The Blessing of Defeat

     

You should never cry in the blistering sun; save that for the cool of the shadows. I saw my daughter welling up with tears and knew it was time to move to the shade. You see, a summer worth of work had ended in a flash of empty handedness and she was crushed. But this isn't really a story about a 10 year old dancer being sad; it is a story about resiliency and determination. It is a story about my Hannah.

We are notoriously late. Friends tease me about it; seems it is my birthright to be fashionably late. This works for casual soirées and coffee dates after work...not so much for church, school or dance competitions. The competition was her goal all summer and now mere days from the start of school it was here, and we were behind schedule. So much so that I agreed to meet my family a short while later to be sure we could get Hannah registered in time for her first dance. In Sean's attempt to help me he grabbed my purse for me and took it with him. In Hannah's attempt to help me she had loaded lots of my usual items in said purse; including my car keys. Sean drove off with kids, and purse, in tow and off went my keys and my only way to get to them. 

Now comes the question, do you turn around for me or head off for Hannah? We chose Hannah. I stand by the decision because it taught her that when push comes to shove in our lives, her needs matter enough to trump someone else's-even mine. That was blessing number one to come from this day filled to the tippy top with frustration.

I found the next blessing in an unexpected place. I found that even now, as a fully grown woman, sometimes the one person who can fix the problem is your mom. Ironic though, considering it was my role as a mom that I was grappling with. My mother came and picked me up after offering to drive me the hour to get to the games. I'm not sure what her plans were for the day as I think I was too wrapped up in my own world to ask, but she silently forfeited them to my need to make good on motherhood.

 

Blessing three happened when I made it to the dance field two brief sets before Hannah's fifth and final dance. I had hated myself for missing the first four with the bright red hate that only a mother who has let her children down can know. As we drove in, knowing I had just barely made it in time for that last dance was like salve on a burn. 

Now for clarity's sake, Hannah was sure all this was her fault, as every 10 year old would be. I had told her otherwise on the phone during a botched encouragement speech, her dad had told her this as well but she would hear none of it. The weight of the day pressed on her and her dances showed it. My skilled dancer turned into a girl with the world on her shoulders, and that weight makes it very difficult to perform the Highland Fling. Competition is tough at Highland Games, and very little communication is offered on where you did well and where to improve. You never know your score, just the placement of the top four dancers-of which Hannah was not a part. This was her crushing blow. Numbers flew through the air as they called girls up for medals; '176'-Hannah's number-was never called.

She took it on the chin and just watched as medals were presented to girl after girl but I saw her shrink; more shrivel, really. It was then we headed for shade so the tears could flow. Hiding behind a judges tent she let herself fall apart. I apologized for the ridiculousness of the start of the day and told her I imagined that is what threw her off her dances, coupled with the nerves of her first ever competition. She agreed. 

While I held her in that shade, blessing four was out of my mouth faster than I had the chance to think about it. I told Hannah I was proud of her, not for medals, but for trying. Proud of her because when the going gets tough so many of us, myself included on many occasions, give up trying. I told her that when you are nearing the end of being in labour with a baby, you want to give up because it is hard...but you must keep on trying. I told her that when you are out of money you can't give up, you have to keep on working to get your needs and the needs of those relying on you met....and I told her that when you feel like a failure as a mother because you missed most of your daughter's dance competition you have to keep on trying to be a good mom-the mom your kids deserve. I also told her when I was her age, I would have quit, and the fact that she didn't told me more about her than a trophy for dancing ever would have. I knew none of this would take the sting of defeat away, but it might ease it for her...and for me. 

The blessings were rolling in hard and fast now; blessing five...Meghan looked up at her and said,' I'm proud of you Hannah...you're the best sister ever and a great dancer. You are a winner to me.' I was speechless. Blessing six, my brave girl got up on the stage for the massed fling and with tear stained cheeks danced her heart out for me, so I would get the chance to see her up there; and she nailed it. Now it was my cheeks that were tear stained.

The last blessing, was watching her eyes light up as her daddy hung a silver Celtic heart around her neck; her medal from him. Not for the best Fling, or Sword or Flora but for being the best Hannah she could be. For just being her and with the silent promise that that was effectively enough to be medal worthy in his eyes. One of the few opportunities in life when we are told we are enough and for that moment we believe it. 

This was not the day I had expected when I woke up, but the important ones seldom are. The blessings cloaked in hurt and frustration had made their way to us all and when it was said and done I was madly in love and bloody well exhausted. Hannah, always try. You will not be successful every time, but you will never win if you never try. And see the blessings in the moments where you miss the mark...they always mean the most and last the longest. 

