I Blame Alexis

WELP. It has started. Again.

It was just over 10 years ago that a tiny little girl (except that one wasn't so tiny, alas) turned to me and said she wanted to dance. She meant it with every fiber of her being, so it wasn't long before she was enrolled in dance classes. The rest is history, or rather an ongoing nightmare because ZOMG do I not fit in with dance moms.

At all.

Alexis really super loves it, though, so now I spend my free moments plotting a move to a new dance studio because somehow it has started to matter that she's at the RIGHT studio that will support her as she learns the skills she wants most (ballet, acro, lyrical, and jazz -in that order- for those keeping score at home).

Mila, though. Mila was my shining star of hope in a sparkly world of dance and cheer. That kid is a bruiser. She's far more likely to be caught shooting a puck into a net than wearing a tutu. And she will, because the kid has taken a few deck hockey classes and is going to take more. She really super likes it.

BUT!

She also went to a dance camp for a few days over the summer and I'll be damned if she didn't catch the bug. She has spent the weeks since that camp telling me, "I feel you should sign me up for dance class," and ugh.

I gave in.

I signed Tiny up for a ballet/tap/gymnastics class. She had her first class over the weekend and HOOBOY IS SHE IN LOVE. She really super enjoyed the class and she's begging to do more and suddenly I have two girls who won't stop dancing in my kitchen.

The good news is that Alexis is four years away from driving. If things stay the way they are, at least I won't have to be the one doing all the driving. I'll have a glorious two year gap where I can make the big sister pay the price for lighting the dance fire under her little sister.