How John Came To Be & The Power Of The Mind

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about the 'power' of the mind. How I can control my reaction to something and create a new situation. Like the saying goes, "You cannot change others, you can only change how you react to others." This has been on my mind because of our situation with Violet and how I react to her when a tantrum begins/is going on/ends. Today, as I was dwelling on this yet again, I suddenly remembered John's birth and the power of my mind in that situation. It was, and I think, still quite amazing.

 

When Sarah was 3 months old we got pregnant. To say I was stunned would be an understatement. I was due 1 day before her first birthday. While trying to cope with a colicky, refluxing baby and a 2 1/2 year old, I slowly started to wrap my mind around this. And just as I accepted it and became overjoyed, we lost the baby. Obviously we were heartbroken. We were told to wait at least 2 cycles before trying again  . . . however I never cycled  and we found out we were pregnant again. Sarah was almost 5 months old, Violet was 3.

As my due date came closer I began planning, again, for a drug free birth. I'd done it with Sarah and was completely comfortable with going drug again.

Around March 5 I began feeling uncomfortable and contracting quite a bit. As I had delivered Sarah in 2 hours -- from first pain to last push -- I was hyper alert for labor. Between March 5 and 7 we made numerous trips to the doctor so I could be checked, put on a monitor to confirm I was in early labor and be sent to the hospital. They sent me home every time. Even though they were convinced I wasn't in early labor, I knew differently. We called my in laws to come down so when I was ready to leave we wouldn't have to do anything with the kids.

On the morning of the 8, I woke my husband up around 4 and said it was time to go, even though I wasn't having heavy contractions. Being the intelligent man he is (and remembering how I yelled, "I need to push!" while  on the way to the hospital with Sarah) he got up and we left. When we got to the hospital I was comfortable but insistent that I was in advanced labor. The eye rolling that went on! Especially since when the nurses checked me they couldn't even find my cervix because everything was still so high. The gymnastics that took place in order for them to finally determine how many centimeters I was dilated were comical. I kept saying,"I'm not going home. I'm at least 7 centimeters." When my doctor arrived she was able to determine my dilation -- 7 centimeters.

So we labored. My husband and great friend and L&D nurse, and my doctor were all in the room with me. Things started to pick up, but only when I was walking. I'd sit down to take a break and the contractions would drop back. So I paced and squatted and paced and squatted. I was in a lousy labor pattern and had been at it for some time, when my doctor asked me what I'd like to do. She said we could continue as I was and just wait for the pattern to even out, or I could get some pitocin and jump start things a bit. I was getting very tired, but I knew if I had pitocin the chances of me then having an epidural increased greatly. I remembered all the words of all the natural birthing books I'd read, the words of my friends Rachel and Anne (who both gave birth med free and told me I had the power and ability to do it), and asked for 20 minutes. If things hadn't picked up then I'd do the pitocin.  I know my friend and L&D nurse thought this was pretty funny, but I was going with my gut.

I pictured my baby moving down and out of me. I remembered what it felt like to be in heavy labor with Sarah.  I even 'visualized' my cervix as a flower, opening up and letting my baby come out (That would have been thanks to Ina Mae, an incredible author and mid wife).

I was using my mind to change a situation. Controlling my reaction to a situation to create a new one.

And 20 minutes later my contractions picked up like crazy and I began transition. John was born shortly after.

Because I had the power, within me, to control what was happening.

(am I saying that this is what a woman should do and then viola! your baby will immediately be born? Not at all. It's what happened and worked for me. Me only.)

Now I need to dig deep and draw on these same things. To deeply understand that I have the power to change a situation while in that very situation. To control my reaction with Violet when she begins to get ramped up. I need to see what I'm doing as I'm doing it and know that I can change it.

But honestly, I think making my body contract was easier.

After Shocks

So . . . I haven't been around lately, at all. Not on Facebook, not really on Twitter and definitely not here. And I've missed it all. But something more pressing has been keeping me occupied, and once it was under control, well I'd kind of lost my mojo. Again.

You all know that all three of my children had viral meningitis this summer. Oh the joy. Violet had it the worst because we didn't know what was going on -- we initially thought it was just a stomach virus. Since she went the longest without treatment it took 2 1/2 days to get it all under control. Which left her with some side effects we had no idea were coming.

