Well, friends. Trace's dance career is already over.
Yesterday, my dear son was supposed to start his Creative Movement class. Last year, Rory was in this class and Trace loved it. He wanted to do the games, songs and movements each week. I figured this year would be in even better because my mom is teaching the class. "Gaga" is a rockstar around here.
Yeah... not so much.
In the first 15 minutes of class, Trace smacked the other girls in the class on the top of the head, hid behind the curtains and jumped out repeatedly shouting BOO at the top of his lungs, started a screaming contest with a little girl and demanded his golf bag about 15 times.
Class started at 4:00. I took his cute butt home at 4:16.
Sorry, Fizz. You just can't hit the paying customers! haha Oh well. Guess I'm not raising the next Travis Wall. ;)