The rainy season has started. Some years, we get ushered in softly. One weekend it rains; then it stops for a few days; starts again. This year, in Costa Rica, the rain is following a schedule. In the afternoon it rains. And with the rain, the kids can’t go out to play.

After finishing up the laundry, I sat back on the sofa and the idea of squeezing in that Yoga before bedtime was a pipe dream. My daughter, now seven, can easily entertain herself for hours with a scissors, felt, paper, bits of cardboard, pens, or just about anything. But after awhile, she’s need some “hanging out” time. Before the rain, she’d linger in the garden in her imaginary tree house until dinner. Last night, she hauled down Candyland and Chess. We split on the Candyland and she won in chess.

Her yellow kitty blanket was still warm, and we crawled under it and watched Mother Earth/moon- on our coffee table that is. Andrea Boccelli was playing on the stereo.

Should I dance? asked Coco.

Of course, I said.

She kept looking my way, a little self-conscious. I told her to forget about me and dance to the moon. Soon she was spinning and doing moves I envied. I could see where the ballet was paying off. But there was more: she has a natural grace. Her head tilts gracefully, just so; her toes point with strength; and her legs follow her body as if they were given a script and already knew what to do.

Should I be a dancer?

You can be anything you want, I said, as long as you follow your heart and dance to the moon.