OFFERING

1 b : something offered; especially : a sacrifice ceremonially offered as a part of worship

Once upon a time, there was a girl who wanted to dance.  When she turned three, she started asking her mom to sign her up for classes.  The mother (who was neither coordinated, nor musically inclined) thought the girl was cute, but going through a phase.  To pacify her daughter, the mother signed her up for a six week class at the Y, hoping that would quell the desire.  After all, the mother didn't even really like ballet.  The parents were snobby, the dancers all had body-image issues, it was an uncomfortable and foreign world. 

Yet the daughter's desire remained.  The mother found a week long ballet camp, thinking that after five days of dancing for 6 hours each day, that would be that.  The camp confirmed the mother's opinion of the ballet world - stand-offish, intimidating and a bit scary - but it did nothing to dampen the daughter's desire to dance.

The mother relented.  She began looking for a place to enroll her daughter in fall classes.  She looked and looked.  And found nothing that was closer than a thirty minute drive across town.  This didn't seem feasible for a mom with a five year old, a four year old and a newborn.  The mom kept looking, but she was losing hope.

Until one Sunday when the mom wanted coffee on her way to church.  She ran into a coffee shop that wasn't her usual spot.  While waiting for her latte, she saw a brochure for a ballet school in her neighborhood.  She picked it up and called the next day.  Classes started that afternoon.  The daughter started that day and has never looked back.

Thus began our days, nights and weekends at Rejoice School of Ballet. Yesterday A (who begged for dance with a relentlessness that could only have come from her Maker) and K danced in Rejoice's production of Coppelia.  I wish I had the words to tell you what an accomplishment this production was for a non-profit with a small budget.  A non-profit that was created to make dance available even to children whose parents can't afford it.  A place where children on free or reduced lunch learn ballet for a mere $10 monthly.  A ballet school where black and white, middle class, working class and those trapped in poverty dance alongside one another.  A place that has been much more than a dance school for our family.

I wish I had the words to explain how Rejoice has given me an outlet for using business skills as a volunteer, how it has transformed A from a little dancer who looked up to the older girls to one of the older girls known by the little dancers, how it has given K the chance to shine onstage and B the chance to try out both ballet and jazz funk.

I wish I had the words or pictures to show you how the dancer that I saw at the first recital has grown from a girl of twelve to a graduating senior.  I wish I should take you there and show you how she worshiped while dancing at that recital long ago - and how that made me think that dance wasn't all bad, after all.

I wish I could let you into my heart and see it soften and change as I saw and understood dance to be not only a gift from God, but a gift God has given to my daughter, a gift she uses well and uses to bless others.

I wish you could travel back in time to A's first or second recital and see the dancer she was then - and see her dance en pointe today.  I wish you could meet her teachers, who have encouraged excellence and seen that encouragement bear fruit.

I wish I could make a financial offering equal to what we have received in friendship, companionship, encouragement and blessing from Rejoice.

I wish A could take dance there forever.  But she can't.  This semester will be her last.  As her parents, our job is to make sure A doesn't close any doors she might want to walk through later.  She may or may not want to dance in college.  She may or may not want to apprentice with a company.  But I don't want to close those doors to her now.

So we are leaving - with both heavy hearts and great anticipation - a place we love.  Over the last few weeks, I have realized all over again how much I love Rejoice.  I've let the organization, the dancers, the director and their mission into my heart.  The hard part of that?  Leaving.  The blessing in that?  Rejoice has shaped and changed us and will, in many ways, go with us.

May these words be a small offering showing my thankfulness and gratitude for that brochure found one Sunday morning - and for all that Rejoice has become to us since then.

TWELVE

:age of my eldest daughter, as of today

Twelve years ago today, I was in labor for the first time.  It was the day after Florida State beat Virginia Tech in the BCS championship game.  I remember this because I was tired and went to bed early.  J stayed up to watch the game.  I kept waking up (from contractions, it turns out) and I wandered out from the bedroom to ask J, "Are you coming to bed soon?"  Somewhat exasperated after this happened two or three times, he said, "Yes! When the game is over!  What are you doing up anyway?"  Finally, around 2 AM I woke up to pain in my lower abdomen and had the wisdom to stay awake and see if I might be having contractions.  I was.  Three minutes apart.  Like clockwork.  J didn't get much sleep that night.  A was born about ten hours after I finally realized I was having contractions.

