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Recital Night Notes

12 Jun

After three years of being an unofficial dance mom, you’d think I’d have the tricks for a double recital (about 8 hours in performance mode) down a little better. These are some of my notes from this year to help me for next:

  • Many moms use clothing racks to wheel all their child’s costumes and keep them crisp and easy to sort through during the quick changes. I use one hanger. One hanger for four costumes, a t-shirt and shorts. I’m thinking about getting a rack if Nia’s costume supply grows. Also, if for nothing else, to reserve our spot in the dressing room. Which brings me to the next thing …
  • Racks are the boss. I had Nia’s costumes and accessories all nicely waiting in a small spot near her other dancing buds. I got there earlier than half the room to make sure I’d have a space because I stress about this. I get anxious. (I’m weird about crowds and having an area to work.) Well, a mom who was armed with a rack big enough for three girls’ fancies parked right in front of Nia’s things. I got a little flustered but handled it as “me” as I could. “Um, excuse me. Let me just grab our things … (mumble) that were already here and ready to go …” I probably still won’t get a rack but even if I did, I wouldn’t use it to shove others around.
  • I missed the memo about good snack ideas. Pringles seem to be the chip of choice. I’m thinking it has to do with the tube to prevent crumbs during transit and dressing turmoil. Nia didn’t seem to mind that she was pretty much the only one without the tube of salty crunchies. After all, I couldn’t find Pringles dill pickle chips. I just dumped the dill pickle chips I did have in a plastic container. Voilá. My version of the tube. I will remember grapes and cheese squares next year though. Chippies make for a great mood changer treat but healthy is best!
  • Kind of in line with moods, baby wipes are a must next year for erasing makeup smudges after the very tired performer understandably gets emotional because “I need more lipstick!” or “People are stepping on my blanket!” or “My feet hurt!” (Nia held it together without tears but I want to be prepared.) The outbursts I did witness are quite comical to me because they are usually over nothing and the drama is so overboard only the Coast Guard with a helicopter rope could rescue it from sinking. Or maybe chips …
  • I need to remember slippers and a robe or a wrap to help with Nia’s privacy concerns and comfort.
  • For goodness sakes mom (me) remember the dang body spray glitter! All the girls sparkle with it and it seems like the amount of glitter on both mom and daughter the next morning is directly related to amount of fun had the night before.
  • Bring the makeup remover with us so Nia doesn’t look like an underage college student after a night of hitting bars that don’t card. Also, to help keep her eyes from swelling shut due to sensitivity to the stuff that shouldn’t be on her face yet. Remove it ASAP!
  • This one I don’t really have to remind myself about but I want to always remember that in the craziness of the night, keep my smile and let the happy tears fall, cherishing these years of watching her grow into a young lady. I love being able to give her special one-on-one attention and praise. I want to always be her biggest fan and source of encouragement – and, of course, ready with her emergency dance chips.

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Restroom Stall Life Lessons

6 Jun

“Mommy, someone wrote ‘I hate myself’ in the restroom stall at camp. Why would they write that – and why would they write it on the stall?”

Such heavy questions weighed on me as I tucked Nia in and began her usual bedtime comfort ritual.

I tried my best to explain that sometimes people get really sad and they let those sad feelings change how they see themselves and how others see them. It was their way of letting out their sadness.

“That’s not good, but why write that on the stall?”

“When people are really sad like that they don’t always think clearly or worry about doing the right thing.”

I told her that I hoped she never feels that way and to always remember that her family loves her and is here for her – no matter if we argue or if things don’t seem to be going her way. She seemed happy with that and I was able to continue on with the night-night necessities of prayers, the classical music CD, legs rubbed and, the one thing I would love for Bean to always do before falling asleep each night, thoughts about all the happy things that happened that day or are ahead.

She rests her innocent heart so much better by focusing her mind on something positive and peaceful. It also gives me a chance to hear what made her happy during the day or what she’s looking forward to that week. Sometimes, we have some really good conversations during this time – me sitting next to a snuggled Bean, talking quietly in her dark, rainbow night-light room.

I hope if she ever has feelings for a restroom stall, she’ll remember our “happy things” time and talk with me instead.

