Emily started basketball this week. Soccer doesn't finish until later this month, so she's double-teamin' right now. She loves it and she's good. I'm proud of her. I'm impressed that she can actually throw and catch and dribble and kick. And run. And run. And run. Wow, this girl can run. So what if she didn't start walking 'til 18 months? She sure makes up for it now.
Miss Em lives for competition. She loves games and loves to win. Many evenings she chooses a few rounds of Uno over a bedtime story. Most times she wins. Fair and square.
I love having an athletic daughter. I always admired the girls who could flirt with the boys and then beat 'em on the tennis court. I always wanted to be the sporty type. But it's kinda hard to be sporty if you hate running and are afraid of the ball.
Back in my Elementary Ed days at BYU, I had to take a course for future gym teachers. To pass the class I was required to do the following:
- Stand on my head for 60 seconds. I am not kidding.
- Make five free-throw shots in a row.
- Throw a football some ridiculous number of yards away from my body.
Luckily, that semester I had this really cute boyfriend who was also pretty athletic. I felt all helpless and feminine while he showed me the finer points of throwing a spiral. So romantic! I was sure the big He-Man was falling hopelessly in love with Dainty Li'l Me.
It worked. But a few months later, after we were engaged and talking about our future family, he said, "I just hope our kids take after me, you know, in the coordination department."
Fortunately (and, quite miraculously, actually) they all did.
And, because one of the best (and worst) things about being a mom is reliving your own childhood through your kids' experiences...now I can proudly say that I am a girl jock, too.