It's hard to believe I've been a mother for a dozen years, but there's no denying it.  Not because I've suddenly figured out how to be a wise, confident and effective parent, but because A is undeniably 12.  Her body shows it.  Her mind shows it.  Her eyes that roll at her father and I when we try to be funny show it.  Definitely 12.

For this year's blog celebration of her, I thought I'd share 12 of my A's favorite things.  You can always tell a lot about someone by the things they love.  Here's some insight into my twelve year old based on what she loves:

Favorite Drink: Water.  Don't offer her juice or milk or fruit punch.  She might have the occasional Sprite or Coke, but well over 90% of what she drinks is water.  She knows what her body likes.  Simple, straightforward, readily-available water.

Favorite Singer: Taylor Swift.  As I mentioned, she's a 12 year old girl.  Surely this entry surprises no one.

Favorite Sister: The one in the other room.  A enjoys her space and is not generally argumentative.  She fights equally with B or K - but far less than the other two fight with each other.  If you leave her alone, she'll leave you alone.  (Which is why she likes her sisters best when they're in the other room.)

Favorite Spot: Curled up in a chair, reading.

Favorite Friends:

From last year's ice skating birthday.  These friends are still her favorites.

Favorite Breakfast, Lunch or Dinner: anything from a restaurant.  For a girl whose mom likes to cook, A is one girl who loves to eat out.  Want her to feel special?  Offer to take her to Sweet 16th for breakfast.  Or Provence for lunch.  Or Zoe's for dinner.  Or Jeni's for dessert.  She likes to eat out.

Favorite Book: the one in her hands.  A reads a lot.  She doesn't keep track of every book she reads, but I think an conservative estimate is that she averages 7 to 10 books weekly.  She definitely reads more than 10 books during a vacation week and she might slip below 7 during Nutcracker or recital week, but the girl likes her books. (Which suits her father and I just fine.  We merely watch her with envy and ponder giving her more chores, for she surely has too much time on her hands if she can read this much.)

Favorite TV show: I started to write about Princess Tutu, a recent Netflix find that offers ballet, manga-style.  Then I realized nothing tops So You Think You Can Dance.  This show is a favorite of our entire family, but we started watching it for A.  It has exposed her to many different styles of dance and unlike Dancing with the Stars, the costumes are generally rated PG, not R.  She will often hear a song on the radio and say, "Oh! Tad and Lauren danced to this.  Remember?"  Only she's the sole member of the family who can remember every routine she's watched over the last three seasons.  It's amazing how good her memory can be about the things she likes!

Favorite Color: Green.  Not sure why, but there you have it.

Favorite Way to Earn Cash: Babysitting.  Not that she's actually had any babysitting gigs yet, but this girl is a natural born babysitter.  She loves her younger cousins and wants to hold the baby the entire time we're visiting.  Today at our homeschool group gathering, she spent as much time smiling at a 15 month old as she did chatting with her friends.  I see a calendar in her future packed with weekend babysitting gigs.

Favorite Time to Arrive: Early.  This child hates to be late.  And I do mean hates.  One Saturday last year, I misunderstood and thought her ballet class was canceled.  The teacher called me about 10 minutes after class was scheduled to start and asked if A was coming.  I told A to get dressed and we sped over to the studio.  A was a wreck the entire time, despite the fact that her teacher knew it was my mistake.  She truly detests being late. She gets this from her father.

Favorite Thing to Do: Dance.  And I think she was born to do it.  A is not an extrovert.  She's not a girl that you meet and think, "Wow. I best she loves being on stage."  So I asked her one time whether she likes to dance in front of people.  She paused to think, then shrugged.  "Well, yeah.  That's how you do it."  It brings her joy and her joy is so clear to the audience that I think it brings them joy as well.  It certainly brings me joy to see her doing something she loves and doing it to the best of her ability.

My favorite picture of A from her 11th year of life

Happy Birthday, A.  I look forward to seeing you grow into a name that is so apt for you.  You are graceful and gracious.  It is sheer grace to parent you.

POINTE

: a ballet position in which the body is balanced on the extreme tip of the toe

My 11 year old daughter A hit a milestone today.  We bought her first pair of pointe shoes.  It was quite the process.  She tried on at least a half-dozen pair before finding the right pair.  She tried Bloch, she tried Capezio.  She couldn't get her foot in the shoe.  Then she could get her foot in and the back was too loose.  A joked that she felt like Cinderella's stepsisters.  The kind ladies helping us pulled a different set of toe pads to allow a slimmer fit.  They patiently pulled pair after pair of shoes.

