Cool Moms Care

I was giggling in sympathy with my fellow Cool Moms Care blogger Joslyne when I read her recent post titled “Pee, Pride and the Mall.” Haven’t we all had experiences where we not only felt like pulling our hair out in frustration over some adventure in parenting…and probably looked like we’d been doing it, too?

I specifically recalled the day that I took my then-three-week-old son to the mall to inquire about getting his first portrait taken at the Sears photo studio. At the time, our family was living in Southern California, and the closest mall and photo studio was at least an hour away from our house. So I’d had a sleepless night with a hungry, fussy baby, and then I’d gotten up and driven 70 miles to the mall, only to have trouble with the stroller, the baby and finding a good quiet place to sit and nurse. I ran a couple of simple errands, got something to eat at the food court (I have no idea what), and then went to the photo studio. It was the sort of jaunt that, pre-baby, would have taken me maybe an hour and almost zero energy. As the mother of a new baby on her first major solo errand run, well, let’s say it took considerably longer. And it required considerably more energy, too.

At the end of it all, I was practically bent over double. I headed back out to the car. In the parking lot, I struggled with the stroller as my son wailed pitifully from his carseat. An older lady pulled her car into the vacant spot next to my car, and as she got out, she eyed me with great compassion.

“Are you okay?” she said carefully and kindly.

I looked up at her, practically blinded with my own tears.

“No. No, no, I’m not,” I managed to choke out.

She studied me quietly and suggested mildly, “Maybe it’s not such a good idea that you try to drive right now. Why don’t you just rest for a little while first.”

I don’t know what I responded, but I’m sure I probably nodded dumbly before collapsing into the front seat of my car. I do remember sobbing my heart out over the steering wheel while my child continued to cry in the backseat. At some point, the crying slowed and stopped..well, at least mine did…and I started to feel a little bit more in control. Eventually, I was able to take some deep breaths and start the car and take us home, to where my husband was waiting for us with open arms.

I once thought that I knew there would be low moments at times in parenting, but I didn’t really know it, at a bone-deep level, until I was experiencing it myself right then. So now, when I encounter someone who clearly seems to be at her wit’s end, I remember. I remember that once upon a time, another person’s kind soft words gave me permission to open up to myself, to acknowledge that I didn’t always have to be okay all the time. And that, in turn, gave me permission to wail and cry and gnash my teeth…and then move forward.

- Jennifer Larson

Last Sunday was my four-year-old daughter’s first dance recital. It took place in a real auditorium, complete with a large stage, professional lighting, and rows and rows of seats. Kyla wasn’t prepared for how big the room was or how high the stage was, or how many seats there were out in the audience.

All of the dance studio’s pupils were set to perform, and they were all congregating backstage. I led my little pink-dressed girl to an enormous room filled to the brim with dancers from ages 3 to 18. As we made our way to her group, Kyla’s eyes were huge with wonder. To our left, two teenage girls were practicing their ballet, to the right, four elementary-age girls were practicing their tap routine. Directly in front of us was a screen with a live feed from the theater.

I watched Kyla as she tried to absorb all that was going on. It was a bit chaotic and overwhelming for me so I can only imagine how it seemed for someone so small. As I sat with her waiting for her teacher to arrive, I asked her how she was doing. She looked at me and said “I am getting a little scared.” I asked her if she could tell me why. She said that she couldn’t remember her dance. She was watching all of the older girls practicing and she thought she should be doing the same. I comforted her and told her that she didn’t need to practice. It would all come back to her when she got on stage and followed her teacher’s lead.

As I took my seat in the theater, I couldn’t help wondering how Kyla was going to react to being on stage in front of hundreds of people. I admit, I sometimes project my insecurities on my daughter. I have never been one to enjoy the limelight. My father had to hold me back from practically running down the aisle at my wedding. I clearly don’t like being the center of attention.

Kyla’s group was number 19 out of 24 performances. As the little four-year-olds in their pink dresses walked out on the stage, I saw Kyla’s eyes get huge as she looked out on the audience. They all froze in a crooked line. As Vince Gill’s version of “Let There Be Peace On Earth” began to play over the loud speakers, I watched Kyla go from being unsure to being comfortable on stage. Through eyes blurred with tears, I watched my little girl dance her heart out.

That stage is like life. There are going to be times when new experiences will seem overwhelming. There will be times when she won’t be sure what to do. And, there will be times when she must take chances.

I don’t want her to be held back by fear or uncertainty. Instead, when the world is looking at her, when the music starts to play and the lights shine, I hope she finds herself, remembers that there are those in the audience that love her and support her, and most of all, I hope she dances.

- Malinda Moseley