Soaring and Stillness: Life with the Chickadees

I’ve deeply wrestled lately with identity and purpose.  I believe I’m prepared for the road. I’ve diligently studied the map. But then, BAM, there is an unexpected turn or I encounter brambles that pull and tear at my clothing. Here, in the unknown, I turn into a frazzled, frustrated mess questioning each inch of the cartography.  “Why am I doing this?” “Is it even worth it to continue?” “Why is no one here to help me?” “Where am I actually headed?” I’ve long sought to teach the chickadees that there is a great difference between desire and purpose and that is normal and acceptable to question. Doing what we want to do  is incredibly different than doing what we are called to do. For small humans, it is remarkably easy to redirect the want for the should. It might have taken some extra persuasion, but generally those beautiful, big, soulful eyes showed agreement and little hands slipped inside of mine and we fairly easily continued down a path. They grew, and heels d...

Motherhood. It's surprising and joyous and painful all at once. It stretches you to elastigirl lengths. Mostly in your heart where no one else can see the bending and twisting that occurs as one comes to grips with the raising of these small (that become big) humans. To My Dearest Chickadees, I've watched you this year, my loves, leaping and soaring and standing precariously close to the edges of cliffs, both physical and metaphorical. I've watched you journey, with abandon. You're both so very very brave and strong and beautiful and kind. I'm not just saying this because I'm your momma and I have to, I'm saying it because truth words deserve to be spoken. I speak truth. Grace Girl, we've had such a year of firsts and lasts. So many, in fact, that I'm downright worn out. I've heard teenagers do that to a soul. But despite it all you are so worth the loving. Worth every second of it. Remember the days when you were smaller than me? Now I...

I wrote this as the girls were at an intensive a few weeks ago and it didn't publish. It still holds true, despite the passage of time, so I'm hitting post.  ……... I watch them walk into the building, 800 miles from their beds and books. No hesitation, no stutter in their steps. Confident. It’s what I dream for them, this peace. Completely assurance in who they are as people. At home she’s different. Quiet, not in a crowd. Here, she shines. From one set of arms to another she goes, swallowed in embrace after embrace. I see her whole heart in her eyes, and mine teeters between bursting and breaking.   Here, she is home. Never out shadowed, my little immediately finds a set of arms and dives into them. When she’s hugged she comes straight off of the floor. Home. The warmth of this place isn’t limited to the girls. I feel it all around me. Wishing we had this in more spots but grateful for it’s presence here. I’m then kissed and hugged and all filled up too. ...

She's quiet and unassuming, talented and beautiful, intelligent and sarcastic. She instructs with her actions, movements, words. She leads by example. Her demeanor is one of discipline and her craft is taught with passion. As all good teachers are, she can be loved and feared by her students. To them, she's given a good portion of her life and her heart. It's her second job; she makes it seem like her first priority. She's a part of our hearts and our family...she spends almost as much time growing the chicks as I do. She's leaving. It's heart pain in beauty at it's finest. To us, she's not just a dance teacher. She's a friend and confidant, physical and massage therapist and dream encourager. She's a cheerleader and disciplinarian and a shoulder to lean on. She stretches the chicks physically and emotionally. With her, they take flight. Our hearts? Broken. We are beyond excited for the opportunities that await her and cannot wa...

One spot to another, always in flight. These chicks keep me on my toes. Lately, we've done quite a bit of travel with dance. The professor is busy with work and so the legs he was helping with driving have fallen to me. It means a whole lot more time away from the nest. Today, we left at noon and will arrive home sometime after 9:30 p.m.  LONG Long for them and for me. Driving to our distance ballet, taking Little Bit to the library to finish up schooling and then trekking to the other studio for assisting and classes for both of them all night. I sit bundled in my jacket and her scarf, earbuds in and the girls doing jetes in the other room.  Classes change. My sweet babe moves into her company hour with a sharp jazz routine and the Grace Girl works on changing a solo from pointe to ballet, just in case the pointe component is not ready for another competition in two weeks. I think it will be, but she's not sure...always the perfectionist in her dancing, she...