And then, almost miraculously, she found the right pair.  She put them on.  Her foot slid in, the back pulled up, not too loose, not too tight.  She stood - feet flat on the ground.  The shoes were snug, but her toes weren't overlapping.  After all of that, she went up on them for the first time.  She looked regal.  My eyes teared up a bit.  I imagine what I felt is a foreshadowing of seeing my daughters don their wedding dresses for the first time.  She looked so... right standing there, like it was what she's made to do.  And she positively glowed.

The two ladies who had spent the last half hour gathering shoes raised their eyebrows and looked at each other.  "She has strong feet," one remarked.  "I imagine you're going to be buying her pointe shoes with some regularity, Mom," the other said to me.  Apparently A's strong feet gave them the impression she'll do well on pointe, which translates to wearing shoes out from dancing.  Good for A... not so good for the budget.  Yet it's a price we'll gladly pay to see A pursue what she loves.

I can remember someone being slightly patronizing to A a few years ago about her desire to dance.  He asked what A wanted to be when she grew up and her answer was, "a dancer."  He smiled knowingly and said to me, "Lots of little girls want that when they're six (or seven or whatever she was)."  I recoiled inwardly and thought, "Don't tell her what she can't do!  You have no idea who she'll be."  Being my typical non-confrontational self, I didn't say anything, but the comment and the attitude bother me to this day.

Pointe shoes aren't comfortable.  J and I think this will be the real test of whether A decides to pursue dance.  Is the pain of learning to dance on the extreme tip of her toe worth it?  I don't know whether it will be or not, but I can tell you that J and I will support her, help her soak her feet and drive her to and from rehearsals.

As we drove home from the dancewear store, A and B sat in the back seat talking about high school.  The talk eventually turned to boarding school.  I let them talk for a while until A asked me whether a local performing arts school is a boarding school.  "No, it's not," I replied.  "But let's just get it straight right now that you're not going to a boarding school."  Conversation ensued about why this is my stance.  I offered a few reasons, but eventually said, "The bottom line is that I only get 18 years with you.  After that, you're off on your own to become who God made you to be.  I'm not going to lose out on any of those years.  I happen to like you."  Oddly enough, this ended the conversation.  A and B both accepted this line of reasoning (for now, at least).

If I'm completely honest, my heart is aswirl with emotions tonight.  I'm proud of A that she's going to learn to dance on pointe.  I'm thankful that I got to be there with her to see her don her first pair.  But I'm also a little nostalgic, a little sad.  The little girl who begged me and hassled me about wanting to dance is a real dancer.  I love that, but I kind of miss the little girl.

Getting ready to try the shoes out

This is fun!

Looking regal

Look, Ma! No hands!

WORK

1 : activity in which one exerts strength or faculties to do or perform something: 

It's been a busy, if interesting, few weeks.  A and K danced in their annual spring recital last night.  For the third year in a row, I organized the volunteers for the recital and helped with planning, scheduling, set-up and other assorted jobs.  After a few days of working on spreadsheets to get every dancer a chaperone, a seating assignment, a rehearsal time and more, I noticed something surprising: it was addictive.  Sure, it took time, energy and focus.  But I was good at this.  I copied, I pasted, I formatted.  And I got a satisfaction from it that has been missing from my life for several years.  Excel didn't complain when I asked it to alphabetize my dancers.  The computer didn't roll its eyes when I needed help organizing more than two dozen volunteers.  And no one came behind me to undo the work I had just done.

I mentioned this to a friend who works part-time in addition to parenting four daughters and homeschooling.  She immediately understood.  It's exhilarating to use your skills, especially when they've laid dormant for weeks, months or years.  I had planned to write an entire post on the word addictive, but as the week went on, I found a few other qualities about work that paint a fuller picture.  Work can be addictive, but it also promotes a false sense of self-reliance, inhibits my creativity and yields a disaster zone of a home.

To say that I've not had a lot of time this week is an understatement.  The time not consumed by recital preparations has been devoted to teaching A, keeping my children fed and getting us all where we need to be.  The effect of that on my home?  It's not pretty.  This morning started with a sink full of dirty dishes, a dishwasher full of clean dishes, a living room overrun with books, dirty laundry waiting to be washed and clean laundry waiting to be folded.  In fact, it still pretty much looks that way (although the kitchen looks considerably better because J unloaded and loaded the dishwasher while I watched Toy Story 3 with the girls over breakfast).  The recital - and any event - does require a big time commitment as the event nears.  I know not all work is like this, but I was completely ineffective this week at maintaining our home and getting my work done.

