Why don’t dey just get it outta da frigidator?

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This morning at breakfast, Jacqui was doing everything within her power to drive me crazy: Pouring salt out on the table runner, finger painting with her yogurt (she can have soy), and keeping up a constant barrage of, “May I? Please? Puh-leeeese? Why, why, why, why, why, why??”

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