Daisy's soccer abilities can be summed up in this simple mathematical equation:
(MIA HAMM) - MIA = Daisy
In the beginning, she had a blast, but sitting in on Molly's gymnastics class embittered her, and she started throwing tantrums when it was time to get out on the field. Fortunately she has a big enough crush on the coaches that when they coax her to come play, she capitulates.
(and seriously, if they tried to coax me to play, I might very well fall for it. Coach Jason looks like a young Terrence Howard without that weird misogynistic baby-wipe fetish, and Coach Jaime's got an Antonio Banderas accent thing going on. If they sweet talked me into it, I'd find my "power spot" right quick)
We've already established that she can do gymnastics next time, but that she has to finish the soccer session. And oh, my god, eight weeks has never seemed like such a long time. THREE more weeks of this.
Meanwhile, the amount of Fig Newtons and coachly encouragement that it takes to get her to unwrap herself from my thigh and get out there and play (with four little boys who have already gone from clueless to skillsville) is exhausting. She isn't crazy about running. She is not so much for keeping her eye on the ball. And she just doesn't really give a shit, which is fine, because she is three years old and I only care if she has fun. Which she does, once she gets out there. She's the soccer class clown. And she plays in a dress, because you really have to pick your battles.
I don't know why this is sideways. The original file isn't. And rotating it doesn't help. Typepad, sometimes I curse your name.