Falling Down

               
I don't brag on my children often enough. Mostly because it's obnoxious and no one cares. But today, in the midst of of horrible, terrible, no-good, very bad week; I'm going to brag on my kids.

My youngest daughter is a gymnast. Gymnastics is her life. Four days a week, I pick her up from school and I drive her straight to the gym. She puts up her hair and eats a snack on the way there. She practices for 3-3.5 hours depending on the day. She comes home, eats dinner, does homework and goes to bed.

It is so physically demanding. There are some days that she takes a hot shower and I message the knots out of her back and shoulders. I rub her down with Bengay. Some days she comes home with rips on the palms of her hands. She has 5 right now. Sometimes, when gymnasts work on bars, the skin on their palms literally just rips open and bleeds.
                                                 
We wash them, put antibiotics on them and do hot tea compresses. Still, she practices bars.

When she broke her finger in July, the doctor told her that she had to stay off her hand for 10 weeks and she was devastated. She could not train on vault, bars or do any tumbling. She went to practice anyway- conditioned to keep her muscles strong and did what she could. Once she was cleared, she has worked hard to play catch up. She just moved up levels and had new skills to master. Bars have been a challenge for her. She fell from the high bar quite a few times. She's doing private lessons now just for bars. She does gymnastics 13 hours a week.

You NEVER hear her complain. NEVER. She loves it, would do 7 days a week if she could. In addition to her grueling training schedule she somehow manages to pull straight A's. I don't understand how she does it. I tease her when she brings home her grades. "Really? You only got a 102 on this test? You should have gotten a 105! How are you ever going to get in college with grades like these?"

This past weekend, she had a competition. She is not competing in bars right now, which means she is taking a 0 in that event. There are 4 events - it is a quarter of the score. So, she knows by default her overall ranking is going to low or last. You have to get a near perfect scores in all other events.

She went out there and tried her very best. I thought she did great. She's really improved and I was crazy proud of her. Her scores were good, but not fantastic. When they did awards, she didn't place in any events (which she is not used to). When they ranked over all, she was in last place. The very last slot.

We watched her standing there up there, which her chest out and her chin up but with a look of humiliation and defeat. I could feel my heart sink into my stomach.

We met up with her afterward, and she was silent. She is not a crier when she gets upset. She gets angry. We sat down in the car and no one said anything for a while. At last, I said, "I thought you did really good. I'm proud of you."
She put her head down and talked quietly, "You have to say that because you're my mom. I let my team down. I'm not any good."
                                  
"That's not true! You just moved up, you're playing catch up from your injury. You're a good gymnast. You have a lot more competitions."
"Just don't talk, mom," she yelled. Then, she proceeded to stare out the window listlessly. I was emotionally disturbed.

We picked up Jimmy Johns for dinner (she LOVES Jimmy Johns) and went home. I let her be. She ate, took a shower and got into her pajamas. Later, she came into my room. She was hurting. She climbed into bed with me.
"How are you doing, baby?"
"I'm okay."
"Wanna watch your videos from the competition?"
She shrugged. "Sure."
We watched them and was so hard on herself. "I bent my leg here, didn't land that good, that dismount is terrible!"
I closed my computer and she sighed, "I'm going to have to work on this, this, this, and this...."
My heart ached. "There are many gymnasts who will never know what it's like to stand at the top podium. You have been very lucky. You've had a lot of challenges this season. Keep going. You can do it!"
I don't know if she was convinced but she gave me a half hug and went to bed. Then when practice rolled around the following week, she walked into the gym confidently. To push herself harder, to do better, to try again.

I am so impressed by her. By her ability to get physically, mentally and emotionally beat up regularly and just keep moving. She is strong as hell. She is fierce. I love her so much. I know before long she will be swinging from that top bar like it's nothing. I'm going to be cheering her on from the stands!

It's not been a better week for my 12 year old. She is all about music and band. In between gymnastics runs, I am shuttling her home from band practice. She is always playing her flute. She has been preparing for all-county auditions. I found myself last week humming the audition solo. That's how much I hear it. I've had to institute a no-flute playing policy in the car. It sounds good but it so LOUD. "Can I just finger the keys then?" she asked.

When she is not playing the flute, I have to hear about the flute. About how much she wants a new piccolo, about the new classical music piece she's discovered. She has grown very fond of classical music and orchestras. I'll go into her bedroom in the evening and she'll be on the floor with paper's all around her and headphones shoved in her ears. "Whatcha doing?"
She'll look up at me and say, "Just finishing homework and listening to some Bach."
Not something you would expect to come out of a seventh grader.

