Something strange has been happening lately.

I am not completely sure how to handle it either.

Over the last several months, there has been another shift in the behavior of my daughter.

I know little girls are supposed to be made up of sugar and spice and everything nice, but lately it seems like the “spice” part is less ginger or cinnamon and more of the Mexican ghost chili variety.

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Since I was a kid, I have been inspired by the “Jack of All Trades”.

This legendary-esque person who could do it all. You know the type. It’s the MacGyver of the real world. The individual who can weld a pipe as well as he can sew a pillowcase. The one who can fashion a dress out of paper clips but also construct their own dining room furniture. Or maybe they can expertly handle a pairing knife for baking but also use that same knife for performing a life-saving tracheotomy in a restaurant. Who knows?

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I don’t get the appeal of dancing.

Never in my life have I been so moved by a song or swept up in a moment that my body was overcome with the urge to shift and shake to the beat and/or rhythm by myself or with another person.

Maybe this is because I just am not good at dancing. Maybe it’s because I am secretly self-conscious and I don’t want others to bear witness to the random ways in which my limbs and torso work against each other in efforts to establish their own unique moves.

Or, and I am starting to believe more and more in this theory, maybe I am a hero who has successfully restrained my inner dancer in the interest of public safety.

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