My little one is highly sensitive. There's no doubt. Emotionally, mentally, and physically sensitive.
On the way to school, she'll ask:
"Mom, if God made everything, who made God?"
"God has always just existed."
"Oh, ok, but who took care of him when he was a baby?"
She will ask how big Texas is and how long it takes drive there. What about fly? Could we take a boat? What about Germany? Is it bigger than Texas? How long does it take to get there? Could we go there some day?
She'll say, "Did you know Mars is red? Saturn has a ring. And Pluto used to be considered a planet but it's not anymore because it's different and a dwarf planet." On and on and on. Usually before my morning coffee.
She's the child who will hold my hand while walking through Target and out of the blue look at me to say "Mom, are you sad?" She's the kid on the playground whose heart is hurting because someone was left out. If the child is upset at all, Ruby is to the rescue. She's the one ruminating at bedtime that "A-- laughed at me today because I pronounced a word wrong. But I don't care" all the while holding her fist to her chest and her eyes melting with hurt. She's the child who will give me one of her precious jewels to "keep it in your pocket all day. So when you put your hand in your pocket you will remember me and smile."
Heaven forbid I get upset with her. You'd think the world is ending.
Did I mention she is 5 years old?
Along with all the sensitivity in the heart and mind, comes the physical sensitivity. She catalogs her injuries with great detail and scores them and checks on them, noting the rate of healing, color, scab, etc. She tries on multiple outfits in the morning, because after wearing soft, loose pajamas all night, any kind of regular clothing is "not comfortable." Often, piles of tears have been shed in the frustration and irritation of having "nothing comfortable to wear." These fits of tears irritate me endlessly but knowing this is a trait of hers and she's probably more miserable than me, I try to help her out. (Other days, I hide in the bathroom and plug my ears until she finds just the "right" leggings or I can control my irritation; whichever comes first.)
Since she was about 2 years old, people have warning me to make her tougher. "She's in for a lot of heart-ache with a heart so big." I understand their concern. I feel it too. But I'm a sensitive person as well and understand Ruby. I worry that her heart will be shattered over and over, yes. But do I want her less sensitive? Never. Never in a million years. Her curiosity and questions in that brilliant mind will serve her well. Her physical sensitivity has made her thoughtful and cautious. Her emotional sensitivity is what the world needs. People who will stop to recognize hurting eyes and help a needing friend. People who will look another in the eyes and say "me too."
I will, however, try to teach her to recognize her sensitivity and manage it. I know how huge and overwhelming emotions can get. I know how easily feelings can get hurt. But these are skills that she can and will learn and it will only serve to make her wiser and stronger. Her tender heart is not something to encase in stone; it's something to be nurtured, protected, and treasured.
My God, never change her.
Tuesday, April 25, 2017
Thursday, March 30, 2017
Decluttering
Most weekends from the past two months found me burrowed somewhere deep in a closet or drawer, sifting through the items in my home that I neither use nor love anymore. I decided early in January that I wanted to get rid of the clutter in my home. I have a tendency to keep things, usually for sentimental value, but I can't explain away my penchant for paper. I'll write a quote, song name, or a book title on a Post It or the back of an envelope, and soon I have a stack of papers on my kitchen counter 2 feet high, whose contents I will never remember I even have.
With some book and online inspiration, I decided to shovel out my home. With our crazy schedules during the week, I decided to tackle one room per weekend. The goal was to go through everything. Every last spoon and ladle and ineffective bottle of shampoo and underwear. I took out several trash bins of garbage and had an overloaded car of donations. I had a few bags of hand-me-downs for a friend and my home feels lighter.
Of note was cleaning out my papers. I had years worth of statements and bills to sift through (fell a bit behind on filing!). Horrifyingly, I had a small file cabinet with magazine articles, quotes, notes, random journal entries, recipes, poems, lyrics, short essays to go through. This file cabinet contained over 10 years of scraps that meant something to me at the time of collection. I went through every piece of paper and if it still spoke to me, I kept it. Most of it went in the trash. The memories flooded me. From certain pieces of paper, I could remember the exact moment I found it and decided to save it. Other scraps left me a bit puzzled. It was a bit like watching myself grow up... and heal.
The process was so cleansing - not only of my home - but the clutter in my head. I feel lighter. It's been somewhat of a challenge to restrain myself from going wild with redecorating and filling up the empty spaces again. But I've withheld. I don't want to be a consumer just to consume. I want my purchasing to be thoughtful and I want my home to be filled only with lovely things that reflect us. So, I'm enjoying our space now. As is.