I also failed miserably at making time to do anything creative.  While this was partly due to time constraints, I think the bigger issue is that I am unable to use both sides of my brains in quick succession.  When working on a project that requires organization, linear thinking and problem solving, I find it nearly impossible to switch over to a more creative, open ended, peaceful mode of thought.  This is why I haven't written a blog post in over a week, fully completed my Bible Study or made a collage of any sort.  The most frustrating part of this side-effect of work is that I have wanted to write, study and create.  I've been thinking about this post for ten days, but haven't been able to string together coherent thoughts until now.  I want to make cards for two of A's teachers who are leaving Nashville.  I want to be able to think again.  

My thinking has deteriorated not just creatively, but linearly as well.  I chalk this up to the exhaustion brought on by trying to work, homeschool, parent and manage our home over the last two weeks.  Yesterday, I took A to the library for a quick trip.  We were mainly there to pick up some books on hold for our curriculum for next week, but we made a quick trip to the stacks as well.  While there, I was so tired, so exhausted, so completely drained, that I struggled to properly alphabetize in my mind as I looked for books from a specific author.  When my brain is so tired that I can't function well in the library, it's a sign that I need some serious rest.


Earlier in this cycle, when I was enjoying the short-lived high of work, I felt capable.  It felt good to stretch my mental muscles.  But as the work wore on and the recital drew nearer, I was aware of the less desirable results of work.  I saw how work robbed me of some of the things I have come to value in my day to day life.  A few days ago, I read this in one of my favorite devotional books:

Although self-sufficiency is acclaimed in the world, reliance on Me produces abundant living in My kingdom.  Thank Me for the difficulties in your life, since they provide protection from the idolatry of self-reliance.

 As I read this, I knew these words were for me.  I can look back on my life and see how one of the gifts of my career path has been a gradual loosening of my grip on the idol of self-reliance.  While I left the full time workforce almost nine years ago, it took nearly seven of those years for me to stop mourning the loss of a job and celebrate what I've been offered instead.  I liked my work.  I was good at it.  It allowed me to travel and see dozens of cities.  It let me use my mind, hone my skills and feel capable and self-reliant.  Some of this was a gift, some of it was not.  After leaving full time work, I transitioned into part time work for several years.  When I left my most recent job, I thought of it as a sabbatical.  I'd always imagined I would, at a minimum, return to work when K started kindergarten.  But God had a different path in mind for me.  One that involves work with my mind (I love the teaching component of homeschooling), work with my hands (I don't love the housekeeping part as much) and work with my heart (parenting, writing, creating).

This journey is a gift.  I don't know where I'd be had I continued to follow my own path for my life.  Surely not where I am now.  I don't regret the work I've been given.  Last night's recital was beautiful.  I cried nearly all the way through it as I noticed how dancers have grown and matured from one year to the next, how my own daughters were beautiful and radiant on stage and how the organization has given children and parents the chance to see the fruits of working hard toward a goal.  I'm thankful for the work I did over the last two weeks - for the yield of the work and, more importantly, for what it taught me about myself.

BOUNDARY

1. something that indicates bounds or limits

J and I had a tough conversation with A on Friday.  It was slow in coming.  Tuesday evening, as I drove home from K's soccer practice, I was feeling completely overwhelmed.  We were only two days into the week and I was exhausted (thanks in part to a weekend that provided very little time for rest).  And as I thought ahead to the rest of our week, the rest of our month, the rest of this year, I could see no relief in sight.  Soccer was only a few weeks longer, but K would continue to dance two nights weekly, B would continue with weekly choir and A would not only have three weeks of overlapping productions, but add two hours of weekly classes (bringing the total to nine weekly) while adding Nutcracker rehearsals.  And that's just time for the girls - you'll notice I didn't mention a single activity for J or I.  This was not good.

I spent some time during the week mentally and literally reviewing our calendar.  What could be cut?  K could drop her Friday afternoon dance class for a few months.  J and I could wait six months to take the Anglicanism 101 class on Wednesday evenings.  Or... I could bite the bullet and tell A I had made a mistake letting her audition for The Nutcracker.  This was the single biggest commitment looming on the horizon for any member of our family.  It started this weekend and would consume at least part of every weekend between now and Christmas.  Nothing else I could remove from the calendar would create the breathing room of removing this one commitment.