About 6 weeks after the meningitis things started getting weird with her and then they got violent. She had such raging tantrums that I was forced to empty her room because her toys provided ammunition to launch at me. She screamed. She jumped on her bed. She yelled strange insults at me. When she'd done this twice in a row I sought the help of a dear friend, Lisa, who knows so much about brain function, environmental issues, allergies etc. Her son has mild autism and she is a wealth of knowledge. As I cried to her about Violet's behavior, she started questioning me about other things, and we made a list of symptoms and dates they started. What resulted was a timeline that started after her meningitis.

Things I saw included violent temper tantrums, sleeplessness, clinginess, quick mood changes, recurrent headaches  and a fear of doctors.  I made an appointment with her pediatrician, talked with her teacher, my therapist (who is also a child therapist)  and social worker at her school. Then I started to research all this myself.

Meningitis.com and The Mayo Clinic as well as several other sites listed after effects of meningitis: temper tantrums, sleeplessness, clinginess, quick mood changes, recurrent headaches  and a fear of doctors.

What? Not a single doctor told me took for after effects. And I didn't research the meningitis while she was sick because  I knew I'd get all sorts of scary, ridiculous results.

I called two friends of mine who's family members had experienced meningitis. I simply asked, "What happened after the meningitis?" One said, "You mean like behavior changes or tantrums?" What? She knew? And the other told me her brother had headaches for 6  months after.

We had blood tests done to rule out any other problems such as a hyper active thyroid. We had an MRI done. Saw an ENT. Everything was normal.

We went to the therapist and started to work on the actual behaviors -- because even if they were a result of the meningitis we couldn't live our lives walking around just waiting for the next explosion and all nervous about it.

So. Time has passed. She's been to see the therapist twice now. Talked with social worker who gave her some books on anger to read. We have 'anger rules' up in the kitchen and her room. She's earning toys back. She takes melatonin to get to sleep each night. She questions whether or not she's going to have 'a needle' every time we go to the doctor - and remember, we went to the pediatrician, had blood drawn, were sedated for the MRI then went to the ENT. So she's very worried. She is very clingy and tends to do it more around a lot of people. She's tantrumed in front of two of her friends -- who thankfully had experienced similar behavior in their own home so they just shrugged it off.

At first this consumed me. I searched the internet for hours. I talked to my friends. I asked for many, many prayers. I talked extensively about it to my therapist. My anxiety level has shot through the roof.

But I'm starting to see the other side now. She's doing much, much better. She hasn't had a full  on tantrum in about 3 weeks. She's beginning to learn that she needs to take a break from us when she starts to feel angry.

So this are starting to get better. Our home life is pretty normal now, no eggshell walking and no searching the internet for hours.

I think we're going to be okay. :)

Growing Up

Violet left for Bible camp on Monday afternoon -- for a week. I was worried and didn't think she was ready to go, it turns out I was the one who wasn't ready. She was vibrating with excitement and anticipation for weeks before hand and couldn't even sit still the day we dropped her off.

And the camp? RUSTIC. I don't do rustic unless it's in a recipe name. Rustic vegetable soup? Check. Rust chicken and vegetables? Check. Rustic cabins? No thank you. But she was in love with the place, so I put an extra layer on her mattress and we left.

*sob*

I haven't heard from her since, and it's Wednesday. That's two nights without me tucking her in. Two days without me telling her to brush her teeth, her hair, get dressed, make her bed.

That means she's doing this all on her own. I think we're going to have to up her responsibilities when she gets home.

She's having a blast, I'm sure, with barely a minute to think about or miss us. Which I'm thankful for. And I know the camp is great - a dear friend went to the same camp for years and has told me what a blessing it was and she received many blessings by going to the camp. I'm hopeful it will provide Violet with the same. I want her to make lifelong friendships and grow in Christ while she's having fun and I know this is one major way to accomplish that.

But I still miss her. And I'm still going to bathe her the minute she gets home.

Going Old School

So. Violet, Sarah and I are battling lately. This is getting to be old, hearing me say this, right? I've allowed them to become very disrespectful of my husband and myself. So much so that two people have commented on it.

You have no idea how humiliating that is.

But I had no idea on how to fix it. I'd take Violet's ipod away and she'd read -- which she loves. And I don't feel right taking away reading. I'd restrict t.v and she'd play with her Barbies and not care that she lost t.v.  Sarah just screams.