<3

                                 

 

A Cacophony of Joy

I sit here drenched in the solid sun of a Prairie afternoon, though the Ontario girl in me chose a home littered with trees. The gloriously tall poplar trees that sound like the rustling of my grandmother's yard, give home to a multitude of birds and kiss the summer goodbye with a golden glow. That is the sound that fills my ears today in this exquisite sun. Perfect right? There is one key element still needed in this mix. One I would have missed even a decade ago. The sound of giggling. Full on, wildly joyous laughter. The sound of silliness. This is the sound of the invention of new worlds and the creation of memories. The sound of kids at work. This is the sound of childhood.

Today I am blessed enough to have that laughter surround me. My three children are playing like mad with some friends of theirs; the children of some of our best friends. It is wonderful to watch them plot and plan the best fort, giggle at each others silly faces and laugh their way through the sunny afternoon. 

This was posted by an old friend on Facebook this week and it got me thinking of how many wonderful memories I have from the children of my childhood. Many were from my neighbourhood, but I also went to school in another community so there were also many from school. I am crummy at staying in touch with people...and I hate that part of me. In fact it was another resolution of this year; to tell people I am thinking of them and how much I love them as I think it...not after it is too late. I miss so many of the unique people I was lucky enough to be surrounded by and the sounds in my yard now remind me of afternoons of my own childhood and the many adventures we enjoyed. We as parents often crave a few moments of silence, but today I am revelling in the boisterously beautiful noise. So with out further ado, here is my list of some wonderful JOY sounds. 

A new baby's cry

Three times in my life I have heard the first utterance of a human being's life. That very first cry out to the world saying 'at long last I am here' is like no other sound and one that has been written on my soul in indelible ink. Many of the cries a baby makes in its early years can be exasperating but that first one...is precious.

A purring cat

I had the best cat ever growing up; her name was Sweet-pea. She was a tiny cat with a big heart and an even bigger purr. Each night she slept with me and the sound of her purring was the most simple and joyful lullaby. Knowing she was as at peace with me as I was with her was purr-fection....

The sound of a child praying 

I have a hard time praying sometimes, because I get caught up in the words. Grownups worry about what words they should say to the Divine, not wanting to say the wrong thing; but not kids. Kids just say whatever is on their hearts and that is the epitome of unabashed praying. That is what God wants and what I let my pride get in the way of. That is real respect for the Divine...that is joyful love.

The sound of the orchestra warming up before a show

I attended a lot of theatre as a child, it was one of my favourite things. Musicals, opera, ballet, performance theatre... I loved it all and it all started with the orchestral warm up. The orchestra pit would come to life and a special electricity would fill the room. I remember saying to my Godmother (one of my favourite people in the world) that I knew the song they were playing; feeling quite pleased with how cultured I was...it was a number of years before I understood why she dissolved in laughter. Of course it was just the warm up but it was a sound I knew and loved...and was totally charged with joy for me.

That perfect song that allows you to time travel

Some songs are veritable DeLoreans. I can be in the parking lot of my high school everytime I hear 'Killing Me Softly' by the Fugees. I can be  back at camp every time I hear 'Father and Son' by Cat Stevens or 'Hello Again' by Neil Diamond. I can be driving with my mom when I hear 'Prisoner of Love' by Perry Como or snuggled on my Uncle Doug's lap every time I hear 'Pussy Willows Cattails' by Gordon Lightfoot; and I love going back to all these places for a re-visit. There are many more songs that allow a trip back, though not every place is a pleasant memory. Either way-even the sad ones are precious to me and I find an odd joy in every last one.

The song from the original Super Mario Bros 

I was never lucky enough to have an NES, but my bestie Kathy had one. We spent hours sitting in her basement playing in the dark with the most comfortable corduroy pillows ever. That sound...come on...you know the song I mean...dum, dum, dum, da, dum, da, dum...da, da, da, dum, da, dum, dum, da, dum, dum....sorry got caught up. Anyhow, that song sounds like time with her. It sounds like a challenge...it sounds like my whole generation. I never did rescue the princess...but it is still a bucket list item.

Thunder

I adore a big thunder storm. I love the flashes of light and the house shaking booms. It is loud as can be and nothing is better as far as sounds to fall asleep to. A good snuggle from my husband during a thunderstorm and truth be told there isn't much more I could ask for in life.

These are just a few things I love to hear...among many. What are your most joyous sounds? What noisy love do you crave in your life? 

❤ Cat