2008 Nutcracker

So why did I let her audition in the first place?  I can give you lots of reasons, but here's the long and short of it:  because she loves it.  In the weeks leading up to the audition, I tried to get A to decide not to audition this year.  I talked with her about how her production of The Little Engine that Could would overlap with The Nutcracker.  I reminded her that it was a huge time commitment for our entire family.  But I should have known that she would never turn down an opportunity to dance (especially an opportunity to dance in a professional production).  Never.

And that is why God gives children parents.  Because at ten years old A doesn't understand that while the dancing gives her all that her soul needs to more than make up for the hours spent in rehearsals, it was going to leave this mother with an empty tank.  I knew in my heart that I could not continue with the schedule we had and have any modicum of sanity.

When J and I told A about our decision, she took it well.  God had arranged the circumstances to make this easier for all of us - A got additional audition experience by auditioning this year, she was cast in the same role she played last year, she had participated the last two years, she was emotionally equipped to deal with a bit of disappointment, and she still has one more year of eligibility for the youth cast next year..  In fact, as we told her about it, my eyes filled with tears while hers stayed dry.

2009 Nutcracker

It's not easy for me to set healthy boundaries, especially when doing so means keeping my children from taking advantage of a great opportunity.  An opportunity that would nourish her passion, give her experience and delight her soul.  But A is not the only member of our family.  And sometimes the better portion is the one that leaves us all refreshed and delighted by the joys of autumn.  Sometimes having a Saturday with nothing at all on the calendar is pure bliss for the whole family.

It may sound trite, but I am oddly proud of myself for taking this step.  It let me see that it wouldn't crush my daughter to miss out on something.  It reminded me that I am an important part of this family.  It set a good example for my daughters of identifying and respecting their own boundaries. 

Remind me of this when A is sad to be merely an audience member this December, OK?

REHEARSAL

:a session of exercise, drill, or practice, usually private, in preparation for a public performance, ceremony, etc.

Being a stage mom doesn't come naturally to me.  For A's 2 pm performance today, we had to arrive at 9 am.  That left time for dress rehearsal, costuming and make-up.  It also left a gap of several hours spent by most of the parents watching the rehearsals, something that I prefer not to do.  As I looked over the schedule for today, I told J that I hate rehearsal days like this because I'm so uncomfortable.  His response?  So don't watch.  My reply?  I feel judged by the other parents who do sit there and watch.  I went on to explain that I don't like to watch the rehearsal because I want the actual performance to be a surprise for me.  It's a bit like Christmas morning for me to watch A dance, especially a dance I haven't seen before.  I've found in the past that watching rehearsals mutes the performance experience for me. J asked whether I had explained that to A and whether she wanted me to watch rehearsals.  I couldn't remember whether I'd discussed it with her in the past.  He suggested I talk to her and said, "It's really A's opinion that counts. If she doesn't care whether you watch or not, who cares what other parents may or may not be thinking?"  So yesterday we talked:

Me: "A, do you know why I don't like to watch rehearsals?"
A: "Because you like for it to be a surprise."
Me: "Is that OK with you?"
A: "Yeah.  If I were you, I think I'd want it to be a surprise, too.  And it would be really hard for you to watch part of it and then leave just when I come on stage."
Me:  "OK.  Thanks, honey."

So here I sit in the hallway listening to classical musical and a faint, "5, 6, 7, 8" through the doors.  I still feel a bit guilty, like I should be doing something other than using a few quiet moments to write.  But I'm trying to quiet that voice because I also spent the last two hours setting up food for the reception, laying out t-shirts and tickets for later sales and generally helping out.  So there's really no reason for me to feel like a slacker.

Downtime during rehearsal

I'm not sure why I have so much trouble listening to what I want.  I'm much more apt to listen to the voices that tell me other things.  Voices that tell me what I want is wrong - or selfish - or odd - or any number of other things.  I'm reading a book that says one of the gifts of allowing yourself to feel hurt is that you then know what you need.  So I'm trying to be more aware of how I feel and take cues from that to help me determine what I need.

I feel overwhelmed and tired after a day from 9 to 5 with non-stop interaction.  Given that, it's not wrong for me to need a bit of quiet in the middle of rehearsal day to fortify myself for the day and the evening to come.  It's funny that my family knows and sees what I need.  J and A were quick to accept the idea that I might be better off not watching a rehearsal if I don't like to watch.  So when the voice of my own heart seems faint and just out of the range of my hearing, I'll listen to the voices of my family, who know and love me, even if I don't.  And I'll remind myself that each of us prepare for performance differently.  And, in fact, I'm not alone in my preference to not watch rehearsals.

