A Monday memory....

Tiny dancers....

1950's

1980's

2013

Mother....daughter....granddaughter

Seems like only yesterday - when I climbed the towering set of stairs and ran down the long hallway to the Florence Dance Studio.  I began a life long love of dance at the tender age of 2 1/2 there.  For the next ten years I took classes in ballet, then toe, two years of tap and several years of jazz.

After a break, I resumed dance classes in college with two years of Modern Dance.

My parents spent years shuttling me back and forth to the studio.  My mother sat alongside other mothers at the ballet school in the early years, cutting and sewing yards and yards of tulle into ballerina skirts.  In later years, the table would be pushed to the wall and I would spend hours practicing my "solo" across the kitchen floor.

Among the many joys I anticipated when I gave birth to my own daughters was that of becoming a "ballet mom."  Our girls also began dance classes at tender ages, with varying degrees of enjoyment.  They attended several ballet schools over the years and sampled an assortment of styles.

I was as excited and nervous as the girls at their recitals each June, whispering "one, two, three" as they would sweep across the stage.  

Just as my mother had when I was performing on stage.

And now a new chapter in our family's dance history has begun. 

My middle daughter was sweet enough to ask if I would like to come along to my oldest granddaughters very first ballet/tap dance class. 

Though I was certain it would be fun to go with them, I wasn't quite prepared for the level of joy it actually brought me this past Saturday morning.

Peering through the glass, watching M as she followed along with the teacher, was almost like looking in a mirror.  The expression on her face, as she came running out halfway through the class to change from her ballet shoes to tap shoes was priceless.  A quick hug and kiss from her mother and she was racing down the hallway back to her class.

It made me think of that Kodak commercial from years and years ago, when Paul Anka would sing, "These are the moments of our lives."

Oh, such precious moments!

Such a gift to be there and share in it.

And I just know that my mother was watching M from above, smiling proudly and 

 counting out, "one, two, three..."