With some book and online inspiration, I decided to shovel out my home. With our crazy schedules during the week, I decided to tackle one room per weekend. The goal was to go through everything. Every last spoon and ladle and ineffective bottle of shampoo and underwear. I took out several trash bins of garbage and had an overloaded car of donations. I had a few bags of hand-me-downs for a friend and my home feels lighter.
Of note was cleaning out my papers. I had years worth of statements and bills to sift through (fell a bit behind on filing!). Horrifyingly, I had a small file cabinet with magazine articles, quotes, notes, random journal entries, recipes, poems, lyrics, short essays to go through. This file cabinet contained over 10 years of scraps that meant something to me at the time of collection. I went through every piece of paper and if it still spoke to me, I kept it. Most of it went in the trash. The memories flooded me. From certain pieces of paper, I could remember the exact moment I found it and decided to save it. Other scraps left me a bit puzzled. It was a bit like watching myself grow up... and heal.
The process was so cleansing - not only of my home - but the clutter in my head. I feel lighter. It's been somewhat of a challenge to restrain myself from going wild with redecorating and filling up the empty spaces again. But I've withheld. I don't want to be a consumer just to consume. I want my purchasing to be thoughtful and I want my home to be filled only with lovely things that reflect us. So, I'm enjoying our space now. As is.
Friday, March 24, 2017
Love your neighbor
Have you been following the news? I try not to. My heart sinks to my shoes when I do and I feel so disgusted and fearful afterwards that I get a news hangover. All the drama that is happening in the world right now and right in our own country are enough to leave me sleepless. I believe our country has not seen this kind of unrest and turmoil in decades, and Americans are so accustomed to observing "other" people's issues on their televisions that we became complacent. Now, it's here. It's not even knocking on our door anymore! It's here and it's currently sitting on the couch, with the feet on the coffee table while reading the news.
Deep, deep troubles.
I think often about the stem of these troubles, not just American troubles, but across the globe. A lot of it has to do with money and power. Religion fuels much of the conflict as well. But I think there is a baser root to it and I'm still trying to determine what it is. I think it's something along the lines of superiority or worthiness or self-righteousness... but I can't pinpoint it exactly.
Why are people power-hungry? What is it about power that people get? Control, certainly. Status. Often wealth, stigma. But a person wouldn't need power if they didn't have some superiority goal, if they didn't have the need to be on top of the pile.
Same goes with money. Money, to many people, means freedom, power, status, superiority. Especially in the Western world, people tend to value a wealthy person's life over a poor person's. But what does that really mean? Why is the wealthy person deemed more valuable? Because of his economic contribution?
Religion. I have to admit that my stomach rolls a bit at the topic of religion lately. So many Christians in my own country who profess to love and value life, humanity, human rights, the blessings God has bestowed upon us are the very same people who decry the value of a brown-skinned life. Who denounce the rights of women. Who defile the earth on which we live. Who hesitate not in the least at waging war. I feel stunned at the bold hypocrisy.
There's so much hatred. It reverberates from the news, social media, even in the streets. The common theme through so much of it is that anyone who is different than me is to be feared and hated. In my mind, this is so much more than an economic, safety, cultural, or racial issue. There is an element of alarmist mentality and from every outlet it's "Us vs. Them."
We've become our own worst enemies - even though we think it's "them." It's our own rotting heart that is the enemy.
In my eyes, it's a root issue of the heart and all of these other issues are manifested because of it. The core of the human heart of humanity is corroded. There's a false sense of "us" and "them" and with that comes the notion that one is better than the other, the notion of superiority. It's ludicrous that there is some hierarchy to humanity: White men>white women? white men>black men? white women>black women? straight/cisgender>LGBTQ? Christian>Muslims? On and on ad nauseam...
It's all bullshit. It makes me angry. My question is: what makes "us" so great? What makes "us" SO MUCH better than "them"? What makes our lives SO MUCH more valuable than theirs? The truth is: nothing. You may not need to agree with them – but for God's sake – respect them. Value their life. Accept and tolerate their existence just as someone who disagrees with you accepts and tolerates your miserable existence. Who are we to say that we are better/more important/more valuable than the next person or group? Superior much? Bloated ego? Afraid? Powerful or powerless? What is it? What is that nugget of evil that lives in people that makes this our current reality?
Radical idea here: instead of collectively stepping on them, what if we wrapped our arms around them and collectively lifted them up. Helped to raise them up to their highest potential. The only thing happens is that we all win.
Here's a secret: there is no "them."
