Recently, I went to “Parent Participation” day at my daughter’s dance studio. It was, as the title suggests, an opportunity for parents to go through each stage of dance rehearsal with their student. I’m guessing the goal is for us parents to see all the hard work our children put into dance, maybe see how great the teachers are and how much fun they all have—which insures we keep pouring money into this extra-curricular machine. But I knew it would be humiliating. I was a dancer—and a mediocre one at best—about 20 years ago. But my daughter—Viva, as I call her here—was so excited about it, begged me to come, so I swallowed my pride and agreed.
When we arrived, the receptionist handed me a goody-bag of water, aspirin, and an ice pack. Very funny, guys. As I stood awkwardly in the room in my mom-yoga pants and Star Wars t-shirt, I quickly tied my hoodie around my waist to hide my mom-rolls. I kept expecting Viva to be embarrassed that I was there, but she was standing close, holding my hand, and beaming. Her confidence made me feel confident—for the first time in our relationship, our roles had reversed. The instructor turned the lights off, turned on some mood-music, and we laid on the floor ready to stretch. I wanted to crack a joke about my creaky back, but when I looked over at Viva, her eyes were closed, she was breathing deeply, 100% in the moment. She was in her element, more relaxed as an awake person than I had ever seen her. It was an incredible parenting moment—you know those moments when you see your child as a truly separate entity, becoming a unique person all of their own—and there was Viva, truly herself.
My daughter, this daughter, is the token extrovert in our family. I don’t know how it goes for other moms who homeschool extroverts, but for me it’s tricky and laced with guilt as I wonder how to feed the people-monster in her heart when I personally find extended social experiences exhausting. I’ve never read that book about love languages, but from what I’ve heard, Viva’s would be time-spent together. She’s right smack in the middle of six kids and doesn’t get the attention she would love. I hug her a lot, but she needs more sit-down-and-talk time for sure. And this seemed the perfect opportunity to spend time with her—on her turf, at her pace. As I fumbled and bumbled through the dance moves, I thought she would be embarrassed, but she wasn’t. To see her joy made me realize I need to make more of an effort to do things she likes to do—and these aren’t elaborate things, but simple stuff like go to Starbucks and share some sous vide bites, watch a girly movie, cook and bake together, garden together.
Each of my children has, in a unique way, challenged my comfort level. Each one has drawn me out, stretched me, sharpened me— sometimes with sparks. It’s one of the great mysteries and gifts of parenting. But it requires a degree of listening and perceptiveness, which is difficult when life gets busy. Viva reminded me it’s good to participate— to get down on the ground, roll around a little, play and relax, be a fool for love. It made me ready to listen.