Bunhead

After Reina's soccer game a few weeks ago when she complained about being punched in the arm, I finally made a decision that I'd been dancing (ha!) around for a few months.  I called and signed Reina up for pre-dance at a local ballet school. She's been asking to go to a dance class, cheerleader class, cheerleader dance class, etc., for quite a while now.  And why not, right?  Just because I don't have a graceful bone in my body, well... maybe she will.  On Wednesday night, I picked up her early from school, helped her into the tights and leotard, bought a brand new pair of ballet shoes and we waited for her class to start.  She was a whirling dervish in the waiting room, spinning, jumping, 'mom watch this'-ing.  When the teacher came to get the class, Reina followed her without a look back.  On Saturday mornings at soccer, she'll often need a personal hand-holding escort before she joins the team.  Not at dance class.  As I watched her through the parent window, she followed directions, learned the ballet positions and had a great time for 60 minutes.  Watch out world, Reina's ready to dance.