In high school band class, the band teacher said that a band is only as good as it's worst player. The quality of the music depended on every person in that band and that included the poorest performer. The music would never be more beautiful than that worst player could play. Newsflash: that's true for every group of performers, people, cultures, everything. That's humanity, people! We (humanity) will never be more than the poorest, sickest, most neglected people on earth, because we are a collective. There is no "them." The beauty of our world, human nature, love, life will never be more beautiful than the "least" of us. When we lift up the disadvantaged, down-trodden, poor, sick, discriminated, we are lifting ourselves up. And if we can't lift "them" up, for God's sake, don't kick "them" down.
I know, completely idealist notion, but it's what my heart knows is right. My heart and soul rebels wildly at the fear and judgments pervading our society. I mentally search myself to see what I can do to make things a little less hateful, a little less scary. All I know to do is love.
Deep, deep troubles.
I think often about the stem of these troubles, not just American troubles, but across the globe. A lot of it has to do with money and power. Religion fuels much of the conflict as well. But I think there is a baser root to it and I'm still trying to determine what it is. I think it's something along the lines of superiority or worthiness or self-righteousness... but I can't pinpoint it exactly.
Why are people power-hungry? What is it about power that people get? Control, certainly. Status. Often wealth, stigma. But a person wouldn't need power if they didn't have some superiority goal, if they didn't have the need to be on top of the pile.
Same goes with money. Money, to many people, means freedom, power, status, superiority. Especially in the Western world, people tend to value a wealthy person's life over a poor person's. But what does that really mean? Why is the wealthy person deemed more valuable? Because of his economic contribution?
Religion. I have to admit that my stomach rolls a bit at the topic of religion lately. So many Christians in my own country who profess to love and value life, humanity, human rights, the blessings God has bestowed upon us are the very same people who decry the value of a brown-skinned life. Who denounce the rights of women. Who defile the earth on which we live. Who hesitate not in the least at waging war. I feel stunned at the bold hypocrisy.
There's so much hatred. It reverberates from the news, social media, even in the streets. The common theme through so much of it is that anyone who is different than me is to be feared and hated. In my mind, this is so much more than an economic, safety, cultural, or racial issue. There is an element of alarmist mentality and from every outlet it's "Us vs. Them."
We've become our own worst enemies - even though we think it's "them." It's our own rotting heart that is the enemy.
In my eyes, it's a root issue of the heart and all of these other issues are manifested because of it. The core of the human heart of humanity is corroded. There's a false sense of "us" and "them" and with that comes the notion that one is better than the other, the notion of superiority. It's ludicrous that there is some hierarchy to humanity: White men>white women? white men>black men? white women>black women? straight/cisgender>LGBTQ? Christian>Muslims? On and on ad nauseam...
It's all bullshit. It makes me angry. My question is: what makes "us" so great? What makes "us" SO MUCH better than "them"? What makes our lives SO MUCH more valuable than theirs? The truth is: nothing. You may not need to agree with them – but for God's sake – respect them. Value their life. Accept and tolerate their existence just as someone who disagrees with you accepts and tolerates your miserable existence. Who are we to say that we are better/more important/more valuable than the next person or group? Superior much? Bloated ego? Afraid? Powerful or powerless? What is it? What is that nugget of evil that lives in people that makes this our current reality?
Radical idea here: instead of collectively stepping on them, what if we wrapped our arms around them and collectively lifted them up. Helped to raise them up to their highest potential. The only thing happens is that we all win.
Here's a secret: there is no "them."
In high school band class, the band teacher said that a band is only as good as it's worst player. The quality of the music depended on every person in that band and that included the poorest performer. The music would never be more beautiful than that worst player could play. Newsflash: that's true for every group of performers, people, cultures, everything. That's humanity, people! We (humanity) will never be more than the poorest, sickest, most neglected people on earth, because we are a collective. There is no "them." The beauty of our world, human nature, love, life will never be more beautiful than the "least" of us. When we lift up the disadvantaged, down-trodden, poor, sick, discriminated, we are lifting ourselves up. And if we can't lift "them" up, for God's sake, don't kick "them" down.
I know, completely idealist notion, but it's what my heart knows is right. My heart and soul rebels wildly at the fear and judgments pervading our society. I mentally search myself to see what I can do to make things a little less hateful, a little less scary. All I know to do is love.
Mark 12:31: "The second is this: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these."