As I sat in the hallway typing, the Executive Director of A's ballet school walked up.

P: "Are you writing?"
Me: "I am," I smiled.  "About this, in fact.  About how I hate to watch rehearsals."
P: "Really?  Me, too! It makes me so nervous."

Guess I'm not the only one.

AUDITION

3: a trial performance to appraise an entertainer's merits

I am nearing the two year anniversary of this blog. On the day of my very first post, A auditioned for Nashville Ballet’s Nutcracker for the first time. Today I sat with her as she prepared for her third audition for this production.

As we drove to the store this morning, I asked A is she was as nervous as last year before the audition. With the logic – and memory – of a ten year old, she said, “How nervous was I last year?” I laughingly replied that I wasn’t exactly sure how nervous she was last year, but that I didn’t feel as nervous this year as in years past. This is partly because we’ve been through this twice before with good results, but also because I feel ready for either outcome.

I know what awaits us if an acceptance letter arrives in two and a half weeks: tons of rehearsals, the commitment of a good chunk of our fall and a great experience for A. And if the letter says not this year? I feel fairly prepared for that as well. A is in a fall production of The Little Engine that Could and we have a pretty full fall already. I wouldn’t be sad to not spend hours driving her back and forth to Nutcracker rehearsals on top of her regular ballet classes. A part of me would quite honestly be relieved to not add this commitment to our family calendar. And A is in a fairly resilient spot, I believe. She was telling a friend today that she remembers a friend who wasn’t selected for The Nutcracker and gave up dance altogether. I don’t believe A would do that. Dance seems to be too much a part of her for one disappointment to derail her. And as hard as it is to say it, she will receive her first rejection sooner or later. Perhaps it would be easier to learn how to keep trying now rather than wait for that experience a decade down the road.

One feeling I remember from last year and the year prior at audition time was “How do I parent her through this if she doesn’t get in?” It was encouraging to realize today that I feel ready for that parenting challenge. I don’t long for her to fail, but I know it will happen eventually. I think one reason auditioning for The Nutcracker has been a big deal for our family is that it heralded a shift in our season of parenting. Before this, we were able to more or less control the level of rejection our children experience. This process is welcomes us to the real world of parenting, where your child is accepted on the basis of her talent and work ethic, along with some other factors beyond her control (is she the right height for the role?). This is how life will work. Some people like us, some people don’t. Sometimes we succeed, sometimes we fail. These are hard lessons, but I believe shielding A – or any of my daughters – from these things will only hurt them in the long run. Because they need to learn through experience that life will go on after failure just like it goes on after success. They need to see for themselves that J and I will still love them no matter what their level of achievement. They need to experience that they are still the same people – they are still A, B and K – no matter what role they may or may not play on a stage.

So as we wait for another week of auditions to take place, wait for casting decisions to be made and wait for a letter to be written and mailed, I’ll remind myself that the outcome of this casting decision doesn’t change who we are as a family. A will still be my daughter, whether she’s a lamb, a garden fairy, a Russian nesting doll or an audience member. I will still be her mother if she does not fit one of the open slots in this year’s cast. Regardless, we’ll still be people who fall, yet get back up and keep walking towards being who we were made to be.

HEART

4: the emotional or moral as distinguished from the intellectual nature

I got to spend some time on Thursday soaking up wisdom - from a mom (T) who has home schooled for fifteen years and her daughter (B), the product of said home schooling. B was once K's dance teacher is now starting her second year in a BFA program at Fordham University, in conjunction with Alvin Ailey Dance. I had a ton of questions for them - everything from how to know when to get serious about dance to how dance meshes with home schooling. The overwhelming impression I was left with? Trust my heart.

The vast majority of the information that these kind women shared with me was not surprising:

Q: How do I help A avoid the pitfalls of eating disorders as a dancer?
A: Talk about it, talk about it, talk about it. Help her build up her internal confidence for when she's faced with a teacher who wants her to be thinner - because it will happen sooner or later.
Q: How will we know when it's time to get serious about dance?
A: Keep following her lead.
Q: Should I ever give A advice on performing or should I just keep being her cheerleader?
A: Be her cheerleader. Let her teachers do the rest.

I don't have a burning desire to have a daughter who is a dancer. I do have a burning desire to have a daughter who is confident in pursuing her passions. This conversation reminded me that my factual knowledge about A's passion is far less important than my heart knowledge of her as her mother. I have a desire to help her become who she was made to be and that doesn't mean that I need to know the different approaches to teaching classical ballet. I just need to know A and stay in relationship with her to know whether her dance classes are filling her emotional tank or depleting it.