So I was at a total loss.

I thought I had a moment of parental genius the other day when she told me that playing was boring and I decided that I'd teach her what boring was. So she cleaned her room all day long - seriously. From 10:30 til 2:30 she dusted, put toys away and organized her closet. Only in the end she declared, "Look at my room, it's awesome!" So, kind of a fail there.

I discussed my frustrations with a friend, one who had noticed the disrespect - the eye rolling, the laziness, the outright refusal to complete my requests- and she told me what she used with her kids, what had worked.

Writing lines. Bible verses specifically.

Hmm.

So I talked to my husband about it. To the girls about it. Then spent the afternoon reading Ephesians - the book that seems to deal the most with obedience and children - and we got started. I copied down a few verses on cards, put them in a box and prepared myself.

And Violet promptly began being rude to Sarah.

I, somehow, calmly handed her a card and the pad of paper.  Had her read the verse out loud to me: Ephesians 4:29 Do not let any unwholesome talk come out your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.

I asked her if she knew what it meant. She did not. I had her write it twice, then we discussed it again. And she understood part of it. We had a true discussion about what it meant to speak kindly and helpfully. Later, she started in on Sarah and I said, "Violet, what did you write earlier?" She kind of tilted her head and said, "This? This is unhelpful. Huh."

It was a tiny 'aha' moment.

And it also reminded me -- big time- that I need to speak in a way that helpful for building others up according to their needs -- especially my children.

Today Sarah started in on something, I can't even remember what. And I, again, somehow calmly, handed her the verse Ephesians 6:1 Children obey your parents.

She had a fit and refused , but I stuck it out. Eventually she wrote it down two times and handed it to me -- nicely.

I think the key is I stick to this and remain calm. Remain calm.

So today, it was a success.

Here's hoping tomorrow is as well.

Another Year, Another Dance Recital. *happy sighs*

Violet and Sarah had their dance recital on Saturday and Sunday. And my two favorite dancers danced. I mean, my two favorite dancers besides my girls. Josh and Ryan danced -- be still my 39 year-year-old-mother-of-three-they-are-20-years-old heart - they danced.They graduated you see, so I don't get to see them anymore. That is very sad for me. You may remember that during the Holiday Magic Show of two years ago Ryan made me cry with his dancing.

Yeah, he's that good.

And I saw Josh dance in the first recital Violet danced in, four years ago. I kind of forgot about her when I saw him dance, he was that mesmerizing. I adore these two young men. Josh tap dances like nobodies business. We've watched Ryan grow from an awkward teenager to this amazingly graceful young man who gives me goosebumps when he dances.

So yes, four of my favorite dancers danced on Saturday and Sunday. And I was in heaven.

Now, I know many moms who dread the end of the year dance recital. And while I may grimace at the work required of me the week leading up the recital, I love the recitals.

Yes, we are crazy busy the week of the recital. We have a leotard rehearsal and a full dress rehearsal that last about two hours. But I get to see all the girls dance, from all the classes. I get to see all the babies - the tiny 4 year olds -- in their frills and bows do little ballet pirouettes. I get to see the big girls leap and twirl across the stage and watch my girls imagine the day they will do those amazing things with their bodies.

So I love it.

The day of the recital is tiring -- especially Sunday. But I still love it. ( Plus, I'm not nearly as tired as the staff of the dance studio, who this year put on four shows.) Saturday we're all geeked up for the recital, it's all new and the girls are excited. Sunday they are a bit more tired and so am I.

But I still love it.

They look so beautiful in their costumes, concentrating on a dance they've spent the year working on.

Backstage they giggle and laugh, share secrets, tells jokes and eat a ton of snacks while waiting for their dance. I don't see any fear. I see only fun and friends, talent and education.

And I love it so much.

The worst part of it all is doing the buns -- I like a good bun. So it takes me a while. And I like to be complimented on my bun. So it takes me even longer. But it's worth it when they look as good as they feel.

And every year I think, "This is the year that is the best. There is no way Miss Anna Marie can out do this." And then the next year I find myself thinking the exact same thing. She does know how to put on a show.

 

Target and Kids: It's An Odessy

I took the kids to Target this morning with a very short list of things I needed:

*shorts for me

*play dress for Sarah

*cat food

*q-tips

*night gown for me

*shirt for me

*thermometer covers

I stuck to my list and it was easy peasy.

