Grace and I went to our friend's house the other day, and my friend had set up a toddler bed identical to one we had donated to the thrift store months ago.
Grace exclaimed, "Mommy! Goodwill sent AJ's old bed to Ms. Cindy!"
I laughed so hard.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Persevere!
My six year old daughter, Grace, decided to try out a new hip-hop class at the dance conservatory. She is a ballerina, a tap dancer--used to structure, perfection, graceful poses and movements. Aptly named, she has an innate grace about her that I love to watch, holding her neck so elegantly, carrying her body with careful poise and pointing her toes delicately as she moves about her ballet class.
Hip Hop class was completely different. The movements are more rhythmic, free-style, bigger, in many ways. She has learned subtle, delicate, careful. This class was fast, big, stomping. I watched her through the window, struggling to keep up with the fast pace and unsure of herself, in the newness of it all. She gradually stopped keeping up with the class, her shoulders, hips and legs decelerating into a standstill. She stood by herself in the back row, observing the students and teacher, trying to hold her head up despite feeling overwhelmed and incapable. She began to look so tiny and young to me, this tall, strong girl who typically felt like she could take on the world.
I saw a tear roll down her cheek and debated walking in to rescue her, to tell her it was okay, we could go, no one would mind. I hated watching her struggle. But I reminded myself that Grace has not learned how to fail yet. She has always been rescued by me, or by her father, swooping in to save her at soccer practice or when she had a conflict with a friend. She will not always succeed perfectly, on the first try, or sometimes at all. Everyone will fail at some point, and some will learn more easily than others that failure is an inevitable part of life for all people.
Not a single person can be perfect or achieve perfection consistently. Those of us who are considered “perfectionists” will recognize that there are two paths for us: either paralyzed, procrastinating, afraid to attempt anything worthwhile, or domineering, afraid to relinquish control because perfection is, in our minds, a perfect mirror to our self worth. Women seem to be particularly vulnerable to this disease. We must keep our homes impeccable, raise perfect children, keep Hollywood’s notion of an ideal weight, volunteer in the community, and be completely available to our partners in a desperate attempt to prove that we are valuable.
I do not want my daughter to grow up with these burdens. In the past, she's dealt with perceived failure in the form of tantrums, crying, screaming, quitting. So there we stood, on opposite sides of the observation window. My body was tense, my heart hurting for my little girl. A small voice whispered to me, "Wait." So I watched and waited.
Sure enough, she began sobbing and flew out of the room, searching for me, for solace, for comfort, for strength. I hugged her, stroked her hair, telling her it was okay, that I knew it was hard.
She said, "The dancers are moving so fast! I can't keep up!"
I replied, "I know, baby. I know. And I'm proud of you for trying something new. This is VERY new to you."
She nodded and wiped at her tears. We walked to the water fountain and she relaxed against the cold water. Another teacher encouraged her, "Do you remember when you first started ballet and tap dance? Those classes moved fast and were new, too. You stuck with it and now you dance so beautifully! Hip hop is new, and different. If you stick with it, you will learn more."
Grace said she wanted to go back in, surprising me. She kept trying all of the new steps for the rest of the class, and the teacher was kind. We had a moment when she realized that she was at the end of the line and wouldn’t have a partner for the next routine. She came out to me and asked for help. Her teacher quickly paired her with another girl and I could see Grace’s sigh of relief.
After the class was over, Grace stunned me when she said that she wanted to try it again next week before making a final decision whether to take the class or not. I was so proud of her.
You see, I had the misfortune of stumbling upon a Pilates class at the gym several months ago. I did pretty well in Basic Yoga, and had done some Pilates years ago. The teacher had us using some weird floor covers on our hands and feet and doing movements that my core was completely incapable of attempting--even the beginner adjustments she recommended. Most of the class seemed to be advanced, jumping and adding advanced extra steps in with the basics. The teacher came around the room several times, each time correcting my position or offering an easier alternative. I stuck it out until the end, mostly because I didn't want all 20 people in the class to see the fat girl quitting halfway through and having to maneuver around everyone's mats jammed together, completely covering the room. By the time class ended, I was mortified. I was out of breath, red in the face and vowed never to return.
So the fact that my little 6 year old wanted to try again before deciding whether to commit to the class, astonished and humbled me. I told her that's what perseverance is--to keep trying, even when it's hard. I told her that she didn't quit, and I was so proud of her. And then I took her to the park for a picnic and playtime.
Whether she ultimately enrolls in the class or not, I am proud of my dancer. She is growing strength of character, perseverance, a spirit that refuses to give up, and learning how to give herself grace. More and more, I see how her name fits her so perfectly. And thanks to Grace’s lesson, I'll give Pilates one more try.