Thursday, March 9, 2017
Parenting
Recently, I was having a conversation with loved ones about parenting. Parenting is a beloved topic of conversation for me because I have realized from my life experiences how much my parents and the way they parented me molded me into who I am today. It's a curious thing - how much is nature and how much is nurture and I find myself thinking about it often.
This particular conversation, I was expressing some frustration about the mentality some people have about parenting. I try desperately not to be a judgy-mom, however, there is one particular issue that I cannot get my head around: the disengaged or "not my problem" parent. For example, the notorious parents who defend their child, who is known to bully other children. They stand in the principals office denying their child would ever be so cruel, and then go home and turn a glazed eye to the fact that the same child is tormenting his siblings. These parents... ugh, I have issues with.
My philosophy on parenting is this: As a parent, your job is to prepare your child to grow up to be a resourceful, contributing, happy person. This means teaching them everything: say hello, wipe their noses, handle the mean kid, ask for a job, find happiness, to love, and even scramble an egg. In my mind, everything that makes up a well-rounded adult needs to be taught, even the things like finding happiness and loving someone well need to be taught. Everything you do and don't do contributes to your child's success (whatever your definition of success may be) later on in life. Too often people underestimate the mundane things. For example:
Ruby has always been an extraordinarily trustworthy child. If I tell her no treats, I could leave the kitchen table piled high with every sweet you could think of and she would not touch one. Even at her grandparents house, if they offer her a treat, she knows to get approval from me first. Recently, when we arrived home one evening, I was distractedly putting away my things and Ruby was doing her thing. Then she announced "I just need some time alone for a while" and hurried off to her room and closed the door. Warning bells fired off in my brain because this was so uncharacteristic of her. She never needs time alone and she never closes her bedroom door. I immediately went to her room and pushed the door open. She was sitting with her back to the door, and a left-over treat from the evening before broken open on the carpet in front of her and her eyes grew big as she stared at me with guilt, her mouth crammed full of candy.
I knew in that moment that there was a huge lesson for us both to learn and I scrambled through my jumbled thoughts, frantically searching for the answer, searching for the perfect way to resolve this in the fraction of a second. I knew that moment presented me with a situation that would lay the bar for similar situations for years to come: sneaking, lying, hiding information, and all of the other related maladies.
I handled that situation, calmly, and the only way I knew in that moment. I don't know if I did the right thing or if that memory will stick with Ruby as much as it does with me. But, we haven't had any further issues. I think how, when coming home from a long day with a long list of chores to do, it could be so easy to just brush it off. Ignore the warning bells in my brain and not act on it. Just ignore it. Disengage. I then think how quickly kids learn, and how quickly things like that can morph into issues so much bigger. Candy today, iPods in 5 years, cars in 10 years?
Perhaps that sounds a bit dramatic. It was just a little candy, right? She's only 5, right? Well, I believe it all starts somewhere. My job as Ruby's mother is to prepare her to be a successful adult, it just seems too important to ignore. I'm not interested to see what other paths Ruby could take because I'm a little tired and too inconvenienced to be bothered by it.
I observe people. What they say and don't say. What they do and don't do. I spent my 20's watching the people around me raise children and I grew a lot of ideas. I don't have the answers but I have some observations and ideas packed away in my brain. And I have my gut.
This particular conversation, I was expressing some frustration about the mentality some people have about parenting. I try desperately not to be a judgy-mom, however, there is one particular issue that I cannot get my head around: the disengaged or "not my problem" parent. For example, the notorious parents who defend their child, who is known to bully other children. They stand in the principals office denying their child would ever be so cruel, and then go home and turn a glazed eye to the fact that the same child is tormenting his siblings. These parents... ugh, I have issues with.
My philosophy on parenting is this: As a parent, your job is to prepare your child to grow up to be a resourceful, contributing, happy person. This means teaching them everything: say hello, wipe their noses, handle the mean kid, ask for a job, find happiness, to love, and even scramble an egg. In my mind, everything that makes up a well-rounded adult needs to be taught, even the things like finding happiness and loving someone well need to be taught. Everything you do and don't do contributes to your child's success (whatever your definition of success may be) later on in life. Too often people underestimate the mundane things. For example:
Ruby has always been an extraordinarily trustworthy child. If I tell her no treats, I could leave the kitchen table piled high with every sweet you could think of and she would not touch one. Even at her grandparents house, if they offer her a treat, she knows to get approval from me first. Recently, when we arrived home one evening, I was distractedly putting away my things and Ruby was doing her thing. Then she announced "I just need some time alone for a while" and hurried off to her room and closed the door. Warning bells fired off in my brain because this was so uncharacteristic of her. She never needs time alone and she never closes her bedroom door. I immediately went to her room and pushed the door open. She was sitting with her back to the door, and a left-over treat from the evening before broken open on the carpet in front of her and her eyes grew big as she stared at me with guilt, her mouth crammed full of candy.
