My daughter is fickle. Like a barracuda in the sea of life, the shiniest thing will attract her and she'll quickly move on to the next prey if her attention is diverted. Yes, she's just like her mother. Tater and I have what I like to call, "commitment issues" since we both seem to have visions of grandeur that eventually fade into afterthoughts when the next hobby is presented to us - even if we've already spent a tremendous amount of time and energy on the previous task. A quick peek in my garage will show you the Craftsman rolling cart filled full of unused cake decorating tips. It's parked right next to the art supplies, egg incubators and kitchen supplies that were going to be side projects and superb venues for moneymaking; eh, not so much now that I look back. You can add glitter or sequins to any pile of crap and we'd probably start collecting it. It's just so sad.

Tater has presented this same sort of "barracudesque" (that's my own word) in the sports arena, although Hubby and I have tried to encourage her into doing something - anything - just not the art or sport of coach surfing. Neither of us are huge sports enthusiasts but we do our best to try and encourage our children to be the opposite of their TV and Internet loving parents with "spreadage" issues.

When introducing sports to Tater, we started off with what I thought was a surefire win, soccer. When I was younger, I was a huge soccer fan and played throughout my school career. Every Saturday morning, my mom would lug Uncle R and I to various parks where we'd kick our little hearts out and run 'til we were sweaty and sufficiently muddy (it was always wet during soccer season). When I had my own kids I was confident I would get a at least one soccer player out of the bunch and I was pretty sure it was going to be Tater because she had my short and stocky soccer girl physique.

I mentioned soccer and she asked if you really had to run as much as she had heard. When I told her that yes, you have to run in soccer, she told me that she wasn't too interested in getting sweaty or dirty. Plus, the idea of giving up her Saturday morning sleep-in sessions was just too much for her to handle.

The next introduction to sports came in the form of T-ball, the sport that ALL kids love, right? Wrong. I was barely two months prego with Gunny and in my heightened emotional state, thought it would be a great bonding process to coach her T-ball team. First of all, you cannot successfully keep four, five, and six year olds from picking their noses and making daisy chains while on base. Second of all, no matter how many times the goofy coaches rounds the bases in the correct direction, there will always be one kid who wants to go the opposite way when they actually hit the ball. Let's just say T-ball wasn't her thing; she spent most of her time in the outfield dancing like Hannah Montana or yelling at me when she couldn't hit a "coach pitched" ball. I was obviously sucked as a pitcher because she told me so daily.

We ended her sports career with karate. She quickly realized she was a lover and not a fighter and spent most of the time admiring herself in the mirror. She looked so freakin' adorable doing her little moves and making those verbal outbursts but I just couldn't keep her interested when she found out that you didn't get breaks every 15 minutes and that her teacher actually expected her to work hard. The only day that I actually saw her enjoy herself was when she was sparring and accidentally gave a little kid a bloody nose. I was actually very surprised at her take on the situation as she is normally a very caring little girl. She finally admitted to me that she smiled so much when it happened because the kid was a little jerk to her and she was glad she gave him some "paybacks." Ugh, karate career over until appropriate maturity could be reached. I didn't want a little loaded weapon whoopin' up on fellow first graders.

Hubby and I were about to give up on trying to helping her envelop new hobbies and interests when I saw an ad for the Ferndale Repertory Theater's Young Actor's Workshop. It was a month long program taught by a talented actress named Denise Ryles. If you want to see the embodiment of spunk and charisma, Denise would be the poster child. What a neat lady.

I showed Tater the flyer and asked her is she was interested. I didn't let the desperation of a mother searching for her child's happiness, leak out too badly and I honestly didn't really think she'd be interested. But then again, I thought soccer was going to be a sure thing. I actually saw a sparkle in her eye and she instantly told me she wanted to do it. Her drama queen side had seen the light and she was going to give it a try.

For a month, Tater spent nine hours a week at this workshop and she loved it. She would come home and give me total attitude, professing that she was "acting" and that I needed to "chill out." Yeah, that only worked a coupla times before she learned I didn't appreciate her method acting. She'd also reminded her brothers several times a day that she needed to watch certain shows or listen to certain music, because she was going to be an "Acktohrr" (insert fake British accent and an eyeroll) and "Acktohrrs" had to practice their craft.

It was really nice to see her interested and satisfied in what she was doing. It was also a crack-up to hear her describe practicing in the Ferndale Repertory Theater. She swears that it's haunted and smells like "corpse." I was intrigued that an eight year old would know what "corpse" smelled like, but she assured me that she did. I think she's watched too many Montel Williams/Sylvia Browne shows or perhaps read too many "Ghostbumps" books. She had it dead set in her mind that she and her little acting buddies only had their three practicing days to send the ghosts to the "light." Ok Tater, whatever floats your boat. I just reminded her that she could play "Ghost Whisperer" all she wanted but she still needed to memorize her lines.

Over the weekend, she had her final performance and I was so proud of her. She did great and remembered all her lines. She was quite the little ham and had to be gently removed from the stage after her first performance. She gets that from her dad - I'm the shy one ;-).

Ultimately, the lesson we learned from all this is that you really can't guide your child into any of your own interests. Kids will discover their own likes and dislikes, and on their own time frame. Sure, I'd love to raise a kickass soccer playing girl, but I'm more than satisfied with my little Acktohrr (insert snooty, uppity tone here) and the many performances she brings into our lives.