It seems my daughter may trade in her ballet shoes for a yoga mat, which has taken me by pleasant surprise.
When we registered Sofie for ballet lessons in September, it was the culmination of fourteen months of a growing interest in ballet. “Mommy, I want to be a ballerina for Halloween.” “Mommy, can I watch Angelina Ballerina again?“ “Mom, I want to learn ballet.” And, always while I am in the middle of making dinner, “Mom, watch me do an arabesque!”
So we signed her up. She adored the leotards and shimmery skirts, the pale pink shoes, the dance accessories. She found a friend to attend class with her. And when she stepped cautiously across the threshold, the instructor firmly shut the door. I was left to squint through dusty blinds that covered the studio’s single window, hoping for a glimpse of my daughter. The claustrophobic waiting area smelled distinctly of sweaty feet and cats.
A few times Sofie exited her class in tears (“Mommy, it was too hot and crowded in there.” “Mommy, I want to go home.”) Other times, she chattered happily about first position or the trampoline that came out when the girls were overly energetic. It’s the tears I remember, though. And the fact that I was unable to watch, so I had no idea how to encourage her in the week between lessons. Still, my daughter remained committed.
Until her first recital. Sofie waited chilled and hungry on a corner of the makeshift stage for an hour while much older girls executed robotic routines and preschoolers chewed on their tutus. When her group finally performed, they sang and moved around to Christmas songs with nary a ballet position in sight.
Mike, Donna and Sofie practice family downward dog in the park.
The next day Sofie attended a friend’s birthday party at a local yoga studio, Om Kids Yoga. Yoga is not new to her. She has been participating at school for a few years and occasionally comes home eager to show me a new pose. This was my first chance to watch. She was very engaged; she radiated joy and calm. Other parents commented on her comfort level.
The difference in the studio was night and day. The light and airy yoga space smelled of strawberries and fresh laundry. It had ample, comfortable seating for parents. I might have curled up on the squishy satin pillows with a good book.
The instructor impressed me by engaging 15 four- and five-year-olds for an extended period. She geared the yoga to their age range by incorporating animal puppets and zippy music. The session ended with my favorite savasana, a period of relaxation where the kids lay down with a blanket and received a mini foot massage in their choice of chocolate or banana lotion.
Later that day, my nap-less yet still amiable daughter said to me, “Can I do yoga instead of ballet?” As my husband and I have done yoga with some regularity for years, I warmed quickly to the idea.
Whatever her final choice is, I want Sofie to have a physical outlet for the intense feelings that overwhelm her at this age. I love that the yoga instructor demonstrated poses (such as lion and lemon face) that kids could do to release pent-up aggression and energy.
On the eco side of things, the yoga studio resides in the same revitalized mill as the winter farmer’s market, making this a two-for-one Saturday trip. We’ll drop Sofie at class and wander through the halls filling our reusable bags with crisp apples, purple cauliflower and pungent onions before returning to pick up our flexible and grounded five-year-old.
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