Hip Hop class was completely different. The movements are more rhythmic, free-style, bigger, in many ways. She has learned subtle, delicate, careful. This class was fast, big, stomping. I watched her through the window, struggling to keep up with the fast pace and unsure of herself, in the newness of it all. She gradually stopped keeping up with the class, her shoulders, hips and legs decelerating into a standstill. She stood by herself in the back row, observing the students and teacher, trying to hold her head up despite feeling overwhelmed and incapable. She began to look so tiny and young to me, this tall, strong girl who typically felt like she could take on the world.
I saw a tear roll down her cheek and debated walking in to rescue her, to tell her it was okay, we could go, no one would mind. I hated watching her struggle. But I reminded myself that Grace has not learned how to fail yet. She has always been rescued by me, or by her father, swooping in to save her at soccer practice or when she had a conflict with a friend. She will not always succeed perfectly, on the first try, or sometimes at all. Everyone will fail at some point, and some will learn more easily than others that failure is an inevitable part of life for all people.
Not a single person can be perfect or achieve perfection consistently. Those of us who are considered “perfectionists” will recognize that there are two paths for us: either paralyzed, procrastinating, afraid to attempt anything worthwhile, or domineering, afraid to relinquish control because perfection is, in our minds, a perfect mirror to our self worth. Women seem to be particularly vulnerable to this disease. We must keep our homes impeccable, raise perfect children, keep Hollywood’s notion of an ideal weight, volunteer in the community, and be completely available to our partners in a desperate attempt to prove that we are valuable.
I do not want my daughter to grow up with these burdens. In the past, she's dealt with perceived failure in the form of tantrums, crying, screaming, quitting. So there we stood, on opposite sides of the observation window. My body was tense, my heart hurting for my little girl. A small voice whispered to me, "Wait." So I watched and waited.
Sure enough, she began sobbing and flew out of the room, searching for me, for solace, for comfort, for strength. I hugged her, stroked her hair, telling her it was okay, that I knew it was hard.
She said, "The dancers are moving so fast! I can't keep up!"
I replied, "I know, baby. I know. And I'm proud of you for trying something new. This is VERY new to you."
She nodded and wiped at her tears. We walked to the water fountain and she relaxed against the cold water. Another teacher encouraged her, "Do you remember when you first started ballet and tap dance? Those classes moved fast and were new, too. You stuck with it and now you dance so beautifully! Hip hop is new, and different. If you stick with it, you will learn more."
Grace said she wanted to go back in, surprising me. She kept trying all of the new steps for the rest of the class, and the teacher was kind. We had a moment when she realized that she was at the end of the line and wouldn’t have a partner for the next routine. She came out to me and asked for help. Her teacher quickly paired her with another girl and I could see Grace’s sigh of relief.
After the class was over, Grace stunned me when she said that she wanted to try it again next week before making a final decision whether to take the class or not. I was so proud of her.
You see, I had the misfortune of stumbling upon a Pilates class at the gym several months ago. I did pretty well in Basic Yoga, and had done some Pilates years ago. The teacher had us using some weird floor covers on our hands and feet and doing movements that my core was completely incapable of attempting--even the beginner adjustments she recommended. Most of the class seemed to be advanced, jumping and adding advanced extra steps in with the basics. The teacher came around the room several times, each time correcting my position or offering an easier alternative. I stuck it out until the end, mostly because I didn't want all 20 people in the class to see the fat girl quitting halfway through and having to maneuver around everyone's mats jammed together, completely covering the room. By the time class ended, I was mortified. I was out of breath, red in the face and vowed never to return.
So the fact that my little 6 year old wanted to try again before deciding whether to commit to the class, astonished and humbled me. I told her that's what perseverance is--to keep trying, even when it's hard. I told her that she didn't quit, and I was so proud of her. And then I took her to the park for a picnic and playtime.
Whether she ultimately enrolls in the class or not, I am proud of my dancer. She is growing strength of character, perseverance, a spirit that refuses to give up, and learning how to give herself grace. More and more, I see how her name fits her so perfectly. And thanks to Grace’s lesson, I'll give Pilates one more try.
My Review to Plimoth Plantation
Dear Plimoth Plantation,
My daughter (6 years old) spent 8 weeks studying Colonial Plymouth history, culminating in our trip to Plimoth Plantation. We had a wonderful time exploring our country's heritage.
When we first walked into the village, my daughter ducked into a building and ran out, beaming. She cried, "It's a Keeping Room!!!!!" and proceeded to point out points of interest, such as the mattress on the floor for the children, the parents' bed, the cauldron, and dried herbs. She asked the ladies if they made "bubble and squeak" (which was a vocabulary word for a lesson)but the ladies said they called it "fish and herb stew". We also met Oceanus Hopkins' mother. Our research neglected to mention that he did not survive the first winter, and my daughter was quite sad to learn of his demise. We also met "Peregrine White", a delightful little boy, (the first baby born in Plymoth) setting up a snare. He demonstrated its use for us and let us inspect his hat and garters. He also told us about a game called "France and England".
