Tag Archives: Growing Up

We Need To Let Our Children Dance

May 20, 2014Faith, Life, Love, Parenthood, WritingDancing, Daughters, Growing Up, Keep Her Heart Pure, Motherhood, Parenthood, Time Moves Too FastChristina Marie

As I watch my daughter dance barefoot around the living room my heart rate quickens and soon all the dreams of her future flashed within my mind. Her last day of High School when I kiss her forehead and shed a tear. If she chooses college that too will be another educational milestone skyrocketing her further into the sky. From there, will she wed? Will she become a mother? The possibilities, for both of my children, are tremendously unlimited.

Layla, my firstborn daughter, has a tender nature. The greatest goal she has in life is to love everyone she can possibly wrangle into a friendship. Eager, inquisitive – she is the person taking initiative, walking up to a stranger bravely and, with a smile, she coerces even the shyest of playmates into friendship.

Thinking about her, watching her move freely atop the cool tile floor, intentionally my mind drifted back into reality so that I could, once more with full intent, watch my sweet blue-eyed Lebanese American princess get her groove on.

Time stubbornly marches forward; babies grow, learn to walk and speak and dance, and soon they fly into the world. I am hesitatingly enamored with the notion that I will get to watch my babies grow into beautiful, intelligent young women… But slowly, time, can we make a deal?

Let her stay young. Fresh-faced, innocent. Layla to dance truly like it does not matter who is watching. Jemma, stark-raving naked running like a kitty-cat in the back yard… Their precious livelihood is a marvel to me, and lately, my heart has been quietly observing and taking in this moment. Right now. When she is five and baby sister is just two-and-a-half.

I can remember my childhood with an accuracy that at times shocks even my dad. Details of interpersonal relationships have always held specific importance to me: The way my mom held my hand while we were driving, or the way my dad would always stick out that one long finger just to jab me in the side because he knew it always made me buckle (he STILL does it to this day, and I STILL always collapse onto the floor merely to get away from that stinking tickle finger!) Everything my parents did, whether they knew I was looking or not, surely made an impact on their children. We all have traits we can say mirror our parents’ exactly, so obviously some sort of psychological mechanism occurs that make us learn from our parental examples.

What occurred to me is that the memories I have from even early on, well, my children are at THAT age – when their memories develop and they start to form an opinion about the ways of the world. Everything I do, say, feel, and teach them (inadvertently or intentionally) matters TREMENDOUSLY.

I thought about that as she was dancing and I wondered, has she watched me dance? Does she see me move carefree and gracefully across the floor on my tippy-toes? Does she see in me the things that teach her what a lady should do, and is my example what she really needs? Mothers want to influence their daughters especially – to have tenderness, faith, compassion, love, grace, patience, virtue, honesty, and to pursue one’s passions… At least, these are the goals I have set for myself – but am I doing it right?

Right before I began recording her dance, she sat beside me and told me that dancing makes her heart feel happy. That her feet can even get tired but her spirit tells her she has to dance. It makes her feel alive, she said, and in her exact words, “I am so into this right now”. I about cried listening to her freely tell me what it felt like – the self-awareness and understanding of her feelings in that moment astounds me – and then she proceeded to show me, with her moves, exactly how those feelings translate into rhythm. It was… breathtaking, really, the whole sequence from emotional insights to the final tip-toed swirl.

You see, the thing is, time moves too fast – she will grow before I know it, and soon her little sister will be one who is five. The thing is, I am not the world’s best mom, and she will watch me make mistakes, but hopefully I will model forgiveness, grace, and unconditional love so perhaps they learn that from me, too. The thing is… This world is going to push my children to grow up.

From the media, to “drama” in the primary classroom between all the five-year-old girls, to the way I run my household. From the signs and billboards she soaks in that dot along the freeway, to the subtle sexually suggestive or otherwise negative advertising she will catch now and then on television. She will be force-fed propaganda and idealisms that strive to make her believe in accordance with mainstream trends in a world where freedoms are no longer free. She will be pressured to look a certain way; perfect hair, perfect teeth… Or else if she doesn’t, society will inform her both subtly and obviously that she is not good enough because her physical form is not an objectified, unrealistic standard.

Today, my big five-year-old daughter danced in the living room. Without a care in the world.

A thousand moments flashed before my eyes, but then I remembered that I, too, can live like a free, purposeful child whose radiance shines from within. Instead of dread the changes ahead, let me as her mother simply do my part to be present for her. To kiss wa-wa’s, explain about why people love each other, talk about God and the stars and why the grass is green, read bedtime stories and write short stories with brave characters named Layla and Jemma. I am the master fort carpenter, the bird-feeder filler as they eagerly await the chance to hand me up handfuls of birdseed. I am the chopper of their fruit plate, the scooper of ice-cream, the reluctant insisting that they eat their broccoli. That is my job. To be HERE. Now. Because soon she won’t be my dancing blue-eyed princess anymore. And her little sister will not be far behind…

I say, let them dance. Encourage the dancing. And when they do, stop, because in that moment, nothing else but her there, twirling with that smile that beckons, “just watch me one more minute, Mama,” will be the most important thing in the world to you.

