Y'all...my job is kind of crazy. The awesome kind of crazy. I've always loved ballet (except for those few years I didn't) and I've always loved kids (except for those times when I nannied and they peed on me...nope, still loved 'em) so my job is the perfect culmination of all good things.
Every day I put on my leotard and tights, slick back my hair into a bun, and head out the door. Most days I think to myself, "I thought I was done wearing pink tights under my leotard years ago..." or "How many butt cheeks does this leotard make me have?" or "I hate hairspray. So much for my hair looking normal today..."
For those of you who don't know, wearing pink tights under your leotard is so a young ballerina thing. Once you make it you can totes wear whatever. And that usually doesn't involve pink tights unless you're on stage. Especially if your name is Emily Moore. Holler! Hate those pesky pink tights.
And every day when I get to ballet camps my little ballerinas Ohh and Ahh and squeal and tell me how I look like a real ballerina. Or a princess. And how they want to look just like me. And can I show their moms how to do a real ballerina bun? Those squeals and big excited eyes that take in everything I do and wear make. my. day.
So here's to all the little ballerinas who have made all my summer days so far. You guys rock. And y'all do awesome petit jetes.
Lawd have mercy. If this picture doesn't make YOU Ohh and Ahh, then I don't know. Go find your happy place because this picture melts me up like a hershey bar waiting to go on a s'more! mmm!
P.S.--it is my birthday month. And I was nice enough to share with America and all, but now the party can really start.