We couldn't attend our granddaughter's violin recital in Chicago. First, we didn't know about it; Second, it was a simple recital that the teacher holds every six months--a chance for each of her students to polish a piece for an audience. It's another measurement but not a milestone.
We've been before, and felt lucky to hear our little Margo play the violin. After the recital, we get the next best thing: a video of her entire performance! The venue is the same church chapel as it always is. But there is something strangely different this time.
Margo is wearing shorts, a t-shirt and flip flops. Last time she wore recital clothes. A dress.
My first and worst reaction would be to ask "Where's the dress code?"
But I've learned to stop, drop, and roll, before spreading the critical fire.
I see and enjoy the moment solely for what it is--a little girl's accomplishment on her violin.
I used to do the same thing when I saw my grandson's long, unbrushed, hair. I'd suggest a haircut or offer to comb his hair. I've learned.
No more alienation.
My family is trying to help me be better. The example below is evidence of the work I still need.
A phone call from my daughter's older sister, "Mom, it's not a big deal, but I want to prepare you so you won't over react."
Dear heaven, what has happened. I remain calm as I learn that a younger daughter got a significant piercing in her upper ear.
I thank the informant and vow to do better than my reputation that required the warning phone call.
When I see the piercing, I am calm. "How did you know? Did _______tell you?" My daughter asks.
"No she didn't tell me."
"Then how did you know?"
She was so persistent, and I couldnn't lie.
She understood and appreciated her older sister's motive.
I did well.
Until...
The daughter with the new piercing sits on her porch steps. Her little one jumps on her back and nicks the top of her ear. The piercing is still tender. She yelps.
I blow all the emotional credit I earned by not making a big deal of the piercing the first time, when I say, "If you didn't have that piercing it wouldn't have hurt."
Weak me.
I am a mother.
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