Sunday, December 16, 2012


It is Nutcracker season.  For dancers, that means constant rehearsals, moving sets and props, hanging lights, preparing and performing.  It is an exciting and exhausting time.  For parents, it means fixing costumes, helping with make-up, providing portable and healthy meals, but mostly, praying--praying that our child will be happy with their performance.  Praying that they will be able to portray the emotion of the dance; they have worked so many hours to perfect it so the audience won't be distracted by sub-par dancing.

Our nation has had a horrible day; a day everyone would rather have never happened.  All of us have shed tears and felt the heartbreak of the event.  Most of us gathered our children around us to read books, watch a movie or otherwise have them close.  Many of us felt the innate desire to never leave the house ever again and take other extreme steps to protect our families.  

But is was opening night of The Nutcracker.  Our children were tasked with taking our minds off of tragedy.
  In the midst of the darkness, they were asked to provide light.

You know, very often I have wished my son was a mediocre player on his junior high basketball team.  It is unspeakably difficult to watch him grow from 500 miles away.  But I can see the good he is doing.

Here I am trying to keep up on laundry, 
but my son is bring beauty to the world.  

This is the joy of mothering.  I get to be a part of growing someone better.

1 comment:

  1. hello emily, I forgot for a minute what a tremendous writer you are. we should hang out soon.