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Lost in Translation

1 Jun

This isn’t a post about the health politics surrounding the packaged and bottled temptations whose fate is determined by the small fingers holding a few dollars and punching a letter/number button combination. It’s obvious by this post that I don’t forbid my children from standing on the other side of those temptations and waiting in anticipation for the coil to force their selection to them.

However, I only give my kids the resources to do this once a week at camp – on Fridays. Also, I’ve told them not to push the button that would release the caffeine to them. I’ve guided them toward healthier (because nothing is really healthy in there) choices but I let them decide for themselves. I do check up on them though. What did they enjoy? Tonight’s conversation really pushed my giggle button but I made like a defective machine and kept my laugh trapped to not embarrass Nate.

Me: “What did you pick from the vending machine at camp today?”

Nia: “Fruit punch, a cinnamon roll and some candy for my friend.” (I love that she shared her money but I hope her friend’s mom isn’t anti-snack machine. Oh boy.)

Me: “Nate, what did get from the vending machine?”

Nate: “Vending machine? Is that Spanish for snack machine?”

He was so serious and curious. What is this “vending machine” you speak of? Although, part of me wonders if he was just distracting me from what he did buy – a Powerade, a doughnut and hot fries. Glad I only give them money on Friday. I may have to cut it down to $2 … and a Spanish lesson.

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Sharing Her Wealth

26 May

Dragon Dollars: tokens that praise students for being ready, respectful and responsible. Students are awarded them from any teacher during the school day for doing something that falls in line with those three school character traits.

Did you help another student pick up some papers she dropped? Dragon Dollar. Did you turn your complete homework project in on time? Dragon Dollar. Were you following the rules in the hallway? Dragon Dollar.

Each week, the school would offer a store where students could cash in their well-earned paper Dragons for passes to skip a homework assignment, wear sunglasses, get an ice cream treat or bring a critter (stuffed animal) to school. Students could also save up for special events. Nate used some for ice cream and then 40 to attend his principal’s birthday bash. He was so excited for that. Then, there was Nia. She saved hers – wanting to make sure she’d have enough for the big celebration and raffle at the end of the year.

Nia earned more than 100 dollars over her Third Grade days. She was able to buy the $50 ticket to the Luau and a $50 ticket for the raffle. She was so proud and happy to be one of the few in her class who could afford to buy both.

When the day came, she made her purchases and then saw that one of her classmates was very sad when he learned he didn’t have enough for the luau or raffle. She knew what she had leftover wasn’t going to give him enough for those but, instead of spending her surplus on some extra swag for herself, she gave them to her friend. She says she doesn’t know what he “bought” with them, only that he was happy and thankful.

I was moved by what she did but I wanted to know more. Would she be so giving to someone who wasn’t her friend? Why didn’t the boy have enough Dragons? Did he not follow the rules like she did?

She told me she wouldn’t want to give them to someone who was mean to her. I told her I can understand that but it’s best to always be kind to everyone. She didn’t love this idea because she was thinking about one girl in particular who is mean to her and didn’t want to reward her for that. I can understand that and part of me agrees with her, but I want to teach her to be giving without judgement or preference – something many adults, even myself, find difficult at times.

She explained that the boy behaved, he just always spent his dollars each week, never saving them. This kind of ties in with the giving without judging view. A lot of people feel they shouldn’t give their dollars to someone who isn’t as careful with theirs. She didn’t look at it that way. She saw a friend who was sad and wanted to help.

I want her to always have the giving heart she has, but I also don’t want her to be a pushover. Difficult to teach and live out. I am so proud of her though – for saving her well-deserved dollars and for sharing without someone prompting her. That’s a great start.

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My First Mother’s Day

13 May

I celebrated my first Mother’s Day two Sundays after Nia was born. Andrew couldn’t be with us that day but he made sure to send his two girls a sweet surprise. While in Iraq, before computers and phones were available for soldiers, Andrew found a way to order me my favorite flowers (daisies) and Bean a dog stuffed animal. He had them delivered to our home right on time for Mother’s Day and it made me feel loved, appreciated and connected to him even though we were so far apart and he hadn’t even met our daughter yet.