I knew in that moment that there was a huge lesson for us both to learn and I scrambled through my jumbled thoughts, frantically searching for the answer, searching for the perfect way to resolve this in the fraction of a second. I knew that moment presented me with a situation that would lay the bar for similar situations for years to come: sneaking, lying, hiding information, and all of the other related maladies.
I handled that situation, calmly, and the only way I knew in that moment. I don't know if I did the right thing or if that memory will stick with Ruby as much as it does with me. But, we haven't had any further issues. I think how, when coming home from a long day with a long list of chores to do, it could be so easy to just brush it off. Ignore the warning bells in my brain and not act on it. Just ignore it. Disengage. I then think how quickly kids learn, and how quickly things like that can morph into issues so much bigger. Candy today, iPods in 5 years, cars in 10 years?
Perhaps that sounds a bit dramatic. It was just a little candy, right? She's only 5, right? Well, I believe it all starts somewhere. My job as Ruby's mother is to prepare her to be a successful adult, it just seems too important to ignore. I'm not interested to see what other paths Ruby could take because I'm a little tired and too inconvenienced to be bothered by it.
I observe people. What they say and don't say. What they do and don't do. I spent my 20's watching the people around me raise children and I grew a lot of ideas. I don't have the answers but I have some observations and ideas packed away in my brain. And I have my gut.
Friday, February 3, 2017
Writing
I love words. I love them. I love how people have "voices" in the written word and I love how certain people can craft the most perfect sentence that it sends literal shivers down my spine. Or better yet, when I feel like a whole new area of my brain opened up from a simple sentence or idea.
I want to write. I've been told I write much like I speak. (It is what it is.) I want to write more. I want to write creatively. I want to write a book. But when I think about what I want to write about, I feel like I don't have enough to say to fill a blog post much less a full book. Then, there are countless sleepless nights where my brain is spinning so hard and fast, I swear smoke is coming from my ears. There are moments with special people, when I feel at ease and comfortable and I have so many ideas and so much to say that there aren't enough hours in the night, or wine in the house, to get all of it out of me.
Then, I prepare to write. I stare blankly at my screen and every intelligible thought running through my head has suddenly disappeared. Where have all my thoughts gone? For the longest time, I anguished over this. Why is there this need in me to write and why, when I try to write, I can't find anything to say?
Today, I realized what the problem is: fear. I am afraid that my thoughts and words are not profound 'enough.' I am afraid that I will be tied to those words forever: that those words are absolute truth for me, forever. When the truth is: I am a constantly evolving, learning, changing being and I can change my mind. I can see things from another view. I can learn and decide that maybe I wasn't right. Sometimes, I am afraid I will be judged. I have thin skin and criticism hurts, and I do not actively seek out pain. Writing whatever is in my head and heart and putting it "out there" is almost actively seeking pain.
Still... I want to write.
I want to write. I've been told I write much like I speak. (It is what it is.) I want to write more. I want to write creatively. I want to write a book. But when I think about what I want to write about, I feel like I don't have enough to say to fill a blog post much less a full book. Then, there are countless sleepless nights where my brain is spinning so hard and fast, I swear smoke is coming from my ears. There are moments with special people, when I feel at ease and comfortable and I have so many ideas and so much to say that there aren't enough hours in the night, or wine in the house, to get all of it out of me.
Then, I prepare to write. I stare blankly at my screen and every intelligible thought running through my head has suddenly disappeared. Where have all my thoughts gone? For the longest time, I anguished over this. Why is there this need in me to write and why, when I try to write, I can't find anything to say?
Today, I realized what the problem is: fear. I am afraid that my thoughts and words are not profound 'enough.' I am afraid that I will be tied to those words forever: that those words are absolute truth for me, forever. When the truth is: I am a constantly evolving, learning, changing being and I can change my mind. I can see things from another view. I can learn and decide that maybe I wasn't right. Sometimes, I am afraid I will be judged. I have thin skin and criticism hurts, and I do not actively seek out pain. Writing whatever is in my head and heart and putting it "out there" is almost actively seeking pain.
Still... I want to write.
Friday, January 13, 2017
Thursday, January 12, 2017
And that's why I love you
Ruby is in her third year of dance class. This fall she was, again, in a class for 3/4 year olds and it was clear she was not being challenged and losing interest. So, I signed her up for the 5/6 year old class for this spring semester.
