Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Death By Dance
Things have not gone how I'd imagined they would. See, Abby LOVES to dance and is constantly dancing at home. She also really likes to be the center of attention. Naturally, I assumed she would shine in dance class and everything would be rainbows and butterflies.
Um, no. Not even close.
The first class, I held her most of the time, because she would throw herself on the ground and cry until I picked her up. Normally I would just ignore her and let her cry. She usually gives up when she realizes no one is watching her. But I didn't really feel like I could do that this time. Everyone in the class was looking at me and expecting me to get her under control. So I picked her up. She was so happy as long as I was holding her.
Things have very SLOWLY gotten better each week, with her spending more and more time out of my arms. Last week (Week 5) was a TON better! The best week yet. BUT she still had a meltdown. Her teacher actually said to me, "I've never seen a kid have a meltdown every single week." Great. My kid was now THAT kid. The one that teachers want to hide from. The one that makes the other parents roll their eyes.
Despite the teacher's comment, I was feeling really positive about the progress Abby has made. Ever since last week, she's been dancing around the house saying, "Dance Classes!" and saying the names of all of her new friends. I thought maybe she had a revelation and was ready to dance.
Until today happened.
You see, normally, we go the evening classes, because I work during the day. But our church rented out an amusement park tonight and we are going to that. My mom took Abby to the morning dance class today so she wouldn't miss out.
The teacher was not the same. She didn't know any of the kids. And she kept crying for me. I'm afraid that all of the progress we've made is down the drain now. We're probably going to have to start over. I swear this dance class is going to be the death of me.
I think in all of this God has been teaching me a very important lesson. I need to be careful what kind of expectations I put on my kids. Before this class started, I would imagine how much fun the class would be. How cute Abby would be in her pink leotard, tutu, and slippers. But I didn't stop there. I also let my inner Anne Shirley run away with me, and I would imagine her being amazing at ballet and growing up to be a principal dancer in some really important dance company. Shame on me.
I promise, from here forth, that I will NOT be a stage mom, and I will let my children choose their own paths.