As I sat down to write, Meredith told me it’s time for another ‘Meredith Break” for my blog.
As some of you know, I occasionally write Meredith Breaks to illustrate how Meredith’s antics growing up gave me a break from the frenzy of raising and surviving motherhood during the “little” years. Life can get so somber and full sometimes we forget that a simple breather and a smile just might be good for the soul.
Even though I’m enjoying my spring break right now, my mind is being pulled in a million different places. I’m wrapped up in the good and fun kind of busy, but the worried kind of busy, the anxious kind of busy, and the concerned kind of busy as well.
So, a Meredith Break it is….
When my girls were young, I jumped on the “good mother” bandwagon of getting my kids involved in all kinds of activities at a young age. Ready or not.
So, I was so excited when Meredith was old enough to join the toddler ballet class at the local gym where we watched Gillian jump around at gymnastics class every week. I have to say I enjoyed every minute of getting her ready. Pink leotard. Pink tutu. Pink tights. Pink ballet slippers. Blond curly hair pulled back into baby ponytails with pink ribbon. My very own Ballerina Barbie doll.
She was made for this moment. Wish I had taken a picture. Not only because she was adorable, but also because it would be the last time she would dress up as a ballerina.
Meredith, Gillian, and I all happily bounced into the gym that day, ready for this new escapade. With Gillian in hand, I walked Meredith into the ballet room with all the other dancing tots. So proud. After introducing Meredith to the instructor of this chaos, we left Meredith with her fellow ballerinas. Gillian and I found folding chairs right in front of the window that would allow us to watch every delightful and graceful move this sweet girl would demonstrate, not only for us, but for the excited and eager mothers of the all the aspiring dancers dressed in pink. We all graciously smiled at one another, for we all knew. We were the mothers of ballerinas.
Seated like sardines in this small gallery, I proudly peered in the window and searched the room for my little performer in the lively sea of pink. Class had started. I searched the face of every little cherub in that room. Then my eyes darted toward the corners, under the benches, every inch of that room. My smile quickly turned to the face of panic. I asked Gillian if she saw her sister in the room. She quickly affirmed what I noticed. No Meredith.
How did she escape? Was there a trap door somewhere? I had just walked her into the room. I hadn’t left the area. All I did was walk out and sit down. How did she get out? And, where did she go? What do I do? Do I interrupt the class? Do I stand up and make a scene? Did anyone see a little, blonde-headed ballerina running out of class? What kind of mother loses her toddler at ballet class?
As all of these thoughts are running through my head, I hear another mother at the end of the row hesitantly announce that there was an unattended little girl who had just jumped into the foam pit. The foam pit that was NOT part of the ballet class, but was in the big part of the gym. It was very much a temptation for many and participants were warned not to play in that pit.
Another level of panic. Not only did I lose my toddler, but now I had to consider that she might be the delinquent ballerina who was breaking the rules before her first class. Embarrassed, I grabbed Gillian’s hand and squeezed through all the moms whose children were learning to perform their pirouettes to see if it was indeed my adorable sweetie that was causing the ruckus.
As I approached the foam pit, my fear became my reality. There was Meredith, swimming among the ocean of squishy, square blocks about the size of her sweet, little, chubby frame. She was having a blast, unbeknownst to her that she was causing such alarm outside of the pit.
Could anything make this more embarrassing for a momma? Oh yeah… I didn’t mention that I was also pregnant at the time. So, there was no getting my fat bottom or my overgrown belly into that pit to drag her out. And, she had no intention of cutting this fun short. So, I urged Gillian to get in that pit to get her sister out before we were officially in trouble. Thank God for big sisters!
We eventually got Meredith out of the pit and left the gym, my tail between my legs. For I realized I was not the mother of a prima ballerina. I was the mother of a curious rule-breaker who found a way to have her own kind of fun. When I got home, I called the gym and unenrolled Meredith from ballet class, never to return. Lesson learned.
As much as we try to control our littles or even our bigs, we really don’t. We try and keep trying, but sometimes these little souls are meant to swim in the foam instead of forming an arabesque. And, even though it took me years upon years to come to terms with it, in the end, when it’s all said and done, it’s ok. It was ok then, and it’s ok now.
“Children are a gift from the LORD; they are a reward from him.” Psalm 127: 3 (NLT)