The thing about Ruby is that it seems music speaks to her. Maybe it does with all kids, I don't know. She loves to dance and feels music in her body. She has rhythm and learns choreography incredibly easy. She memorizes words to songs after hearing them 2 or 3 times. She blooms with music. She has much more interest in it than I have ever had and there has been more than a couple of occasions where I pick her up at school and she is dancing in the middle of a circle of friends and parents watching her.
Last night, she had her first class with the 5 to 6 year olds (Ruby turns 5 in a few days). She was a tad nervous, as she didn't know any of the other kids or the dance instructor. I was grateful as the instructor saw her nervousness and asked the other kids to introduce themselves to Ruby, which they did shyly. When they began dancing, all I could think was "UH. OH." The ballet moves were intricate with names neither Ruby or I had ever heard before. The footwork was complex and my stomach flopped, thinking I'd made another parenting mistake. I also worried that Ruby would get frustrated and give up, as she can sometimes be a perfectionist. But, I continued to nervously watch.
Ruby's eyes never left her instructor. The first few tries, she would mess up her step or forget to point her toes, but she watched her instructor and try again and soon enough she had it. Her eyes literally did not leave her instructor. She would watch so hard, that if another kid moved in her line of vision, Ruby would move up to stand directly next to her teacher so her view would not be obstructed. She was glued. At one point, they were doing a "ballet obstacle course" with a series of four ballet "moves" (I'm not a ballerina and am still earning the terminology) in sequence. These moves would be difficult for me to do without some practice - and there was my daughter, in line with all of these bigger girls, stumbling, struggling at times, but smiling... working hard and focusing intently... Then the song "True Colors" (by Justin Timberlake and Anna Kendrick—Trolls, Ruby's favorite) played - and I watched my girl working so hard, the tears just came.
It wasn't that Ruby did so well. It wasn't that my daughter is a dancer. It certainly wasn't that some dreams of mine are being fulfilled.
It was seeing her joy, her focus and concentration, her hard work. The small smile of satisfaction she had when she did the move right and persistence to get the next one right. I was so proud of her.
Bloom, honey. Bloom.
The thing about Ruby is that it seems music speaks to her. Maybe it does with all kids, I don't know. She loves to dance and feels music in her body. She has rhythm and learns choreography incredibly easy. She memorizes words to songs after hearing them 2 or 3 times. She blooms with music. She has much more interest in it than I have ever had and there has been more than a couple of occasions where I pick her up at school and she is dancing in the middle of a circle of friends and parents watching her.
Last night, she had her first class with the 5 to 6 year olds (Ruby turns 5 in a few days). She was a tad nervous, as she didn't know any of the other kids or the dance instructor. I was grateful as the instructor saw her nervousness and asked the other kids to introduce themselves to Ruby, which they did shyly. When they began dancing, all I could think was "UH. OH." The ballet moves were intricate with names neither Ruby or I had ever heard before. The footwork was complex and my stomach flopped, thinking I'd made another parenting mistake. I also worried that Ruby would get frustrated and give up, as she can sometimes be a perfectionist. But, I continued to nervously watch.
Ruby's eyes never left her instructor. The first few tries, she would mess up her step or forget to point her toes, but she watched her instructor and try again and soon enough she had it. Her eyes literally did not leave her instructor. She would watch so hard, that if another kid moved in her line of vision, Ruby would move up to stand directly next to her teacher so her view would not be obstructed. She was glued. At one point, they were doing a "ballet obstacle course" with a series of four ballet "moves" (I'm not a ballerina and am still earning the terminology) in sequence. These moves would be difficult for me to do without some practice - and there was my daughter, in line with all of these bigger girls, stumbling, struggling at times, but smiling... working hard and focusing intently... Then the song "True Colors" (by Justin Timberlake and Anna Kendrick—Trolls, Ruby's favorite) played - and I watched my girl working so hard, the tears just came.
It wasn't that Ruby did so well. It wasn't that my daughter is a dancer. It certainly wasn't that some dreams of mine are being fulfilled.
It was seeing her joy, her focus and concentration, her hard work. The small smile of satisfaction she had when she did the move right and persistence to get the next one right. I was so proud of her.
Bloom, honey. Bloom.
In a world full of people
You can lose sight of it all
And the darkness inside of you
Can make you feel so small
But I see your true colors
Shining through
I see your true colors
And that's why I love you
So don't be afraid to let them show
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