When my children will finally know how much I love them.

Every person experiences it when the second arrives. It happens in an instant. Everything anyone ever told you before that moment will just not do it justice to when you feel it – truly experience it – for yourself: When we became parents, we finally, absolutely understood about unconditional love. The blossoming of a soul happens in the blink of an eye, from one final push to the first breathe of a brand new life; we change from merely grown-up children into parents – we see life in an entirely different light. The light of our children.

When it happened for me, nearly five years ago now, I was 24. Many people whispered about the joys of parenthood, and the challenges that would accompany them. From those conversations, I recognized it would surely be love, but quite honestly, nobody is ever prepared… The love overtakes you. It truly does.

Now, I am edging closer to 30 than I would like, and Layla has a sister in the throes of the wonderful, dreaded two’s, and together, they hold my heart in their small effectual mouths – Jemma screams because she wants more candy, and big sissy tattles on her, as if I did not know what drama was unfolding already she feels it her duty to inform the authorities. I am mother; Jury, Judge, and Pardoner. I am the see’er of see’ers, the do’er of do’ers, and the final axe to the grindstone. Reverse the rolls, however, and who are my children to me? My greatest reward, the most tenacious challenge, and the purest example of God I have ever known…

I am, in all ways, entirely, and absolutely in love with my children – I never knew love could be so deep…

Which inevitably speaks to the reality that my daughters, my precious, tiny baby girls – well, they’re growing. Where once I held a wee-one whom relied on my every move to sustain and keep her safe, now replaced by two opinionated, loud, and reliant beings.

I loved them both, wholly and without fear, the moment they were born – one January 19^th and the other August 27^th – on those days, I celebrated life, and the motherly pursuit of infant bliss wrapped safely in my arms.

Now, they are heaping sacks of burning coals; they keep me warm and motivate me to move, but sometimes, I am so burnt out it does not make sense that tomorrow, I will have to get up and start the same day all over again. Now, they are not babies anymore – I am both reverently nostalgic about this and at the same time overjoyed that we enter into new stages of development constantly.

Layla understands multiple languages. We can speak to her in Arabic, French, Spanish, and English – she translates words when I do not understand what she says, and she is teaching me things I am not familiar with. She can write the entire alphabet, and all her numbers, and she understands complex emotional problem-solving situations, expressing herself articulately and with little frustration when an idea is new or foreign. She speaks eloquently, uses cordial language, and knows about respect and honesty. She loves to dance and sing, play dress up, and dig in the dirt. She loves to look through books and hear stories… And she loves to cuddle her family. She is FOUR.

Jemma is hilarious, a total cheeseball. Her comprehension of language is vast, and she can speak more articulately than most children her age. Her ability to pick up and carry a tune, after hearing a song a handful of times, astounds all those whom hear her do it. She loves people but especially her closest family, and when she spies someone she loves, she always comes running with a big, gap-toothed grin. She can sing songs in French as if she was singing the plain old Itsy Bitsy Spider in English – in fact, today in the drug store, she sang “Frère Jacques” to a complete stranger whom just so happened to BE a French woman – and almost made the woman cry she was so impressed! She is TWO.

I am not certain where the time has gone. I really do not comprehend it myself and I am the one who has lived the past four years as their mother.

We have lived a hell of a lot of life together – these girls and me. I can go back through pictures in my mind and remember when I told two different men that I was pregnant, and I can remember the day both chose to walk away. I remember becoming a single mother once, then twice, and the heartache Layla endured because Jemma’s father was so demanding and hard on her. I can think of the cries my second daughter had when daddy wasn’t there anymore – she was only 6 months old, she could not have understood. The joy and heartbreak I have known with these children in-tow, I believe, is what has made my love for them more fierce and true than anything else I have known.

I choke back tears now when I think of the sheer fabrication of it all – how it created the kind of mother I have become – and why most of the time I allow my children to act as they please because I feel I owe them at least their individual freedoms… But there is no sense in regretting any time spent and gone; I did the best I could, but at least I know that time, loving them throughout the struggles, has made me realize why our bond means so much to me. Still, though, it feels rather crazy – how fast the time has gone – and how true it is that one cannot stop nor slow it down…

One of the common threads that always accompanies the inevitable phrase, “you have no idea how much you will love your child…” is this, “… But just wait – it goes so fast – do not blink!”

I can remember holding both of my children for that first moment of their lives. I recall staring down at this pink-skinned, squinty-eyed newborn baby and falling into a consuming love. It was like nothing I had ever known. I have been fortunate enough to experience this twice.

As I sit and remember that, for both Layla and Jemma, I almost tear up at how much has already changed. But, it is for the best – I have to remember that – because growth, and change, are really the only things we can earnestly count on in this life. They have to grow. If they stopped, that means death. I would never dream or want anything, then, but their continued maturity.

But I am slightly feeling bittersweet at the pace of it all.

