The Determination Department

"A dream doesn't become reality through magic; it takes sweat, determination and hard work." -Colin Powell



We've always taught the chicks that anything worth going after takes effort. 

Sweat

Determination

Hard Work

We spend hours a day schooling and just as many dancing. We believe that education comes second to faith and family, and the girls know that we expect the same effort in school that they put forth on the wooden floors. We're not the homeschoolers who do a little school and a whole lot of everything else. It's college prep curriculum in the nest. Both girls are incredibly high achievers who excel in their studies and work above grade level. We don't twirl until the equations are finished and the Latin is memorized. I loved to learn. I still do. I want them to hunger for it in the same way and work to instill it in those sweet little bodies.

Our Little Bit fully embraces this philosophy. She wakes early and eagerly attacks her studies. She's almost two years ahead of others her age in difficult curriculum. She is incredible. I know I'm a proud Mama, but honestly? She's the Mary Poppins of children; Cheerful, caring, intelligent, willing to pitch in and do more than her share. All that and a bag of chips. My sweet pea plays the piano close to ten hours a week because she loves it so much; she is almost more passionate about it than she is about dancing.

My Grace Girl...sigh. She has the sweetest heart. She also has the most fire-filled. That child burns from the soles of her feet to the tips of her hair. Ah, the Grace Girl. My babe who arrived in our lives ready to keep us on our toes. Her intelligence is equal to her that of her sister...they keep me on my toes. She's in the process of finishing up Algebra 1 and is reading The Histories for history curriculum. But...she works hard on what she wants to. I know that part of it is an age thing, and the rest is that she's so very her. I both love and cry over this part of what makes her so, well, her. In the determination department, the Grace Girl has a portion overflowing.  

Which brings us to the dream chasing...

Dance is as much a part of the chicks as freckles and blue eyes. I never anticipated the studio hours we'd put in or, more importantly, how much a part of them it would be. Dancing is akin to breathing at our place. Limbs go in odd positions as they stretch and move and lengthen muscles that stiffen on the car ride home. At our place, we dream a little bit everyday. It's as it should be.

Hard work and opportunity are frequent companions, as we've learned. Our eldest has decided to run full throttle after her passion. We've done quite a bit of travel to dance conventions and ballet auditions. Her humility and work ethic have made her shine. If she desired, she could dance away from home at a variety of locations for the entire summer. Ah, the fire of my Grace Girl...I'm reminded that she's not all grown up yet when she says, "But, Mumma, two weeks without you? How will I ever do it?" My heart lifts, I sigh. She's not ready to fly solo for too long. One big ballet intensive expects an answer by this weekend. Another sent an acceptance letter this afternoon. So many decisions in this dream chasing of hers. So much growing up that I'm not sure I'm ready for yet.  



Sweat. Hard Work. Determination.  Essential ingredients of filling up the heart.

Not yet ready to go solo for extended periods? Good for my heart.
.  .   .   .   .   .  .

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Loving Well

It's as much a part of me as breathing, this friendship she and I have woven together.  In and out, up and down, encircling us. Never ceasing. Never slowing. None of the breaks, skips, or hiccups that usually occur in relationships. Not a one. We came together so seamlessly I don't  remember what my life, my days, my moments felt like without her beside me, even in a figurative sense. I know it sounds odd, the stuff of science fiction movies and creepy music, but our relationship has been like that from the beginning. I wake up when something happens to her or when she dreams and cannot bring herself out of it. She knows when I've hit my bottom and swoops in to scoop me up.   Even our night times overlap. That silly red sports car she drives in the non-waking hours? It shows up for both of us. I tell her geniuses choose green and she laughs. I am thankful to hear it so strong, so clear. Her laughter is the mix of all things beautiful; soft undertones of leaves
Read more

The Power of Words

Before Sara died, she asked me to speak at her wake. She didn't desire that I share with others memories  of  her. Rather, she asked that I speak about who she was in this world. She told me that she wanted people who came  to see her  as I spoke.  She also told me I wasn't allowed to cry. It would, she stated, "Make things less effective."  Love her.   A friend who was present asked that I  ( Shannon )  put it up for all of you, who were unable to join us at the service, to read. .  .  .  .  .  .  . Gail Caldwell wrote:  "It's an old, old story. I had a friend and we shared everything, and then she died and so we shared that too."   Words are powerful. Uniting. They shape our view of the world, ourselves, each other. Words, in the best cases, make us immortal. Words are how I found her. Faith is what brought us together. A friend send me an email, asking me to pray for a mother who knew she was going to lose her baby girl and carried he
Read more

Tuesday's Child is Full of Grace

Eleven years ago you entered our world. Small. Red. Making your voice heard. Three separate due dates: March 4 th (actual), January 28 th (for my health), February 6 th (for yours). On Tuesday, February 8, 2000, you decided you’d join us. At your own pace, in your own time; forty two hours of labor, most of it without great progression. Then from 4 to 10 in a hour and six pushes later, you arrived. I had not allowed myself to fall in love with you. The doctors told me that I carried antibodies that could cause your death if the pregnancy made it to 36 weeks. If . That was the word throughout the weeks you grew and developed. If you made it, if I made it, if my kidneys held out. They told me I wouldn’t get pregnant. I did. At week six they suggested I terminate when bloodwork came back showing more strikes against both of us. I refused. They were wrong. I decided, then and there, that they were wrong. That we’d make it. Together . Those days were not e
Read more