I watched her through the glass, her tiny, muscular body swinging and pushing through yet another bar routine. It’s not often that I have the opportunity to sit and just watch these days. Life is busy and the demands are high, so watching is a luxury.
She’s nine now, and for six years Lee and I have been in constant conversation about her participation in this sport. Is this the right thing? Is it too much? Is it too hard on her body?
On more than one occasion, I’ve wondered if we should pull back. Maybe it would be better if she just did it for fun. Then I laugh.
My competitive daughter would not understand the meaning of doing something for fun. If you’re not there to win, what’s the point?
As I watched her yesterday, she made eye contact with me and I knew that something was bothering her. I could tell on her face so I mouthed, “What’s wrong?”
She pointed to her head. “I have a headache,” she said.
We looked at each other for a moment, and I was immediately ready to take her out and bring her home, because I understand headaches, and the thought of her practicing for three more hours with a pounding head made my mom-heart hurt.
As if reading my thoughts, she shook her head slightly. “I’m okay,” she said. Then she wiped her eyes, took a deep breath, and jumped back up on the bars.
I am constantly amazed at my daughter’s tenacity. She’s driven by an inner force that I admire, and as I watch, I’m learning. I’m becoming a student of my child. While I know and recognize her weaknesses, and I’m constantly working to help her overcome them, I also see her strengths.
I see her willingness to push through pain in order to become better. I see her dedication, and the way she works without complaining. I see her set goals, and then not let anything get in her way as she works to accomplish them.
My daughter is a dream chaser.She sees obstacles, and she doesn’t stop to wonder if it’s possible to reach her goal. She simply believes that she can. And if it’s hard, or maybe a little scary? Well, that’s all the more reason to try as far as she’s concerned.
Dream chasing is natural to kids. I don’t know what age the belief that dreams can come true begins to darken into the more realistic approach of adulthood, but I wonder at what my influence could possibly do to my kids’ willingness to chase their dreams. Am I giving them the confidence to keep chasing, or do I hold them back, forcing them to face reality?
Of course, reality must be faced at some point. I do NOT think that point is nine years old. If Tia wants to shoot for the Olympics right now, then she has my full support. If, at 16, she still thinks she can make it and it’s apparent that the Olympics aren’t in her future, I’ll work that out with her then.
I refuse to be a dream crusher, but I also don’t want to be a false encourager.
Because let’s face it – we’ve all seen American Idol, and we’ve wondered why someone didn’t have the guts to tell some of those kids that they couldn’t sing before they went on TV and made fools of themselves.
It’s a tricky business, navigating the waters of dream chasing with our kids. We want their success, and yet we also want to protect them from disappointment. And we must always make sure that we are not projecting our own dreams for our children onto them unfairly.
And so, as my daughter chases her dreams, and her brother’s each chase dreams of their own, I sit back and I watch. I admire their courage, and I applaud their hard work. Then I sit down and look at the goals I have written out for myself. The more realistic, grown up dreams of the present that are entirely possible with a little hard work and dedication.
Dream chasing, you see, isn’t just child’s play.
In light of this topic, I’m excited to announce that I’m joining the writing team over at God-Sized Dreams. It’s time to stop talking about what we want to do with our lives, and start doing something about it. So if you’re a dream chaser, or if you’re looking to rekindle the magic of an old dream you’d long since given up, please join me and the other ladies as we chase the dreams that are placed on our hearts.
It’s 2:00 am and he’s splayed across the bed, hot breath on my cheek, dirty feet hanging off the edge. Why does he sleep like this? His arm swings up and flops across my cheek and I jerk my head away in response, because it hurts and I’m annoyed, and why does he sleep like this?
I stumble out of bed and move to the couch with a sigh. I didn’t have to let him sleep in my bed tonight. I know that. But dad is out of town, and when there’s a vacancy in my bed, they like to fill it. They think they’re doing me a favor, keeping me company. I tell myself that they’ll only be young once and in ten year’s time no one will want to keep the other half of the bed warm for me when dad’s away.
At least I hope not, because I feel like that would be weird.
In the quiet dark as I huddle under a blanket that’s not quite warm enough, I take stock of the last few days. Four of them and one of me means at any given time I’m letting three people down.
I only saw a few minutes of his game while I saw most of his brother’s.
I couldn’t watch her do gymnastics tonight because the baby needed to sleep.
He needed help with a Power Point presentation, so I couldn’t help the other with his reading.
The baby spent most of her time alone in the exersaucer instead of being engaged and held.
It’s okay. I know it’s okay. No one suffered. Everyone was cared for and fed and clothed. But the pressure of feeling as though I dropped the ball mounts at 2:00 am. Darkness always whispers lies.