*snort*

I had to try on five pairs of shorts, two pairs of Capri's and three shirts. Therefore we had 'dressing room conversation.'  If you've never had 'dressing room conversation,' it goes a little like this:

Mom, what are those dimples on the back of your thighs?

~ I have no dimples. Look away. Liar liar pants on fire. (glaring at child)

Mommy, what is that?

~ what?

All that squishy stuff above the button of your shorts.

~Nothing. These shorts lie. I just lost 15 pounds. Your mom is HOT. These shorts lie. Moving on . . .(more glaring)

Mommy, why can I see your bra when you put on your shirt?

~Because it's too thin.

Why is it too thin?

~We're moving on again . . .

Mommy what is that? (pointing to my tattoo, which is usually hidden.) (for the record, I have no problem with tattoo's, on other people. I don't like explaining mine to my kids.)

~We'll discuss it when you're older.  Why are you in here?

Ohhh, those shorts are tooooo short. I can see those dimples again.

~And again, I call you a liar. There are no dimples. (throwing shorts in corner. Using very special words in my head)

Finally, shorts and and a pair of Capri's are found, two shirts that are not tissue thin are thrown in the cart. We rush into the lingerie department.

Oh, please. What in the world was I thinking??? I have three children with me. It doesn't matter that I just want an overs sized t-shirt as night gown. I have to walk through bras, thongg, sexy night gowns, etc. John's eyes are roving everywhere and his hands are reaching for satin, lace and brocade. Obviously men are born to enjoy this. I'm torn between horror and complete amusement.

Sarah is happily jumping in between racks, making mazes of Spanx and panty hose. Violet is eye-ing the lace bra's and I can see her mind racing, wondering when she'll be old enough for that. As she reaches for one I put out a burst of speed and race us past them to the modest pajama's. The three of them are bickering, laughing, and revving a car engine the entire time this is going on. Generally letting the entire store know that my children are here, so watch out!

I'm reduced to begging after our 'dressing room conversation.' So I'm saying things like, "What did I ask of you? To give me this time. It's been 20 minutes. About 10 minutes too long. Please. Just stop. Let me grab this. Stop it. Knock it off. Please. Did you hear me?" At one point I say, "This is supposed to be Mommy Time. Yeah. Pretty lousy Mommy Time." And I hear a lady start to laugh two rows over.

Eventually I grab a night gown - of some unknown color, race through the kids clothes and find nothing for Sarah. But I've completed my list and we've only been in the store for 30 minutes.

30 minutes.

Success! Glory!

But I still didn't get out of there under 100 dollars.

 

It's Summer. . .

Which means Violet is 9 today. And officially in the 4th grade.

Sarah is officially in the 1st grade.

And John is officially a kindergartner.

And I am officially old and living in some sort of weird time warp. Because I'm absolutely positive that just yesterday John was born, Sarah was 15 months old and Violet was 3 1/2 years old.

I'm positive.

I know that I have just put the girls in these sparkly dresses for Violet's 4th Birthday bash and forced them to hold a sleepy eyed John.

The rest of the world has moved on but we have not.

Anyway. Summer also means that it's time for the end of softball, the beginning of  swim team, the girls dance recital and long, lazy days at the pool. Which I love, because let's be honest, if we are at the pool 1) My house isn't getting trashed by three rowdy children and 2) I can't clean if we are not home. That's a win - win situation right there.

John briefly flirted with the idea of swimming on our swim team, but in the end the playground was far too attractive. So he's not swimming this year - which is totally fine, even if his swimming would have alleviated my  mommy guilt of his sister's being in summer activities and his not being in one. I'll just have to let that go. Let.It.Go. (and repeat.)

Swim team means Swim Meets, which means cue me becoming 'that' crazy poolside mom. Yes. Oh yes. I may  stand at the end of the lane, on occasion, ( OK, like every time they swim) and cheer and yell for my kids and their friends. Loudly. And jump around. Like a fool at a Josh Groban concert. Whatever.

It may also highly embarrass my husband. Which I just may find pretty entertaining. But the thrill of seeing those kids finish a lap for the first time? Or seeing their face as they touch that wall, winning time or not? Priceless. So I'll be throwing my 39 year old body all around the pool deck again this season, waving my arms and screaming like a fan girl.

