I long for each of my kids to break free.  To grasp with firm, confident hands all they’ve been working, stretching, and reaching toward.

But, I confess, sometimes my role in helping the little birds spread their wings makes me tired.

This month, dance plum wore me out.

I’m tired of competitions and conventions.

I’m tired of racing to fit classes and rehearsals into the already packed schedule.

I’m tired of tacking, and tying, and taping costumes.

I’m tired of early morning conversations about eyelash glue and whether I pull too much when I do her hair.

And I’m tired of being a whiner-pants about all those things.

So I wonder.

Is it too much?

Too much time?  Too much money?

Am I teaching my child to be active?  Or just way too busy?

But then comes that moment.

That break free moment.

That grasp-it moment.

When her hard work pays off, and my baby soars.

And for a while, I’m not tired, and I don’t wonder any more.

Because all I’m capable of doing is sitting there, stunned, remembering this same, timid child who was 6 years old just two minutes ago.

And I’m so grateful for her perseverance and her grace and the joy of being her mama.

And I whisper,

That’s it!  Fly.  Fly, beautiful baby.  Fly.

And so she does.

And, because of her, so do I.

Isn’t that the funny thing?  I sit and think of my hard work and exhaustion.  I think I’m doing it all to nudge them closer to flying.  But I’m wrong.

The truth is that my heart lives and breathes because of her.  Because of all five of them.

And they are the ones who teach me how to soar.

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