No dance, but that's alright with me.

When my Ella was 4, I signed her up for ballet and tap lessons at the Columbia Conservatory of Dance. I'll admit that part of me made her do it because I was hoping to live vicariously through her. I wanted her to be the ballerina that I never could become. I wanted her to wear the cool tights and leotards that the ladies of dance wear. I wanted her to have the leg warmers and the ballet slippers, the tap shoes and the sparkly costumes. I wanted her to learn the grace and balance and movements and posture that those dancers embody. I dreamed about her confidently leaping and twirling across the stage and holding her head high when roses were tossed at her feet. I wanted her to DANCE.

But she hated.every.second. Truly every.second. The Conservatory instructor wasn't exactly all warm and fuzzy. She didn't smile at the kids; she was strict and severe. She didn't offer the encouragement and praise that I would, that I was expecting. She even made me nervous. She was a professional dancer, and she trained these kids to do the same things she had done. Every time I took Ella to class the process was a nightmare. She literally clawed the car trying to not get out. (I'm pretty sure that there are scratches on the outside of the vehicle.) I would unhook her carseat buckles, and she would latch them right back, begging me to not make her go inside. I would bribe her, threaten her, try to gently persuade her, to no avail. She was miserable. So, what did I do? I made her do it for another six months after the first season was over, hoping that another round of classes would work. And you know what? It didn't. I suppose it didn't help that the instructor wouldn't graduate the child to the next level in either class. But, I can't blame the teacher. Have I mentioned before that Ella has her dad's dance moves? And, I'm not trying to say that I have ANY rhythm. I don't. But, their's are worse than mine, and that says too much.

After dance, I entered my girl into gymnastics at Crooked Creek Park. The coach is a friend of mine from the gym, and she is all warm and fuzzy. This experience definitely trumped dance, but she was the oldest by a good bit, and she could tell. I was only trying to boost her confidence after the disaster that was ballet and tap, but she knew. Dang it. She always knows. Kids and their intuition.

Knowing that it's so important to stay active, I threw every idea in the book at her for extracurricular activities. Soccer? No. Karate? No. Basketball? No. Marinating in the adversity of the Conservatory, she was adamant to avoid any other supposed shenanigans that I could get her into. So, I gave her a break for the past Fall.

However, it was on in the Spring. When I was a little girl, my dad signed me up for recreation league softball, and I played until I graduated from high school. I loved it. Some people might say that all of us girls who didn't play fast-pitch in high school weren't good enough so we stayed in rec. Screw them, is what I'd say. We had so much fun. I didn't want to play with the high school girls. They were big. And scary. And they didn't care how their hair looked or if their shirts matched their cleats. Who wants to play with people that don't care about fashion? Not me, friends, not me.

So, I told Ella that she had no other choice. She'd eliminated all of the other activities. I signed her up for Coaches Pitch baseball a few weeks ago on the premise that her Popi and I would coach her team. We practiced a bit before regular practice began, and she really picked up on it quickly. We worked on her hitting and running to bases. Granted, she hits the ball, runs, and does a cartwheel before landing on the base, but whatever. At least she hits the ball. And she LOVES it.

There are 9 kids on the team, which is named The Thunder. My dad is really the coach and I'm more like the coordinator; the kids do have to match, after all. Luckily, I know most of the moms, so practices and games are fun mini social events for the parents. We had our first "game" last Saturday, and it was so cute. Regardless of the fact that 98% of our kids forgot to run after they hit the ball (and the other team was able to get nearly every one of our players out at first), the kids had a great time and I saw my Ella's confidence level go up. Seriously, she's pretty good.

She may not be a prima ballerina or the next Debbie Reynolds and I may not get to be the stage mom I thought I'd be, but my kid does have some athletic ability. This is gonna be a fun season!