I found a picture that shows his gifts to us. The dog watched over her on top of her bassinet and the flowers dressed up the table next to her, near the couch where I sat:

Baby Bean with Doggy on her Bassinet

Bean still keeps the doggy close. His nose is worn and he shows her years of hugs and travels. She takes him with her on trips, tucking him in her pillow case and feeling comforted as soon as she snuggles him. She knows that “soldier daddy” got him for her and she cherishes that so sweetly. I know there will be a time when he will be moved to a shelf and then a keepsake box, but right now, nine Mother’s Days later, her special doggy is resting at the top of her bed as she sleeps – watching over her like he did as a baby.

Snuggles Special Doggy

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Mom “Types”

13 May

Hey, ma. You love your kid, right? You care about whether your child is sad, sick, hungry, happy, well-behaved, mannerly, respectful, treated right by others … right? I know there are trying times, but your love and protection is always there. I think that’s swell and I want you to know it.

I’ve read a few blog posts over the last few months that talk about mom “types” and they’re bringing me down. It comes to my mind even more after all the TIME magazine cover hubbub about “attachment parenting.” I’ve also heard a lot about “helicopter moms” and of course there’s always the ever-present and anger-causing divide between “working moms” and “stay-at-home moms.”

  • This blog post talks about “judgmental moms” then goes on to judge other moms by asking at the end, “Which parent type do you not like?”
  • This blog post labels all the different moms seen at the school – some are spoken highly of, some are questioned.
  • This one goes so far to talk about how much she doesn’t like moms who cut their children’s food in fun shapes but then concludes that she doesn’t like when other moms judge her.

Why are we so mean to each other? Why do we group people like this? Because it helps us relate in some way? To know our place? I can understand that there will be other people we don’t get along with or whose company we don’t necessarily enjoy, but are these moms endangering their children’s lives in some way? Are they demeaning, neglectful or abusive? Is she killing her child’s spirit? If that’s the case, I feel it’s a different thing because then she is hurting her child, not just offending others with her mom style. It seems to me the acts that the labels describe are not harmful to their children, just their mom esteem.

I am guilty of having a gut reaction to some of the parenting styles I see. I’ve actually written about it before: It’s Just Sad to Me and It Takes a Village and All That. In these cases, I feel like the parents are putting their children in direct risk of harm and I struggle with my feelings about it. I know I’ve done plenty of things that would get a head shake or a clicked tongue by some moms.

I let my kids watch tv – even in the car. They play video games. It takes me days to put away their laundry. Sometimes, they eat fast food and don’t get enough veggie servings in a day. I attempted breastfeeding for as long as I could but didn’t make myself – or my child – miserable when my body said no more. I co-slept with them. I let them cry themselves to sleep. I’ve raised my voice to them. I’ve disciplined harshly. I’ve questioned a low grade on a test and reviewed it with them to teach them. I’ve over-praised and bragged on them. I’ve loved intensely, letting their moods and feelings heavily affect mine. I’ve wondered how the heck to be a mom.

All of those things came from caring about them and about whether I was being a good mom to them, as I’m sure many of the labeled moms are trying to do. My kids seem to love and respect me – and generally think I’m ok, so far. (In fact, Nia just told me I’m the “best” and she didn’t ask for a treat after it.) Is there a mom type for that?

I kinda like them.

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Why Is Nine Afraid of Seven?

29 Apr

Because eight was so great.

Department Store Catalog Pose featuring her Fashion Creation

I know nine will be too, I’m just going through the typical parent emotion of watching the years fly by. To see Nia’s sweet, smart and caring spirit adapt to and try to understand different experiences as she figures out how to respond and feel. To see her become her own person, create her own sense of style, humor and thoughts. It is wonderful, but wild.

Trying to be serious during a fit of giggles.

Her eighth year was full of firsts and new emotions. Riding without training wheels; keeping her Barbies in the drawer and, instead, spending more time with the door to her room closed to sing and dance to the latest pop music; watching less cartoons and more human-acted TV shows and movies; falling in love with Grease (and even seeing it live as a play – thanks, Aunt Ree!); and wanting to put a little more distance between her mom or dad as she plays outsides or explores a store. (I never let her out of my sight!)

Little Mall Shopper

Now, as she starts on her ninth year, I hope she handles her new adventures and challenges with the same thought and heart that she has shown so far. She tries her best, loves a good joke (which I attempted for her with the title), knows how to laugh at herself and how to make others laugh, and most beautifully, is caring to all.

