If you've read the blog then you know I've not hidden my thoughts on schooling. While I know it's important, I can't help but wonder if kiddos spend too much time and too many years in school. Besides, I love my girls and enjoy having them around, so sending Ashley to school has been a challenge for me.
I've developed a lot of coping mechanisms for dealing with my abandonment issues: I volunteer in Ashley's class during parties, I look forward to the art projects she brings home and I'm giddy with excitement when she sings me songs she's learned. When I learned she'd have a Christmas recital at a local retirement home, I was overjoyed. For a month we practiced her songs, the arm motions and talked about how fun it would be. Every night at dinnertime Ash would stand on her chair and perform for her family. We counted down the days and eagerly awaited her big performance.
And then the morning came....
....and Midget froze in fear.
What started as normal butterflies quickly turned into whining, begging to not go and finally crocodile tears.
It seemed our Ashley was dealing with a major MAJOR dose of stage-fright.
When we arrived at the retirement home I had to coax her out of the car and when we walked inside she all but refused to stand with her teachers and friends. We talked about commitment and following through when you say you'll do something. I tried very hard to restrain myself from just picking her up and plopping her down in front of the crowd. I don't ever remember dealing with stage-fright so I really had a hard time understanding what Ash was feeling.
Ashley knows our house is a "try it at least one time" kind of establishment, so when her teacher asked her to come up for the first song and try it out, she reluctantly agreed. By this point the tears were flowing, the chin was quivering and she was twirling her hair (a nervous habit) so greatly that I was worried she'd go bald. I was proud of her as she fought her demons and stood in her place during the first song. Her mouth moved to the words, but she barely made any sounds. She did the arm movements, but her eyes were on me the entire time. She never once asked to leave the stage and actually made it through the first song. At the end of the song I motioned that she could come to me if she wanted, and boy did she. Ashley bolted off the stage and folded herself into my lap. She cried and whimpered while I told her over and over again how proud of her I was. We made our way back to the family and a few of the residents stopped her to tell her how beautiful she did. Ash shook their hands and politely introduced herself to each and every person and thanked them for their kind words. The concert continued on, and when they came to the last song and the students prepared for it (red stickers on their noses for Rudolph) I could tell she longed to be up there but knew she'd never do it.
The thing I learned about Ashley at that very second is that the poor girl is in her own head. She's her own worst enemy.
I whispered in her ear "Will you go and sing if I stand behind you?". Ashley eagerly said Yes!" before I even finished the sentence. We made our way back to the front, her teacher quickly gave her a sticker and Ashley belted out Rudolph as loud and as proud as any child up there. I crouched down behind her and tried hard to make myself small. After all these people came to watch and listen to adorable 4 and 5 year old sings and dance, not some 30-something mother of 3.
At the end of the song Ashley made her way back to the family. Again she was greeted with praise and smiles from residents, and again she graciously accepted. I could tell she was proud of herself and when I asked "Are you ready to do it again?", her face fell and she sheepishly asked "Are we signing again, Mommy?"
I'm so proud of her for conquering her stage-fright, even if just for a few songs. I'm learning more and more that even though she's energetic and friendly and happy-go-lucky, there's a bit of a sensitive streak in there.
There's so many reasons to love Ashley and it seems she's just giving me more reasons to cherish her.
Our first attempt at a pre-show picture
A second attempt at a sisterly shot; this time they wanted to hold (make that squeeze) hands
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