It's all good. :)

Violet, Oh, Violet

For the past week Violet has been rattling my brain and testing every parenting skill I have -- small as they may be.

On Monday night she had a softball game - and it turns out that this year Violet is quite good at softball (she's also the oldest on her team . . .).  I was home with Sarah and John so I missed her antics, but my husband called me he was so angry with her.  She kept asking for snacks and when he'd bring them to her she'd say, "Oh, I don't want that any more." She did it three times.  Maybe because she was around her friends and was getting cocky? Because she noticed that the coaches on the other team were moving their girls back when she got up to bat? I don't know, but she was so rude to him. Then she got the game ball - which is incredibly cool, but only fed her ego. On the way home he told her he didn't think she should play softball anymore. The plan was for me to 'talk' him out of it. Good cop/bad cop style.

The problem? When she came stomping and grunting into the house she wouldn't even talk to me. I let her go upstairs to calm down. Only she didn't calm down. At the prodding of my husband I went up there, which was such a bad, bad idea.

Oh, so bad.

It ended with her throwing a pillow across the room and a spanking.

So, so bad.

At one point I asked her, "Do you think you're that good? That you're so good you can treat us this way?"

And she said yes.

Oh.My.

So, yeah.

I'm so upset that it ended in a spanking. We haven't spanked her in I don't even know how long. It's not something we do anymore. She's too old. We don't like to parent that way anymore.

But there you have it.

 

 

Because I Was Judgey . . .

I've mentioned before that I was all judgey  about bras and third graders here.

And then here I mentioned how God has a sense of humor because Violet needs one.

Well today we are going to buy one.

It's true.

My first born baby and I are going to the mall and shopping for a bra. No, it's not going to be the shiny blue padded one mentioned back up there (gag), but we're still having to buy a bra.

I'm making a day of it. Going to lunch, shopping for some summer and church clothes with her. We're going to the Christiana Mall instead of the Concord Mall -- and the Christiana Mall is the big mall. It has all the good stores. Justice and Gap Kids. (Ann Taylor and Loft).

So. It's happening. She's over the moon excited. When I told her we were going she gave a fist pumped and yelled, "Yessssss!"

Hold me close.

Seriously?

On a normal morning we wake up at 7 a.m. And I'm dragging my bum out of bed, prodding and pushing, yelling and threatening my children to get up, get dressed and get ready for the day. Especially Sarah. (We've discussed this before.)

Today there wasn't any school.

Guess what I heard at 6:30 a.m?

That's right. The happy sounds of Violet and John. By 7: 15 Sarah had darted out of bed and was happily sitting at the kitchen island all smiles. She got dressed immediately when told -- the first time. Made her bed. Brushed her teeth.

I'm living in bizarro world.

Nuts!

So, we know that Violet is 8 1/2. A year, it turns out, full of change. She needs cami's now. She wears deoderant. She wears a robe in front of her brother. She can roll her eyes *almost* better than me. She's mastered the art of the huff and sigh. (which is impressive, given her age. But her teenage years are looking bleak for me.)

The other day we're at the island and I say to her, "Give me those nuts, please."

And she totally and completely LOSES it. Like, falls down on the floor, laughing hysterically. And because I'm not an 8 year old girl (or a 12 year old boy) I stare blankly at her. She continues like this for a good minute before she hears me saying, "What?"

She turns red and whispers, "You said 'nuts.'"

O.M.G

I turn red and take a deep breath.

And explain the real word vs the slang word.

People. I'm all for using the appropriate term for things. My children have heard the word vagina (or 'gina as they said) and penis since they could hear. But I've never had to explain a slang vs a technical term before.

She was happy knowing the real term, then moved on. And told me more slang words they have.

::dies::

I'm not ready for this.

The Color of Friendship

Violet is 8 1/2.

During the last presidential race, she knew that a black man or a white woman would be in the White House. Honestly, I didn't care who won because the thought that she was growing up in a world where we could have a black man as president or a white woman as vice president thrilled me.

Obama won. I was thrilled - politics aside. My children will grow up knowing that anything is possible. And isn't that what we want?

Today she is watching a movie on Disney called "The Color of Friendship."  In it, a wealthy, white South African girl travels to the United States as an exchange student. Her host family is a black family, who's father is a congressman - who speaks openly about apartheid. It's also set in 1977

They thought they were getting a black South African family. She thought she would be living with a white family.