We attended a "Breakfast with the Animals", also, and learned so much from Johnny. My children, Grace and AJ, loved feeding the lambs a bottle! We learned that animals roamed free and it was the responsibility of the garden owner to erect a fence around the property, not the animal owner. We liked interacting with the cattle, also. We did not realize that cattle were initially imported for the purpose of clearing land rather than meat or dairy products.
When we went back later that week, Johnny, dressed as "Goodman Brown" recognized my children and called them by name, making their day. He was very knowledgeable and clearly passionate about his role.
We had a wonderful time and are so grateful to Plimoth Plantation for the opportunity to learn about our heritage in such a hands-on manner. Thank you for your dedication to educating this generation about the hard work our forefathers put into making this country what it is today.
My daughter (6 years old) spent 8 weeks studying Colonial Plymouth history, culminating in our trip to Plimoth Plantation. We had a wonderful time exploring our country's heritage.
When we first walked into the village, my daughter ducked into a building and ran out, beaming. She cried, "It's a Keeping Room!!!!!" and proceeded to point out points of interest, such as the mattress on the floor for the children, the parents' bed, the cauldron, and dried herbs. She asked the ladies if they made "bubble and squeak" (which was a vocabulary word for a lesson)but the ladies said they called it "fish and herb stew". We also met Oceanus Hopkins' mother. Our research neglected to mention that he did not survive the first winter, and my daughter was quite sad to learn of his demise. We also met "Peregrine White", a delightful little boy, (the first baby born in Plymoth) setting up a snare. He demonstrated its use for us and let us inspect his hat and garters. He also told us about a game called "France and England".
We attended a "Breakfast with the Animals", also, and learned so much from Johnny. My children, Grace and AJ, loved feeding the lambs a bottle! We learned that animals roamed free and it was the responsibility of the garden owner to erect a fence around the property, not the animal owner. We liked interacting with the cattle, also. We did not realize that cattle were initially imported for the purpose of clearing land rather than meat or dairy products.
When we went back later that week, Johnny, dressed as "Goodman Brown" recognized my children and called them by name, making their day. He was very knowledgeable and clearly passionate about his role.
We had a wonderful time and are so grateful to Plimoth Plantation for the opportunity to learn about our heritage in such a hands-on manner. Thank you for your dedication to educating this generation about the hard work our forefathers put into making this country what it is today.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Boston
We had a lovely trip to vacation. I wouldn't call it relaxing or restful, because we packed in so many activities. My very favorite was Plimoth Plantation. It was a wonderful place. We went to an early morning "Breakfast with the Animals" and learned about their quest to keep the integrity of the breeds of animals that you would have seen in 1627. Grace fed a bottle to a lamb and fed grain to the goats and threw hay on top of a little lean-to that the goats climb on. We learned that the animals would have roamed free on the streets and if you wanted them to stay out of your yard/garden, it was your own responsibility to erect a fence. Not the owner of the animal's responsibility to keep the animal out.
Grace's literature mentioned a baby named Oceanus Hopkins, born on the Mayflower. What it neglected to tell us, and what we did not discover until we questioned his "mother", was that he did not survive the first winter. Grace was horrified. We also met a little boy about 7 or 8 years old, who is an interpreter of Peregrine White, the first baby born in Plymouth. I was trying to get him to tell us about games that children played and he wasn't answering me satisfactorily. I was persistent and Terry told me to stop harassing the poor kid. :) I think "Peregrine" was relieved when I finally left him alone!!!!!
There was definite drama but it had nothing to do with me while we were visiting so that was a treat.
Now we're back in our routine at home, taking the days as they come. Tomorrow is the first day of fall, which is quite insignificant in Florida except that the weather tends to stay in the high 80's rather than the low 90's.
Grace's literature mentioned a baby named Oceanus Hopkins, born on the Mayflower. What it neglected to tell us, and what we did not discover until we questioned his "mother", was that he did not survive the first winter. Grace was horrified. We also met a little boy about 7 or 8 years old, who is an interpreter of Peregrine White, the first baby born in Plymouth. I was trying to get him to tell us about games that children played and he wasn't answering me satisfactorily. I was persistent and Terry told me to stop harassing the poor kid. :) I think "Peregrine" was relieved when I finally left him alone!!!!!
There was definite drama but it had nothing to do with me while we were visiting so that was a treat.
Now we're back in our routine at home, taking the days as they come. Tomorrow is the first day of fall, which is quite insignificant in Florida except that the weather tends to stay in the high 80's rather than the low 90's.
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