I roll to my side and thoughts drift to the upcoming school year. There are decisions to be made – big decisions. The kind of decisions that feel monumental in the middle of the night, but when daylight comes you’re reminded that these decisions won’t make or break the family.
Can you make a wrong decision in the daylight? I guess you can, but if you’re prayerfully seeking wisdom, and all of your options are good ones, I don’t think it’s likely. Lee’s dad taught us that. Perhaps it’s one of the most valuable lessons he ever passed down to us as a married couple.
If you’re seeking the Lord, then whatever decision you make is the one He wanted you to make.
Such freedom. I’m thankful for that lesson he taught us.
Morning will come swiftly and 2:00 am rolls into 3:00 am while I still lay awake. The good news is the baby is still sleeping. It’s ironic, isn’t it? The night she sleeps all the way through, I’m wide-eyed on the couch.
I love my children. Deep down in my very core I feel the love bubble and churn. I love the baby in the crib who grins with her whole face when she’s happy. I love the seven-year-old with the spindly legs and smattering of freckles who’s currently splayed horizontally across my bed.
I love the nine-year-old who works harder than most grown ups I know, and who isn’t afraid of anything. And I love the eleven-year-old who is so much like me in personality that he makes parenting a challenge, because have you ever tried to parent yourself?
It’s 3:30 and I feel my eyelids finally getting heavy. I forget about all the ways I dropped the ball the day before, all the times the kids had to figure something out on their own because there isn’t enough of me to go around – all the times I didn’t respond appropriately because too many people were talking at once. I let those moments roll off my shoulders.
No, they didn’t get showers last night, or a healthy meal. Not everyone got in their full thirty minutes of reading, and I forgot to sign two out of three take home folders yesterday prompting notes from the teachers. I didn’t do things perfectly.
But I gave out sincere hugs and kisses before bed. I laughed heartily with them at dinner as we listened to the comedy station on Pandora. I gave a little to each of them in the areas they needed most.
I decide to accept the fact that despite not doing everything perfectly, I’m still the perfect mother.
A few months ago, Tia and I discussed what she’d like for her birthday. She’s growing increasingly more difficult to give gifts because she is entering that awkward stage between little kid and teenager and, truth be told, she’s never been much of a toy kid anyway.
I hate spending money on gifts that they don’t really love, so I tossed out the option of redoing her room as a birthday present and she immediately said “Yes!”
Then I died a little inside because me and decorating are not the most compatible of companions.
The “T” above her bed isn’t crooked. It’s just the way I took the photo. Because I’m awesome like that.
A few days before her birthday, I realized that if we were going to remake her room I had better get on the ball. So I bought a couple of cans of paint, called in reinforcements (thanks, Jenni!), and the transformation began.
The wall color is Benjamin Moore “Jack Frost” and it is my very favorite of all the colors. I’d paint the whole house this color if Lee would let me.
I let Tia sit down and surf Pinterest, then we created her own board so that I could get a feel for what she would like. I hoped to create a space that inspired her since this is the child who is much more prone to realism than imagination. I wanted her room to be a place that she could escape and enjoy. And I wanted her to be able to grow into the space rather than grow out of it again in a couple of years.
The magnetic boards were another IKEA find and she loves that she can decorate the wall herself by moving pictures and cards and magnets around.
I could not be more pleased with how her room came together. She has a small space, so I really tried to utilize it well. I put a small dresser in her closet, and I got rid of all the clothes she doesn’t wear, which left her with fewer clothes and more space.
I’m totally fine with that.
Makes you want to curl up with a good book, right?
I made this little canopy tent all by myself (ALL BY MYSELF!! ME! I DID IT!), and it cost me less than $25. Here’s the tutorial if you want to make one. It’s embarrassing how easy it is. I probably shouldn’t be as proud of myself as I am, but I can’t help it. I’m not a DIY girl.
Tia loves her room, from the IKEA bookshelves, to the reading corner, to her antique vanity that her grandparents gave her for her birthday. The room is calming and sweet, and I do think that it will leave her inspired to dream a little more. It has now officially become my favorite place in the house. Sometimes when she’s at school I go in there to read.
Don’t tell her I said that.
When the whole room was finally finished and put back together, she walked in and her eyes grew wide. “Wow,” she cried. “I love it! It’s so pretty I just want to keep it clean all the time.”
If that happens, then this just might become the miracle room. I’ll keep you posted…
Today we celebrate this girl, and what a privilege it is to do so.
Tia grows more beautiful every day, much to her dad’s chagrin, and she is increasingly fun to be around.