They do not get along.

Violet is so very confused by this -- Praise the Lord.

She asked me why the girl wasn't getting along with the family, why they seemed so angry. So I had to explain. She looked at me and said, so innocently, "But what does the color of your skin matter? It's just . . . your skin."

Yes baby, it is.

Mission: Accomplished.

Because God Has A Sense of Humor

God has a sense of humor. I've known this for awhile. But last Sunday? Oh, he showed me all over again just what a fun guy he is. Never let it be said that God isn't paying attention to every.single.thing we do and say.

So, here I was all Judgey McJudgerson about bra's and 3rd graders. Remember?

Well.

Last Sunday Violet had on a demure white shirt. She took off her coat. My eyes popped. My heart thumped. My  palms got sweaty and I *may* have started to cry a little. May.

My baby is growing up.

She needs a training bra.

And because I was judgey only a month ago, I knew that God was watching and smiling.

Stupid judgey self.

Although, she won't be getting a blue satin padded bra. Thankyouverymuch.

Victoria's Secret? Not So Much

We had a sleep over. It was so much fun. The girls played the Xbox "Just Dance," watched "A Dolphin Tale" and ate a ton of junk food. They stayed up late giggling and asking, "Who farted?" They danced to random music, played Monopoly and Sorry. All in all? A great success

These Are The Days

I used a writing prompt today: What was the happiest day of your life thus far? And the answer was so quick and obvious-- and cliche that I cringed to write about it. Then I started thinking . . .

I have more than one. And more than four. I married the man of my dreams, so naturally I never thought I'd top my wedding day. Then a year late we found out we were expecting -- the sheer joy! When Violet was born I believed I'd never been happier. Nine months later we were expecting again and I felt that same joy again. Even though we lost that baby, and the next, that joy, that extreme happiness stands out in my mind.

Helpless

Violet is sick - or was. I don't know at this point. She woke up with horrible belly pain. Bad enough that I called the doc and he sent is to the ER. It's 3 hours later and she seems totally fine as we wait foe the ER doc to see us. Did I over react ? Panic? It's so hard to know. What I do know is I feel helpless.

This part of parenting is so difficult. In most other situations I feel in control. Intelligent. Adult. When one of my kids is sick enough to need a trip to the ER I don't feel any of those things . This is what patenting books don't tell Us about.

Dance

I've had many mom's ask me (in the real world) why we chose dance for our girls, and how we chose the studio we are with. On some level I'm always a little embarrassed to tell them whywe chose dance. When I say it out loud I always fear it will sound materialistic to others, especially those 'non' dance mom's. But here's the reason:

[caption id="attachment_982" align="alignright" width="300" caption="June 2011 dance recital"][/caption]

Ballet helps makes you graceful. A dancer moves with grace and purpose.

However, I always feel the need to add that it's a skill. It can be a talent. Dance  keeps them active. It's also a discipline, something I believe our children (not just mine) are lacking today. It's something I wished, badly, that I had pursued as a child/teen.

And obviously, we have them in it because they enjoy it.

Most dance mom's I've talked to feel the same, but I always fear that if/when I say, "Ballet dancers are graceful and hold themselves so well," I'll get a judgey look. Like, "That's the reason you chose dance?"  Well, yes. And the others I listed.

But here's what I don't say, unless specifically asked:

Our girls will dance until they are 12, regardless of if they like it.

I know.

But I believe it is that important to build these skills, this discipline.  During Violet's first year of dance we decided that at 12 they could stop if they wanted. That 12 is an age where they would be making good enough decisions to stop dancing if they weren't enjoying it.

Thankfully, both girls enjoy it immensely, are eager to get to dance and constantly want to add more classes. But can you imagine the parenting dilemma I'm going to have if one of them decides that they don't want to dance any more? Because, honestly, I'll be heartbroken. I love watching them dance, and I love how they enjoy it. If that changes . . . . well.

After that question, the next one is always, "Why did you chose this studio?"

