Week two arrives. My
parents happened to be babysitting that afternoon so I could go to a doctor’s
appointment in peace. They were also
going to babysit for us that night so I could take Vip out for a Birthday date,
so they decided to tag along to ballet class to watch the fun. Oh, am I a sight to behold....33 weeks
pregnant, pushing a stroller with a 2 year old sitting in it, holding hands
with a whimpering 4 year old (she just happened to get a splinter in her hand
as soon as we got out of the car…yes it was a traumatic start to the class),
and her parents behind her walking into the recreation center! We were a very exciting caravan to say the
least!
The three of us are so excited over our Elly Bean’s second ballet class, so we start taking pictures and are as silly as you can
imagine. I can only imagine what the
other parents who are busy texting, reviewing homework with older children, and
calmly waiting are thinking of us. That’s
not to mention the host of Asian ping pong players behind us having
conversations in a language that was once all I heard in my former life. It really is quite surreal at some moments
that I hear anything other than Chinese from day to day (but that’s a post for
another day).
Eliana starts out good.
She’s pointing her toes. She has
a killer plie. She holds her hands out like
she has the biggest bubble ever and doesn’t pop it. Her feet are positioned really well for a 4
year old in my humble mommy opinion. Mom
and I remark on how good she is doing.
And, then about 5 minutes later, it happens. She drops her head and shoulders again. She walks away. She comes back. She shrinks again. She starts to cry, and she doesn’t stop for
the next 30 minutes of class. My heart
just sinks. I don’t know what’s going on
or what I can do to help her. Part of me
wanted to just go in and grab her, but I knew that wouldn’t help her. So, I just kept watching her, trying to think
of some elaborate hand motion that would make it all better. None of them worked. (I know, you are
shocked!) She cried until five o’clock,
when she lined up to get her stamp on her hand and come out to where I was
waiting. Then, she immediately perked up,
showed me her stamp and even handed her teacher a picture she had drawn.
I was supposed to pay a $50 costume fee to her teacher for their recital,
which at that point terrified me due to her crying session for the last 30
minutes. I kept thinking “am I about to
fork over $50 for a dress up outfit?”
But, just like when we painted the room blue before I was ever pregnant
with Titus and we cleaned out the closet in the extra bedroom before I was ever
pregnant with Eliana, I knew I was supposed to pay that money.
As I was getting ready for my date, I talked a lot with
Eliana about what had happened. I never
expected to hear what she said.
She said that she did not want to do what her teacher told
her to do.
It wasn’t some deep complex emotional issue she was
struggling with. It was simple. Her teacher had a plan for their class that
she didn’t like, so she threw a fit in order to display her displeasure. As it turned out, we made the
mistake by telling her that there would be a show at the end of the semester
for her to dance in with her friends.
One of her favorite things to do at home is to put on “shows”. They never make sense, but they always
involve costumes, sets, and spinning around a lot. So, she thought that she would get to have
creative power over this show too and was not too excited that someone else was
at the creative helm. After all, what
did her ballet teacher know about shows? Eliana was the real expert when it came to
putting on shows!
So, here are the two applications that struck me through all
this.
1)
I need to do more listening to my child if I want to find out what is
really going on. Maybe if I hadn’t
planted the complex idea of fear in a new situation into her, I would have been
able to deal with the real problem a week earlier. I need to be asking more open ended questions
as I try to wade through the waters of her heart.
2) How
often do I decide I would do a better job in leading my days? How often do I take the reins of control away
from my Heavenly Father? Do I really
think that I can choreograph a better dance than Him? How often does He tell me what to do, and I
respond by dropping my head and shoulders, pushing out my bottom lip, and
throwing the world’s biggest toddler tantrum you have ever seen? The Creator of the universe deserves much
more respect than what I often give Him.
