Gym Ass Kicks (aka Gymnastics)

Right before Cali turned three I signed her up for gymnastics. She loved it. I didn't. Carter was just a little boy and was too squirmy to hold, and much too young to take a class himself. Not to mention the staff at the gym (which shall not be named) were not very attentive (in my opinion). Her coach asked her each week, "now, what is your name again?" Which I thought was a little impersonal. I didn't think the staff was very attentive. So, I was torn. Cali loved it. She didn't care that they didn't pay attention to her, but for the money I was paying I expected more. So we stuck it out for a year. We quit when she turned four, and took a year off.

Cali has been asking all year long when she can get back into "gymasskicks", I really wanted to make sure that we had a better experience, so I kind of just put her off. Then several months ago my friend Leisa suggested the gym where she coaches, Bailie's. We finally got Cali signed up and she had her first class yesterday. The girl has never been happier, and neither have I. The staff and coaches were right on, and I noticed a marked difference in their teaching techniques. It was a great experience.

Her favorite thing was the beam and she also enjoyed chalking up her hands. With her recent physical milestones she was right at home on the bars. As for the sweaty shirt. It's not sweat at all, it's spit. For whatever reason Cali thought it was necessary to chew on her shirt while she was waiting for her turn or listening to instructions. When I asked her why she was chewing on her clothes she told me, "my tank top is a little too low, so I was holding it up with my mouth so my boobs didn't hang out." Thank goodness that five year old boobs don't do much hanging!