And I always answer the same, with no embarrassment: It's the best. 'Our' girls go to California every year with Dance Excellence and win awards. 'We' have dancers on Broadway and in commercials, etc. I love how Mrs. A runs her studio. She means business - this is a discipline. The girls are expected to wear certain clothing, come prepared, have their hair neat and off their face. Mrs. A is also the nicest, most loving dance instructor. Sarah bloomed with her as a teacher. Mrs. A knows every student's name, and their parents by site. This studio is also careful about the song content (no sexy songs for the little ones, and I've only seen one tad racy routine for the Seniors. And it was beyond amazing.), keeping the little ones 'little' and not overworking their bodies. I cry at the recitals every.single.year because without fail there is at least one dance that is so well done I'm overcome by the beauty of it.

These reasons are all great reasons for choosing our studio. My reasons for having the girls dance? Well. Some I know would disagree with them. Right now they work for us.

It's Not a Tumor. It's a Zit.

Violet wants to wear a band aid to school.

On her face.

Because she has a pimple.

She's eight.

So. This is happening. She's growing up. I know logically that one little (OK, kinda medium to biggish) pimple doesn't launch us into the tween years, but it sure feels like it does. When I told her what it was, she was pretty calm about it. We put a warm compress on it and the worst of it was over. I thought.

Ha!

Three kids at school have asked her what it is. She told them it was a bug bite.

I tweeted, texted and googled. I found some products by Ottilie & Lulu specifically made for tween skin care that weren't promoting make up use (Hello Wal-mart) or pushing the girls to look all tarted up. The models on the website were fresh faced and adorable.

So Violet got her very first skin care products.

::Headexplosion::

Try Out's

Violet and Sarah are both in the ballet, The Nutcracker, this Christmas. Violet was an angel before, and this year she's a polichinelle. (I have no idea. Kind of like a cute clown.) Sarah is an angel. I'm one of the parents. On stage. Dancing. (I'll wait for the laughter to die down.)

The girls who dance in the same scene as me are the 'party girls' and all the angels watch them and wait for the day that they are old enough to be one. They are on stage when the curtain first opens, dance with dolls, see the Nutcracker, dance with Clara.

This year Violet is just old enough to be a 'party girl.' At try outs she kept wondering if perhaps she'd get two parts - polichinelle and party girl.

She got one. And that one is not 'party girl.'

Two of her dance friends? Two parts. Party girl among them.

Violet handled it so amazingly well. She was a little confused, we talked about how this is the first year her class is old enough to be in the scene, and Ava and Abby are the only two who were pulled out for it. She nodded and the next time she saw them told them how cool it was and hasn't said a thing since.

 I see them at practice. And while we have a lot of fun in practice, at the last one I was overcome by such a sadness.

Ava and Abby were there. Violet wasn't. And I think she is just as good a dancer as they are.

I know, I know. I'm her mom, I'm supposed to think this. But I'm very honest about her abilities. 

 I know that she is a good technical swimmer but one of the slowest on the team. I know that in softball she is super at hitting and running, but can't field a ball.

So it was very, very difficult to watch practice the other day. I adore these two little girls. We've danced with them since the girls were five. But I found myself critiquing. What did they do that Violet didn't? What didn't they do that Violet did?

Then I remembered that Violet got that terrible virus right after try outs.

So I felt better.

For about 10 seconds.

Then I remembered that this isn't about me.

 Violet seems to be totally fine with the way things are at this point. She doesn't get sad when I leave for practice without her. She's happy to see me when I get home, asks if I had fun, what did I learn, etc. She's excited about her part, what her costume will look like and what new dance she'll be learning.

It's not about me.

So why does it feel like it is?

Was I honestly thinking it was some sort of reflection on my parenting that she didn't get the part? That if I'd put her in the jazz class year like we'd talked about she would have gotten a 'party girl' part. Only I didn't do that. So  . . . fail. So  .. . yes. Reflection on my parenting.

But. This is about Violet. And she's happy with her part, excited.

So why must I, even in my mind, want more, better, best for her? Can't this be enough for her? Everyone can't be the lead, their has to be chorus dancers.

I don't know.

This isn't about me.

Except my brain and heart kept making it that way.

 

A Be-lated Birthday

Waaay back in June Violet turned 8 and we had a little girls spa day for her. (I didn't post about it then because right after she got sick and I was busy with that, then, well, I forgot.)  She invited three friends and we went to a 'kiddie' spa, and OMG how cute it was!

[caption id="attachment_1283" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="Birthday girl hair do, complete w/ tiaraGetting a pedi"][/caption]