Yesterday was recital day. I’ll bet there were more hair buns yesterday on Earth than any other day of the year. My daughter was lovely, lovely.
I’ve watched this for so many years now that I know how it’s all gonna go. For two weeks before she is wired. She moves constantly. Always sort of rehearsing. She can’t sleep. And the gaggle of girls at the studio are all giggles and whispers and tears and hugs and jumping up and down and spinning and stretching and pointing their toes and sighing and massaging their muscles and snapping fingers and humming portions of songs.
It’s a hyper buzzing.
Then the crash. Sleeping. Sadness that another year is over. For some dancers, this was their last recital. Ever.
I hope they find a way to continue dancing, somehow.
The younger girls will miss the ones going off to college. The older girls have been so kind to the younger ones; they will miss them too.
I love dance as a form of expression. I love when a dancer moves beyond performing, then beyond entertaining, then into expressing.
I imagine someone could keep a lot of emotions all bottled up and locked away, but find a way to share them through dance.
This has been a sort of hard week. Teenager stuff. Imperfect parent stuff. Learning stuff. Don’t really know what God is trying to do, but I think I can safely assume He’s always in the process of making me more like Him. Which is an honor. I think I am learning how to pray more specifically for my kids–how to fight for them through prayer.
My husband got me this little sign. I put it in my kitchen, and I love it so much.