It wasn't until I really got into writing again, through blogging, that I realized how many different ways a story can be told. I'll start composing something in my head and over the course of a couple days of reflecting, the story will go in all different directions, until I finally settle on the best one. It's usually the one that makes my sappy heart go thump the most, or the one that I know my readers will appreciate the most.
And then there are those really special moments in my life, that I know I will never be able to tell all the story or tell it in a way that you will ever understand the feelings in my heart completely. In those moments, I really don't even know where to start or stop or cry or shout. As today came to an end, after a big day centered around Daphne's ballet recital, I realized that although I definitely wanted and needed to do a blog post -- it was going to be one of those moments, where I wouldn't even know where to start...
I could focus on how in the Fall of 2006, it was sort of a big decision to decide to enroll Daphne in a class 40 minutes away --and an even harder a decision to keep her there after Ruby was born. But how it was all worth it and more because she got to dance with her cousin Elsa for 2 whole years of classes. And how they have the sweetest little friendship because of it.
I could tell you all about her traumatic experience last year when I had not anticipated at all how scared she would be of going through with the recital. And how I didn't get to see the rehearsal or either of the performances because I was allowed backstage with her, helping her overcome her fears and tears. She made it on stage all three times (barely) and loved it in the end.
I could tell you about Ms. Patty, Daphne and Elsa's teacher for the past two years and how Jill and I have come to respect her so much. I would describe how she started this dance studio; probably a life-long dream of hers and how many hours are put into making it run unbelievably smooth for all of us parents. A very talented dancer herself, she teaches all the youngest kids herself, wanting to make sure that they have the best first experience with dance as possible. And how she patiently and lovingly "guided" a very squirrely (barely three) Daphne - all without raising a voice. Then there were those days "post-Ruby", that I barely got Daphne there on time, and how a couple times, Patty came to my rescue without even asking; putting on Daphne's shoes and escorting her into class for me. Lastly, I would tell you that Jill and I guess frequently about her age, because we know she's a little older than us - but you wouldn't know it. You wouldn't believe how darn cute she is...fit, petite and cute as a bug. On Friday mornings we are always wishing we looked as put together as Ms. Patty.
Then there's Daphne as a dancer. There's not a lot of ballet skill there yet, but oh has she grown. And can I tell you that it was my proudest moment when she finally learned how to skip last year at 3 1/2 years of age. It took almost the whole year of class before she finally mastered it. Elsa did around the same time too. Jill and I both had the experience of telling people this exciting news, only to be greeted with half-hearted "oh, that's great" remarks and we were like, "no, this is really huge and don't take this little skipping thing for granted". My husband a veteran elementary pe teacher can attest to having 3rd graders unable to do this. And today, we just had her recital and there was no tears this year!! She didn't even pick her nose during the performance this year. Jokes aside -- I couldn't have been more proud of her today!
All those crazy Friday mornings of readying three girls for a 40 minute drive to ballet class and back again...yes, I'd do it again.
So, you see there's lots of angles to this ballet story. And you may not even care about this lengthy and wordy post. But, like I said above, some stories are so overflowing with emotion, that it is best that I preserve them for my own reflection and enjoyment.
But Jill, if you are still reading, the final aspect of this story is meant for you alone:
My dearest friend,
Two years ago we embarked on this ballet sort of journey. And back then I looked at it as something for our girls. You know the friendship that we were fostering by enrolling them together and the fact that our little girls were doing ballet. Yes, our dream of having our own little ballerinas.
I never realized how much our friendship would grow too. Last year, we sat and watched the girls dance, giggle, goof off etc. and kept Maisie (just a one year old back then) busy. In the meantime, I watched your belly grow each week and I often came over to your house afterward for more girl time. This year, we mastered the drop the girls off and drive to Starbucks routine. And although we never had enough time to talk, it was often the frosting on my week and I looked forward to it whole-heartedly.
And then there were the two performances - last years and this years. We realized how much work there was in being the mom of a performer...the pictures, the rehearsals, the costumes, the big day, the after parties. What would I have done without you for questions and help? And mostly, I loved having you there to understand along with me how very special these days were. We patted each other on the back and said "Good job Mommy!"
I don't think we'll be doing this next year again...and I'm sad. This has been more special than any regular "play-date" that we could set up or the regular family gathering. I will always remember these past two years...Ballet to me, has been most blessedly, about getting to know you.
I love you, and thank you for keeping Daphne overnight tonight to celebrate.
Stefanie
