Dancing Queen

On Tuesday we started Hanna in a little dance class. Got her some little ballet shoes, too. It's the kind of thing parents take joy in just seeing their little girl have fun, interact with others, and discover creative expression. Obviously it’s not about the quality of the dance moves. They haven’t been training since they were two. We’re not Soviets, for heavens sake.

Yes, with each step, she is taking  a step towards independence, towards the day she’ll be all grown up with a life of her own, no longer the happy girl who likes to pretend to be a puppy and hop around my feet. So, I’ll enjoy these days when she shows off this dance she learned, where she simply twirls around once and falls on the floor. Hanna’s joy is so honestly expressed, and truth and beauty do indeed go hand in hand.

Though, being Dad, there is a klaxon sounding far off in the distance, a faint warning, as this little class is a step towards, and not away from, the general direction of dancing around a pole. I shall be ever vigilant.

Lately when tucking John into bed, he'll have two or three things to tell me. He'll usually ask these questions, and always with the same wording. He'll ask

"First thing, how do tornado drills get in the house, because why, Daddy?"

"Second thing, how do fire drills get in the house, because why, Daddy?"

They must be talking about drills at school or something. So, I tell him about how tornados are strong storms, with wind that can blow down houses, like in The Three Little Pigs story, and we have to know how to go the basement. And with fires, we have to know how to get out of the house, etc...