It's Painful Sometimes

Around this time, every year, I have spent a certain amount of time blogging about my role as an Irish Dance Mom.  This year, my Irish dancer is in college - and we are not primping curls, doctoring makeup, or ensuring that blinged out costumes smell ok and are ready to be taken on stage.

And...I miss it.  I have missed driving to dance classes multiple times every week; I have missed communing with other dance moms, kvetching about the amount of time we spend sitting and waiting while our kids dance their hearts out through hours and hours of classes.  Mostly though, I have missed the time in the car back and forth to class, during which my dancer and I grapple with the serious issues of friends and priorities and classes that are driving her nuts.  I miss the intense connection with a driven adolescent, who was willing to/skilled at talking through the issues that she faced daily.

Today, I took a half day off - hoping to recreate this closeness before she goes back to college, spring break over and done.  We lunched at the Stray Cat restaurant, and while we were eating appetizers, I watched Rebecca recoil during our conversation; and stepping outside of myself in the moment, I listened to myself proselytize in full lecture mode - what are your plans, classes, money? How will you do this, college student?

What the hell?  Rebecca's tone changed, her body language went from open to crossed arms and sideways posture (I read this as... not listening to you).  And, while I was busy trying to recreate the past, this young one was processing and moving forward with complex issues around her way of life and her choices.  There is nothing as eye-opening as your 18 year old reminding you that you are not in control of her life choices, and subtly, sending the message about how arrogant you are to even consider that that is a possibility.

Ugh - humility - it sucks, but it is powerful in reminding me of my place.  While I seek to be an educational leader on a broader scale - my role as parent keeps me real and grounded in the experience of a generation much younger than mine.  It's painful sometimes.   I miss those days when our most complex decision was  around what Irish Dance Costume will be worn in the DC Parade and whether my dancer would be wearing hard shoes or soft shoes as she danced down Constitution Avenue. 

Regardless, my role is support - I've got the backpack with a change of everything (shoes, wig, clothes, mascara) in it.