Dance dance dance

Three years ago (before the whole hubby and baby addition) I was in training to be a dance instructor. Due to the relationship I was in at the time going south (very, very south) I quit very suddenly and always regretted not at least giving my instructor notice of any sort. A few months ago I started going back in to the studio for their weekly social lesson and party, and have been having great time with that. I didn't want to bring up the subject of re-starting my training, because quite frankly, we can not afford it. Luckily two weeks ago my lovely instructor/awesome friend Herb brought up the idea himself. We bartered out some terms (in exchange for lessons I supply him with copious baked goods and help him with landscaping next year) and I began training again this past Wednesday. Finn even came with me and was on fairly good behaviour. Besides picking up with training, we're also working on a quickstep for the fall showcase. Which was an enormously bad choice on my part. I love how it looks and I adore the song we've chosen (Istanbul, Not Constantinople), but man....it's the most difficult dance I've ever taken on. We did a quick run around the floor just to get an idea of how fast we needed to go, and by the end of the song I was panting and racing for a big glass of water. Apparently lifting a 25 pound toddler all day is not sufficient preparation for competition level ballroom dancing. Who knew. But even with getting my ass handed to me, I'm soooo thankful for the chance to get back into what I love to do. I have another session on Tuesday (hopefully sans Finn, so I can get in more than two hours) and I am so looking forward to it.


Finn tidbits:

Yesterday, we went "byes" to do laundry at Nana's. I assist Finn onto the back porch and turn to lock the door. By the time I turn back around to grab his hand to walk him down the steps, he's already toddling down them himself. And he did not fall and scrape his face off. Woah. Then on the car ride there, we drive past a dairy farm and he starts freaking out. I ask him "What's wrong?" He points out the window and yells "Cowwwwws! Cows, mommy! Cows!!" So funny. And when asked what the cows say he replied "MOO!" He never drags out the "oo". It's always an exclamation.