The audition day came around and she cried afterward and told me she bombed it. She over exaggerates, so I wasn't sure. "Let's just wait and see," I told her. That pacified her.

I found out before she did and I locked myself in my bathroom and had a good cry for 1/2 an hour. I knew she would be devastated. The results were to be posted at school right before lunch so I brought a pizza and took it to school to have lunch with her that day. I sat at the back of the cafeteria with a knot in my stomach, waiting. She walked through the door with tears streaming down her face. I pulled her out into the hallway and she collapsed into me. I had to hold her up as she sobbed. She is my crier. I think to say she was devastated is an understatement. We stayed out there for what seemed like a long time. I didn't say anything. I just let her cry. Then I told her to go into the bathroom and wash off her face. We went in to eat our pizza.

She didn't say much, she pouted and took small bites. She told me how disappointed she was and that she was embarrassed. What can you say? I don't tell my kids that it's okay. Because it wasn't okay. It was painful. "You'll get through this. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, or next week but eventually you will. You just had a bad audition - that doesn't mean that you're a bad musician. Heck! Micheal Jordan was cut from his high school basketball team."
"Can you please take me home?" she asked.
"Yes." I did, I signed her out. She would have been worthless at school the rest of the day, anyway.

We drove home in silence. She stared out the window, despondent and wiped tears from her cheeks. I was dying inside.

She went up to her room for a while and then came out in her pajamas. She came in and sat on the edge of my bed. She was puffy and looked completely empty. "I just want to go to sleep."
"You can, baby. Lay down."

She slept for a while. I woke her up to tell her I was leaving to pick up her sister and take her to gymnastics. "Don't leave me. Can I come with you?"

We dropped off her sister and then she asked if we could got to Starbucks. "I need chocolate and caffeine."
"Me too! This week has been horrible. It's been like shitty McShitShit."
"Yea! Today sucks. It's the worst EVER!"
We chuckled. It really has been terrible.

She had dance that evening and even though she REALLY didn't want to go, she put on her tights and leotard and went. She was in better spirits when I picked her up. She chatted excitedly about a new dance she learned and her friends.

I went into her room before bed that night and I laid down next to her and played with her hair.
"How are you doing?"
"I'm okay."
"You ready for school tomorrow?"
"I guess."
"You will get through this. You just had a bad audition, not a bad life. You walk into school tomorrow with your head held high and if anyone tells you that they feel bad for you-you smile back and them and you tell them "Don't." You turn your disappointment into hunger-to do better and to work harder. Be strong, and be fierce!"
She smiled, "I'm going to do it."
"And I know it's super hard but be happy for the people who did get in. It's good juju."
"Like juju on that beat?"
Then she said something that I did not expect. "I'm going to go to the concert and cheer them on."
I was like, Whoa! You don't need to do that. That's going a little overboard.
"Are you sure you want to do that?"
"Yes. I just had a bad audition but a lot of my friends did get in and I want to watch them perform and support them."
THAT- ladies and gentleman- is what you call a class act. She may be my crier but she is STRONG and above everything else, she is kind. I love this child so much.
Then, she added, "Can we bring cute high school band boy with us? He might want to go too."
Cute high school band boys make everything better.

The next day, when I pulled in front of the school, I gave her a big smile. "Hold your head high and BE FIERCE!" She gave me a smirk and a nod.

It is so hard to see your kids struggle. To see them deal with defeat, disappointment, heart-break, self-doubt; to know that there is nothing you can do to take it away. When they were babies I thought it was HARD. The sleepless nights, the monotony of life. But this is what is REALLY hard - the helplessness of being a parent of older children. To not be able to fix and take away their pain... and it is only going to get harder from here.

This is life. Life is full of loss and disappointment. I mean, get used to the taste of shit because life will serve you one shit sandwich after the other -guaranteed! They have to go through these times to grow as people, to learn to cope, to develop a sense of humor and mild depression like everyone else. You can't appreciate the good times without the bad.

It is easy to be proud of your children when they are doing well. When they bring home awards, and accolades and straight A's. It's easy to be proud when they are winning. I am proud of them always. Even when they are losing, even when they are last last place. To see them fall down but pick themselves up and keep marching forward, to watch them walk through their losses and disappointments with the commitment to do better and not give up, to smile even when things seem bleak - THAT is a reason to brag and be proud. Damnit! I am.

I love these girls and can't wait to see what they'll do next.