I sit here as the rain spatters the windshield, tucked in a fleece, dreaming of a warm fire at home. I'd know those legs anywhere, but I've never quite studied them as I'm doing now. Slender, tiny, able to reach great heights; feet that seem unnaturally flexible in form. Tonight, in the silence, I'm taken aback by how small they look next to everyone else's--black jazz pants in a sea of pink tights. Much like her wardrobe, those legs set her apart. How long has it been since I've simply watched her feet? Forced to see from a new perspective, I gain a sense of the reasons they peel, bruise, ache; with heels on releve, arches formed, toes perfectly pointed she puts them through their paces. I briefly catch a glimpse of a face in concentration as she stretches deeply. After almost eight straight hours she must be ready to finish. Never does she slow or falter,in each movement completed she offers nothing but precision. Her work ethic astounds me. A text com...

Fall with the chicks is in full swing. Geometry followed by arabesques...our life moving full throttle. We wouldn't have it any other way . It's a season of solos being prepared for competition and a new duet partnership formed. The girls? They are in full flight. I'm on a slight autopilot, moving from place to place with a sewing basket, costumes, computer and lesson plans in hand. I know it will go all too quickly, so I'm working to cherish the conversations from the backseat and the bedtime cuddles in the midst of doing dinner planning a week in advance with fingers wrapped in band aids from one too many needle attacks. As I write, Little Bit sits next to me sipping a slush and reading the novel she's soon to finish. The Grace Girl's math book lies between us, from when she jumped out of the car to head into class after her younger sister's finished. The iPod plays and traffic from the highway near us causes white noise in the distance. Parked unde...

Today I'm joining my friend The Gypsy Mama for five minutes where I'll write without editing, backtracking, or second guessing.  Because in the writing? We work to find and see with the heart and not the mind. Ready, Set, Go..... IDENTITY I watch you, standing there in the midst of girls  women-children that you consider your peers. Their ages eclipse yours, most by half a decade. These are your friends . Their height and weight make you appear waif-like, but you keep up with them all the same. Some even come to learn from you; you teach willingly and with a ready heart. Acceptance is what you seek in this place of yours that you've fought to create for yourself. Your passion lies here, in the leaping and twirling and rhythm of eight counts.  Here you feel at home I whisper to you as you sleep and repeat again and again while you are in the waking moments that this is not who you are ... it's what you are gifted at. Yes, you use your body and spiri...

"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...

Dear Grace Girl, Twelve years ago we welcomed you into our world. Twelve years.... Days of laughter, frustration, watching you grow and growing alongside you as a woman and a mother. Learning your cries and glances and smiles. Getting to know you. Beautiful YOU With a spirit of determination that develops seemingly daily. Your strength astonishes me....You're unique. You move to the beat of your own drummer and have learned this year that the crowd isn't so interesting. I'm in awe of the depth of your passions and of the ways you work to make dreams become reality. It has been my privilege to watch you face opposition and show Christ to others, in your word and response and deed. Your heart is lovely. Truly lovely . Never let anyone or thing change it...except to make it bigger. Never fear being stretched. It's what makes you grow. You've lived more in this year than I did in decades. I was awkward and duckling-like at your age, and you? YOU  ar...

"It is never easy to keep reaching for dreams. Strength and  courage can sometimes be lonely friends. But for those who do reach for stars, they walk in stardust." This weekend, we chased dreams with our grace girl.   She reached.  She sparkled. Joy was in her eyes. She soared. Stardust was underfoot.

She walked out bundled, braided, carrying a peanut butter sandwich and applesauce just in case she did not prefer the dinner available at the farm. One quick kiss, a reminder to stay with the group as they explored the maze. A bus ride of over an hour...on the big yellow tank she used to take to and from school each day before we made the move to homeschooling.  Her exclamation priceless as she was dropped off, "Look! Number 227...I rode it  every day. What are the odds?" Flutters in my stomach as I let her fly Random texts arrived throughout the hours she was away with sparse details. The lack of communication showing, more than anything else, that fellowship and laughter were plentiful in the dark, crisp  see your breath  air of this  late October nigh. Time alone with my little, rare in years past, is becoming plentiful. My grace girl is growing up. A text that the bus is exiting the freeway her little sister long since put to bed  and ...