Sharing the love while she sleeps.

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Inquisitive Kid Interrogation

7 Apr

It was a night-night routine like any other: tuck under the blankets, prayers, start her instrumental music CD, talk about happy things for her to think about to keep bad dreams away and, of course, hugs-n-kisses. Then, Nia started firing the questions at me:

“Is the Easter Bunny just a mascot?”

“Um, I’m not sure.”

“Are you really the one who hides the eggs?

“What do you want to believe?”

“That you sleep and the Easter Bunny comes then. But is it you? Tell the truth.”

I totally fail at a response and lean over to hug her and hide my horrible poker-player face. Then, successfully (terribly) change subject.

The questions are flying and I have zero clue how to answer them. I really struggle with all the magical people in my children’s lives and discussing things I don’t even fully understand. Not just about the bunny or Santa either. More so about God.

Nia wants to know: “Was God born? How was God just there? He had to come from somewhere.”

I don’t know how to respond. All I can say is I believe He was just there. He was first. I want to believe that. I will try to give Bean what she wants for as long as I can, too.

I feel the spirit of all of it is rooted in positivity and is meant for good. I get that feeling from my belief in God. I hope she will understand the intention was never to deceive and hurt. I’m also hoping I’ll know the right time to discuss it with her. The night before Easter just didn’t feel right. Or maybe it was perfect…a confession of sorts.

Where is that basket so I can candy myself into a sugar haze and forget this until she brings it up again? Maybe then will be the right time.

Proud Music Moments

23 Mar

Driving a scenic route, windows down, wind flooding in as music pours out from the car. My dad sings and drums the steering wheel, enjoying every beat, riff and word. With a hand-surfing the air, I absorb the sights passing by us – trying to focus on the branches of trees.

His music is different from mine. I am a kid, listening to Top 40 hits and the boy band of my dreams. He is an adult, listening to music with meaning created by celebrated and respected artists.

I listened during those drives through. I heard the difference and took note.

The Beatles. Bob Dylan. Fleetwood Mac. Rush. Peter Gabriel. Genesis. Steve Winwood. Kate Bush. Tori Amos. The Traveling Wilburys.

Because of my dad, I learned how to appreciate music more. Really listen to it. He loves music and wanted to share his favorites. It made him so happy. I thank him for opening my ears and heart to it. I love that I’m able to know songs that others are surprised I know.

I hope to pass on the respect for other music to the kids, too. I put some Beach Boys, Elvis and early Madonna on Nia’s MP3 and it’s already paying off. She was recently able to recognize Elvis and the Beach Boys among a restaurant’s playlist.

Took me right back to young, hand-surfing, me.

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Bye-bye Barbie Bike, Hello Tiptoe Tall Ride

18 Mar

Of course, the time was going to come. Signs were all around me every day (and continue to be).

The questions they ask. The things they know. The inches they grow, marked with higher and higher marks on the wall. The ability to wash their hands at the kitchen sink or brush their teeth at the bathroom sink without a stool. Child car seats with only seat belts and not five-point harnesses. Bigger bicycles.

For some sentimental reason, that last one recently did me in. As I watched them push and ride their first two-wheel bikes to trade them in for bigger ones at the store, I couldn’t hold back the tears.

Bye-bye, First Bikes

Nia’s first bike was a rad Barbie one that had a place for Barbie to ride her bike, too.

Bean's First Bike - 2008

Nate’s was Spiderman all the way.

Nate's First Bike - 2009

As we steered the two pieces of childhood memories to customer service, I started to doubt our decision. “We could keep them and the new ones.” I tried to reason with Andrew. “That way, smaller cousins and friends will have bikes to ride when they visit.” We don’t have the physical space for a shopping aisle of bikes in our garage. The decision stood.

Aside from being sad about saying goodbye to that time of growing up, I think I just didn’t like the thought of their childhood memories being recycled in a heap of scrap metal, instead of recycled and cherished by another child.

The kids didn’t think twice about it the exchange though. They parked their old rides and immediately turned their backs and bee-lined for the new spokes.

Their smiles helped me shake off the sadness. Especially when we got home and I watched as Nia worked with her daddy to build her bigger bike and then looked so not-little while she pedaled around the cul-de-sac.

Growing up is good. Sniff.

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