I think one reason I seek out people like B and T is that I'm more comfortable with my intellectual side than my emotional side.  I want facts to confirm or deny what my heart tells me.  This can be wise - or it can be treacherous.  Because facts about what school of dance is best for one child might not be factual for my daughter, but I can probably trust my gut reaction to seeing pictures of the school's dancers in their recital costumes.  I want to learn to rest in the fact that I know my daughters far better than anyone else on the planet, with the exception of J.  I want to learn to use knowledge to supplement what my heart tells me, not to direct my heart.  Hopefully, that will teach my daughters by example to trust their own hearts when faced with whatever decisions await them on their paths.

EDUCATE

Etymology: Middle English, to rear, from Latin educatus, past participle of educare to rear, educate, from educere to lead forth

2 a : to develop mentally, morally, or aesthetically especially by instruction b : to provide with information : inform

How much of education is an act of following? Yesterday afternoon, I went with A to see Nashville Ballet's A Midsummer Night's Dream. Before the ballet started, the Artistic Director came on to say a few words and announce that next year's season will begin with a full length Swan Lake and end with Carmina Burana. A immediately turned to me and said, "Can we subscribe? I want to go!" I merely smiled and encouraged her to keep listening, but as the curtain rose, I thought about how having A as a daughter has educated me on the ins and outs of ballet in a way I surely would never have known on my own.

Would I have found myself sitting in TPAC's Jackson Hall watching A Midsummer Night's Dream if I didn't have A for a daughter? Maybe, but it's not likely. J certainly would not have been interested in joining me. A play? OK. An orchestra performance? Definitely. A ballet? Is our daughter in it? By contrast, A soaks it up. Her eyes did not leave the stage from the moment the curtain went up until the moment it went down. I bought season tickets to Giselle and A Midsummer Night's Dream more for A than anything. She's obviously seen The Nutcracker, but I thought she would enjoy seeing other professional productions and this season's offerings seemed particularly well suited for her.

Interestingly, a book that I read recently made me decide that A and I should study a Shakespearean play together next year. (If other fifth graders can do it, why can't mine? And it fits perfectly with the historical time period we'll be covering!) When I asked her last week what play we should do, the first one she suggested was Midsummer or Hamlet (neither of which had made it onto my mental short list). At the time, I told her I wasn't sure Midsummer was a great choice. It can be a confusing play. Who loves Hermia? Lysander loves whom? And who is the guy walking around with a donkey head? But yesterday's performance was very easy to follow. I left thinking that maybe the best choice we could make would be to study the play and compare it to the ballet interpretation. So I told A that she can read six synopses of Shakespeare's plays and pick one for us to study. We'll do whatever she chooses.

Yesterday makes me excited to teach A more broadly next year. On our walk to meet J after the performance, we compared and contrasted The Nutcracker and A Midsummer Night's Dream. We talked about the different skill sets dancers needed to perform in each one (technical dance skills versus theatrical skills), then talked about which of the dancers in her own ballet class best embodied each type of dance. My daughter clearly doesn't mindlessly watch a ballet production. In fact, she probably notices things that escape my untrained eye.

I learned a lot yesterday - from the ballet and from following A's lead. When I started writing this post (during intermission yesterday), I didn't know that the etymology of educate is educere: to lead forth. A lead yesterday and I learned from the experience. It's my hope that next year will find us alternately leading and following each other through fifth grade. There are many things I can learn from trying to see the world through my daughter's eyes and maybe she can learn a thing or two from me as well.

My very own garden fairy, dressed for The Nutcracker

BLINK

1 c : to close and open the eyes involuntarily
also, the amount of time it takes from your baby to turn into a young woman

A brought home her recital costume today. Her class is dancing to Gustav Holst's Mars as the planets. A is Neptune (which she finds very fitting since K is dancing in the recital as a penguin. According to A, this is perfect because, "Neptune is a cold planet and Neptune's sister is a penguin!").

Her costume, which I had not seen on her until today, is beautiful. But it's also a costume for a young woman, not a little girl. It is completely appropriate (I would expect nothing less from her dance school), but it's definitely the most grown up costume she's ever worn.

When she tried it on for us today, I thought, "I blinked and she grew up." She looked so poised, so excited, so... grown. While this is exciting, it's also a bit terrifying. I've had ten years of parenting little girls and while I am far from an expert in it, I mostly know what works for each of my daughters and mostly understand who they are.

