A little over a week ago, Carl’s grandfather died. He had a full and wonderful 99 years. We waited until that weekend to tell the girls because we weren’t sure how they would react. Amy seemed a bit sad, mainly from understanding how Carl was feeling and because she could relate to how she loves her grandparents. Sarah didn’t seem sad, though she probably remembers her Great Grandpa H more than Amy does. Sarah had recently taken a picture of him to her school for Veterans Day.
This past week had three performances. The girls had their first piano recital. It was wonderful. Sarah paused in the middle to say hi to her teacher and then again to comment on her teacher’s polka dot tights. Amy played beautifully, including figuring out how to reach the pedal, stretching her leg long. The church had a feature that I wish all performance places had. It was a “cry room” where you could go with a kid and they could talk or cry or whatever but not be heard. Meanwhile, there was a window and speakers so the parents could still hear and see what was happening in the main area. Sarah spent some of her time in the cry room playing while another mom was in there with her kid. I love what a supportive and relaxed framework their teacher creates for all aspects of the piano experience. Neither girl was at all nervous about the recital.
Monday night Sarah had her school Christmas program. In contrast to last year, this year we could see her and hear everything. Sarah opened the evening by saying, “Welcome to our play.” During rehearsal she first asked if everyone could hear her. Apparently everyone found this funny. I wish she had said that for the actual performance as well because her line got lost in the general noise, while serving to quiet everyone for the next person’s line. Still, it is pretty amazing that she was up on stage and speaking to a gym packed full of people, with poise and clarity. For many of the songs she seemed to be lost in the sights and sounds, standing on stage but not actually singing. We realized that next year we should find out what songs will be sung so we can practice with her a million times. When it was time to sing “Silent Night,” which she has been singing for years, she easily and fully participated. One other moment of note was on our walk to her performance. Amy complimented Sarah’s dress and Sarah responded, “thanks! I got it at A Child’s Wardrobe.”
Tuesday night Amy had her school’s Winter Concert. The feel of the two school programs is so different. Both are wonderful, but Sarah’s is definitely more of a traditional and religious program while Amy’s is more of a party. The kids have dance moves for all of the pieces and some come in costume. It was wonderful watching Amy sing and dance fully and joyfully. Amy’s class sang three songs: one for Christmas, one for Chanukah, and one for Kwanzaa.
Wednesday morning started dark and early (5:40) as all school mornings do in these winter months. After the two previous late nights, it was not an easy morning, to put it mildly. The only good that came from it was talking with Carl about it, after feeling like I handled it abominably (trying to forcefully change a screaming fighting Sarah out of her pajamas and screaming at her to go have breakfast). He commented that she wasn’t really awake yet during those moments. That was a revelation. I am a morning person and a person who tends to wake easily at any time, especially when there is a schedule deadline to meet so I am boosted by adrenaline. Carl tends to struggle more to fully wake up, so he can relate to Sarah. I somehow thought that because her eyes were open and she was talking she was awake. Realizing that I was wrong was so helpful. Eye-opening, if you will. It changes how I will approach difficult mornings in the future, focusing more on what I could do to actually wake her fully.
What I didn’t realized until later in the day Wednesday was that Sarah and I were both getting colds, which may have contributed to our rough morning. Or maybe our rough morning predisposed us to colds. I honestly thought our sore throats might have been due to our yelling. Thursday she needed to stay home from school. If she hadn’t then I would have gone to work, but as it was I slept for most of the day. We are both on the mend, but such things can take a while. I can’t give Sarah some of the go-to decongestants or cough-suppressants because they lower the seizure threshold. She was fine for school on Friday, though, and it was the easiest morning we have had in a while.
I have had a few fleeting moments where I have hope for my own ability to change. I have been able to remind myself ahead of time at least twice that it is actually ok if we are late to something or later than I planned and that it is better to be late than yell at my loved ones. It matters to notice this ahead of time, which somehow seems funny as it relates to lateness. I have also had a small handful of times when I normally would tighten against Sarah’s temper and upset, but I have instead been able to feel compassion and soften towards her. This isn’t the whole ball game by a long shot, but it is a start. Or it is a moment. Hopefully I can have more such moments. With the Alexander Technique I am fully aware that I may need to remind myself of something, like not tensing my neck, 60 times a minute. I think perhaps with Sarah and school mornings I need to remind myself 60 times a minute that it is ok to be late or miss the bus for almost all mornings.
Lots of love to all of you. May you be awake if your eyes are open.
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