I could say a million things about her – about the fact that she’s both sweet and spicy, she’s funny, and compassionate, and tenacious, and she is by far the hardest worker I’ve ever known.
But mostly I just want to say how very grateful I am to be her mom. She’s a tough kid, and parenting her keeps us on our toes. Thank God for that, because life would be wretchedly boring otherwise.
Happy Birthday to my nine year old daughter.
Only 365 more days until she hits the double digits.
I know this because she told me last night before she went to bed.
The stomach flu, that most unwelcome of visitors, has made a pit stop at our house. I shouldn’t complain. We haven’t met up with the the stomach bug in years. He was bound to stop by at some point.
Landon is down for the count, though I’m hoping the worst of it is behind him. And I’m going to be busy disinfecting, and praying that somehow the rest of us are miraculously spared.
Really, is there anything worse than waiting for the stomach bug to make it’s rounds?
So no new words from me today. But I am over at Extraordinary Mommy this week talking resolutions, and giving a few tips on how to get your kids on board with your goal setting as you plan out your year.
So why don’t you join me over there. It’s for the better, really. You probably don’t want to linger here in germville anyway.
Happy weekending, everyone! May your days be puke-free!
It’s that time of year again.
The time of year when we write down a list of ambiguous, unrealistic resolutions for ourselves – goals that we more than likely won’t accomplish because what does “Eat Healthier” really mean, amiright? Does it mean one spoonful of Nutella instead of two, or should I start Pinning fancy recipes for Kale and Brussel Sprouts now?
In recent years, the idea of making New Year’s Resolutions has become less popular. I think we’ve all come to realize that we set ourselves up for failure using the traditional resolution model of the past.
There is something invigorating about the first of the year, though. It teems with possibility and in many ways it feels very much like a fresh start. Setting plans for the coming year doesn’t have to be stressful, as long as we do it the right way.
In recent years, I’ve enjoyed bringing my kids in on this little goal setting tradition. It’s fun to sit down together as a family and discuss where we’d like to be as a unit in a year.
Kids love to set goals. It makes them feel safe when life is predictable.
How children set their goals, though, will depend almost entirely on their personalities and, to a lesser degree, their birth order. Most (not all, of course) Type A first borns will want to set very high, lofty goals (get all A’s on my report card), while feisty second borns will set the bar much lower (eat ice cream every day).
Setting goals as a family is a fun way to tap into your children as unique individuals, and it gives you shared direction as a unit heading into the New Year. Here are a few tips to get you started.
I hear this question at least once a day now that Sloan has his own blog. He’s written all of two posts in the two weeks since he started it, and he’s learning how to manage his expectations.
Welcome to blogging, son.
Yesterday after breakfast, he asked if he could check his blog. In general, our rule is no technology in the mornings before school, but I caved because we were out of coffee, and I can’t be expected to uphold any semblance of order in my home without some sort of stimulant.
He sat in front of the computer and stared at the screen, shaking his head in clear consternation. I peeked over his shoulder and fought off a grin. He had 15 comments on the last post, but most of them were back and forth between him and a friend.
“You have to put more content up on the blog,” I informed him. “After about 24 hours, people generally quit coming to your blog. It’s not supposed to be a chat board. You just need to put up a new post and bring people to it.”
That’s when Lee stepped in.
“Son,” he said, his voice getting a little deeper as though he had a great nugget of knowledge to offer. “I’m going to give you a bit of wisdom from the great philosopher of the ’80’s and ’90’s. He was a man who gave the world much. His name…was Michael Jackson.”
This is when I stopped making school lunches and turned, eyebrow raised, to listen where this conversation was going.
Lee leaned down, putting his elbows on the table so he was eye level with Sloan.
“Mr. Jackson said something important. He said, ‘I’m starting with the man in the mirror. I’m asking him to make a change.’ If you want to make a change in this world, start with yourself,” he put his hand over Sloan’s heart.
“If you want to make the world a better place, just look at yourself and make the change, son,” he said. His voice emphatic. Meanwhile I’m about to wet my pants laughing.
“Don’t worry about how people respond to your blog posts, or what they say. You just make the change and tell the stories. Let that be what your blog is about.”
Sloan nodded, his face laced with both awe and amusement. He was trying to discern whether or not his dad was serious. For the record, Lee was (mostly) serious.
Lee stood up and turned to me, his eyes wide. “Man, that was good stuff right there. Did you see what I did? I was on fire. That was awesome! Wiggety Wack!”
This is my life. My crazy, hilarious, at times baffling, life.
When Tia started gymnastics at age 3, we had no idea that she would develop into a competitive gymnast. All we wanted to do was channel her monkey energy into someplace safer than the top of our ten-foot basketball goal.