That is all about to change. Because I know my ten year old A as a girl and she is transforming before my very eyes (or during the blinks of my eyes) into a young woman. Her arms are graceful, her eyes twinkle mischievously, her legs go on forever. She's still the A I know and love. She'd still rather curl up with a book than plant flowers. She still drinks water with every meal, declining any other liquid offered. She still keeps most of her thoughts to herself. She still has a good sense of humor, but it's an increasingly adult one.

So what now? How do I parent her well in these uncharted waters? How do I help her navigate the minefield that is adolescent friendship? How do I help her continue to dream when adulthood tries to anchor her more and more into the here and now?

I guess I'll do it the same way I've done it until now - carefully, day by day, asking for wisdom all the while. And, as much as possible, without blinking, so as to not miss a moment.


If you live in Nashville and would like to see A, B and K dance, their recital is Friday, April 23rd from 6:30 to 8:00 pm at West End Community Church, 235 White Bridge Road. There is no admission cost, but a love offering will be received. Feel free to e-mail me with questions.

ADVENT

1 : the period beginning four Sundays before Christmas and observed by some Christians as a season of prayer and fasting
3 not capitalized : a coming into being or use

I've been thinking about Advent lately. Not just the season itself, but the term. Our family attends a church that doesn't make a big deal of Advent - there's no Advent wreath, no lighting of special candles, few Christmas carols sung. Each year, that kind of makes me sad. Once Thanksgiving has come and gone, I want all Christmas music, all the time. It lifts my spirits, it lightens my heart, it reminds me of what this season is about. And I could use a few reminders...

Sadly, this time of year is extra busy for our family. This is the second year that our daughter A has danced in Nashville Ballet's Nutcracker production. She loves it. She spends hours practicing for mere minutes on the stage. But she gets to dance in TPAC's Jackson Hall, she sees professional dancers up close and personal, she hangs out with other girls who share her passion for dance and she grows in her gift of dance. I've been trying to remember that these are important, things worthy of advent.

I was sharing with J a few nights ago that I've been a little sad lately that I haven't had the time or energy to focus as much on others as I would like during this season. I've been too busy shuttling children to and fro, keeping our family schedule straight and seeking to build rest into our day, our week, our month. I want to be able to focus family time and energy on giving to others - on adopting a family and buying their Christmas gifts, on cooking dinner for a neighbor's birthday, on meeting a need that I hear about because I actually have time to listen. J listened sympathetically and then gently reminded me that I am focusing on others - I'm focusing on my children during this season. (See why I love this guy?)

That conversation soothed my spirit. And it made me think about the fact that advent is not just about coming, but about becoming. Jesus didn't come here and take on human form for us to stay the same. Advent changed him and it should change us. Advent should be a time when we ponder the miracle of God made flesh and ponder how our flesh, our bone, our gifts reflect this God. But we don't always like to ponder this. It's a little scary, isn't it? Because if we actually seek to understand who we are made to be, we might have to leave safety, security and comfort behind. We might actually yearn to become someone who doesn't fear.

I long for that. I long to let go of my fear of what others think. I long to be comfortable and confident spending my advent pouring into my family and children, sowing seeds in their hearts, pruning and growing them into strong women. But all too often I find myself worried about what others must think. We've missed church a few times this month. We've all been exhausted or sick. Once we just needed a day to be home together. So what do I fear?

I fear other families judging our choice to let A dance in The Nutcracker. I fear B & K being envious of the time our family devotes to A's dancing (although we try very hard to make the season special for them as well and they have thus far shown only joy in seeing their sister dance). I fear failing them. I fear they won't remember Advent as anything special. But if I am testing my own heart and listening to who I am becoming this season, I should set fear aside and celebrate not just the arrival of a special season, but my children becoming more of who they are made to be while being mothered by a woman who is seeking to become who she was made to be.

As I write this post, A is finishing up her final performance. She's not feeling well. In fact, she's danced three times in the past two days with a sore throat that hurts so much it has made her cry. But she begged to dance. She didn't want to let her classmates down. She didn't want Nashville Ballet to have to get another dancer to replace her. She wanted, desperately wanted, to use her gift. And I look at her and feel ashamed that I am so hesitant to be who I am called to be. I find excuse after excuse not to write. I have a daughter who will push herself beyond what many 9 year olds could bear to use her gift. So how can I leave my gift to wither and die? What kind of example would that be?

Who are you thinking about this Advent? And perhaps more importantly, who are you becoming this Advent?