Today I played my childhood music box to Kit. He was entranced by the rotating ballerina, and he started pirouetting in time to the music.
“What is she doing?” he asked. I explained that she was a ballerina, doing ballet dancing.
“This is fun! Can I be a ballerina?” he asked, as he twirled around and toppled over.
“If you want to,” I said, helping him up, “But, I don’t think the boys are called ballerinas.”
“Then, I want to make up a new name for boy and girl ballet dancers.” He sat quietly for a bit, deep in thought. “How about ‘ballarat’?” he suggested.
“I’m afraid that name is already taken,” I told him.
“It is not!” he said insistently. “I only just thought of it all by myself.”
“I’m sure you did,” I said, using up a weeks’ worth of calories to keep a straight face. “But it’s still already a word. Ballarat is a town in Victoria.”
“Victoria who?”
“Victoria is a state of Australia. Like Western Australia.”
“But shouldn’t we have Eastern Australia, and Northern Australia, and Southern Australia?” He asked, perplexed.
“That would make more sense,” I said, “But Australia is not a sensible place. Remember, it’s the land of trees that reproduce when you set them on fire, and marsupial animals that carry their babies around in their tummies after they’re born!”
Never having known anything else, he asked, “What’s so strange about that?” and went back to considering names.
After much deliberation, he settled on ‘ballarooney.’ “Because it sounds a bit like ‘balloon,’ and balloons are fun!”
He glanced at me, and quickly added, “As long as you don’t throw them away like litter, because they can hurt birds and animals, when they try to eat them. Remember that time when you tried to catch that balloon in the park to put it in the bin, and you fell in the lake?”
“Yes,” I said, “Indeed I do!” But Kit had lost interest and moved on again.
“If I’m going to be a ballarooney, I need a frilly thing around my waist,” he informed me.
“It’s called a tutu,” I explained.
“And what about a tiara?” His Dad suggested, but Kit misheard him.
“No way!” he said adamantly, “Terriers look at me like I’m a dog biscuit.”
“Usually, only the girls wear tutus.” I said.
“But why?” he asked. “It’s pretty. Can I please wear one? Please?”
“Why not?” I said, and made him a tutu…but it’s a bit tight, more like a one-one. Kit doesn’t care; it makes him feel pretty!
