So Our Kid is That Kid...

A week ago today, Aubrey Kate woke up filled to overflowing with stories about the Christmas Show at school the next day.  Up until that point, she'd mentioned approximately zippo about it.  I'd asked a couple of questions which had been met with dodging and as little information as possible but largely, I was clueless. 

That all changed Thursday morning.

Rhys and I were already on the couch snuggled up while he drank his morning milk.  Aubrey Kate came in from her room and snuggled up next to me.  

And totally lost it.

The show was "The Christmas Train" so the kids were wearing train conductor's hats and bandannas.  That alone was enough to push her over the edge.  Her tactile struggles with clothing are well documented.  As is her stubborn streak.  Put a hat and bandanna (something worn on her neck which is the cardinal sin of clothing) add in being told she has to do something (wear the costume and sing in the show) and you get disaster.  

After her breakdown, I called the school.  I was frustrated with myself for not pushing her for answers before now.  Had we known, we could have been discussing this with her and helping her process the experience in advance.  I kicked myself for not walking her to the sanctuary and going through the show with her.  Showing her where Daddy and I would be sitting.  Disappointed I had not  taken the time to speak with the music teacher about her issues and how we could work on a solution together.

Look, I don't want to be the helicopter parent swooping in to solve all of my kids issues for the rest of their lives.  But she's four.  And incredibly intimidated by "new."  

Being in a show with a hat, bandanna and having no choice about it are all "new."

The teacher was precious and agreed to work with Aubrey Kate the next day.  I offered her a reward if she would at least wear the hat.  The bandanna was never gonna happen.  Not worth the struggle.  Or the expense of the type of toy she's require for such an act.  

After much talking all day and all night, I thought she was feeling better.  She wasn't excited, for sure, but she seemed okay.  I knew it was gonna go one of two ways:  She was either gonna pout the whole time because she was forced to wear the hat or she would be excited and sing out like the super star she is at home.

As she walked in the room, I knew which option we had selected.

Yep.  That's her.  Hand in her mouth, pouting.  

And there she was.  Smack front and center of the program.  I suspect the teacher put her there because A) she's short and B) she's a total ham most of the time.  

She never sang a single note.  She started crying from the very beginning and never stopped.  

As we sat there, with the other parents in her class, we thought maybe she'd get comfortable.  They sang a zillion songs.  Surely she would calm down eventually, right?

Wrong.

The parents gave us those looks of sympathy.  They were mostly watching their own kids...AS THEY SHOULD...but mine was in the frame of every shot.  Sobbing.  

As the show went on, I started to cry.  Not because I was angry or disappointed in her but because I was SAD for her.  I know she knew all the songs.  Could sing them at the top of her lungs.  And would be beautiful doing so.  But for some reason, she was bawling.

After the show, we went down to her classroom for milk and cookies.  When she saw me, she came running towards me and collapsed.  I sat down on the floor and snuggled her in my lap while she cried.  I whispered in her ear how much I loved her, how beautiful she was, how much God loved her and how blessed we were to have her as our little miracle daughter.  Eventually she calmed down enough to go get a cookie.  

Her face was still red and swollen but she powered through to eat that Christmas cookie.

After cookies, she perked up some.  Took a few pictures with Daddy and me.  

After school, she asked me, "Did I do good, Momma?"  And my heart broke.  I told her again how much I loved her and no matter what, I was so proud to have her as my daughter.  But, Baby, you didn't sing at all.

"I know.  I didn't want to do the competition without you."

(Competition = show, because Daddy's band goes to competitions to perform so clearly, that's what her show was)

"Is that why you were crying?"

"Um, yes!  I wanted to be with you!"

Honestly, I don't know if that's the truth or if she didn't like doing something that wasn't her idea but that's the reason she gave.  Regardless, my heart breaks for her.  

She doesn't need to DO anything for me to love and adore her.  She could never sing a note anywhere other than our living room and I would think she was THE BEST EVER.  That's not why my heart breaks for her.

It breaks because life is full of chances to chose to do big things.  Things out of our usual.  Things not exactly comfortable and certainly a little scary.  Her little spirit is so fearful and cautious.  She is doubtful of everyone and everything.  

I pray she doesn't spend her entire life being fearful.  I pray she can learn to trust in our Father.  She is confident of our love for her but that's not enough.  A human being, even an adoring borderline helicopter momma, can't be enough to give her the courage she will need for The Big Things.  

And I pray I will be the mother courageous enough to introduce her to The Big Things.  

Happily, the rest of the kids in the show were amazing.  I didn't see anyone else bawling.  A couple dodged their bandannas too.  Even one little girl stood up to the whole thing and went on without the hat too.  Only my kid was That Kid.  Every show has one and if it has to be us, so be it.  

We'll just continue to enjoy endless rounds of "I'm a Little Angel" from the comfort of our living room.