One day I found out I was pregnant and then, poof! Five years later, here they are – these little people who like Dinosaur Train and Super Why on PBS. They love yogurt and cheese and ice cubes. They prefer to shack up in my bed than sleep with each other in their own room. They fight but then hold hands. They scream at me for reprimanding them but then chase after me to cuddle. They can enrage me sometimes too easily when my patience meets its end, but then, I feel immediately remorseful and crave closeness to get us back to what feels optimal: Love.

Relationships take work – it does not matter with whom. They ALL do.

But, with children, it just feels so worth it to give them all of me. It feels so natural – almost as if I was born to do it. And no, I do not mean merely in the biological sense because I have a vagina, but in the belief that Layla SaMaya Roberta and Jemma Anne Ileen were meant to be my daughters. That they were placed with me on this earth so we could teach each other about life.

They remind me to slow down, but to be honest, I do not do it enough. I cannot even recall the last time I wrote something purely about parenting or simply about/for my children. Life gets in the way so often. Priorities change – plans change. A year ago I would never have guessed I’d be in this beautiful home with a wonderful man and my daughters all together. I never imagined I would be here…

My girls were once my babies. I was told I would love them, but man, do we ever under sell THAT experience!

To love them is like breathing. Absolutely essential. That is what it feels like; I could not ever imagine life without them in it, and I do not want to try.

As they grow, I will only love them deeper – we encounter challenges together, we laugh, and we cry. They will watch the lines around my eyes deepen and my hair change color, as i too watch them grow to one day soon become women, and someday, I pray I get to tell them how much they will love their own children. I will hold the memories of having my precious tiny newborn daughters in my arms, as I watch them give birth to their own tiny miracles. Then, and only then, on that special day, will they ever know how much they mean to me. How much I love them… Nothing I would or could have said will do it up until then. Unconditional love is not explained, it’s born.

Babies! (timothymessenger.com)
How Many Is Too Many? Michelle Duggar Says She’s Trying for Baby Number 20! (thebump.com)

Protected: A Gem.

For the one I call “Woowie”.

I’m going to spend a little bit of time focusing solely on my daughter Layla.

There is not another soul I have met whom I feel this kind of love for; come hell or high water, I would literally spare my life to keep my child safe, and I will do anything so that she knows she is truly loved.

Parenting brings with it unique challenges that test my patience, test my sanity, and test my determination to do what is “right”, even when modern American society screams something else entirely. I refuse to let my daughter’s attitude dictate my life, and I refuse to give in to her budding will to stop a tantrum, or to please her in place of discipline. I know a child is best suited to understand real love in the context of well-intentioned, God-fearing boundaries. She will grow up knowing she cannot walk all over her mother, and that she is not born into a world of entitlement simply because this world we live in offers it so casually, but that she will learn to enjoy working for what she desires, and foster an understanding that life is not handed to her – she will know what it means to earn what she is given. I pray I do this “right” so that she appreciates the simple things and is not driven by possessions, money, and the passing gratification of the moment.

Right now, my daughter is in all ways a toddler in her silliness and her coordination, but more than the normal, obvious markers of a child her age, she has so much more to boast about….

She is curious to the point where most conversations consist of a thousand times the word, “Why?” Her growing mind seeks to understand the finite details of the world in which she dwells, and I so enjoy a good, rousing game of ask and receive an answer; I will never tire of explaining a reason behind every single one of her little “why’s”. She is intelligent, and far exceeding the years of her age grasps concepts, ideas, and even abstract thinking to a degree that I am nearly convinced my daughter is “gifted.” To the point where people whom have long since had their own children, even grandchildren in some cases, marvel at Layla’s articulation, inquisitiveness, and understanding of communication. People ask me all the time, “how old is your daughter?” And more often than not, I receive a shaking head with a crooked smile as if they cannot believe this girl is only two. She can verbalize clearly, and she streams together sentences that I am sure even a child twice her age has not mastered.

Surely, other mothers are proud of their children. I am not the first nor will I be the last to exclaim to the heavens that my child is special. There is something unique about her, though… Something intrinsically marvelous… That I cannot help but to assume her shining radiance is not shared amongst her peers but was saved for a special work in the one named Layla.

Because of this, recognized so abundantly at such an early age, I have tremendous hope for my little girl as she grows and matures into whomever she will become.

Because of my love, unconditional and especially reverent, I will expect great things for her, but I will love and support her in whatever endeavors she seeks to accomplish, both big and small. I will be her biggest advocate, and I will be her biggest fan, whether she is an astronaut or a dancer, a poet or merely a fanciful dreamer like her mother.

The world around us is changing at a rate that astounds me, and the roles of women are constantly shifting in our society. I pray as she finds herself in this fast-paced, cruel world, she never loses sight of who she is in the eyes of her mother. Because whom I see now, and as she grows how I see her become the woman God has planned, I will never doubt that my daughter was picked for greatness. No matter what persecution she will face, and no matter how many times she stumbles, I will never let her forget how beautiful she is to me.

Tonight, she’s a “wee girl”, wearing size 6 shoes. She is potty trained with occasional accidents. She is so silly, flexing her “muscles”, and dancing to whatever music we decide to play. She is “Hope my wings” and Dora reruns. She is brave – jumping off the hot tub into our pool and holding her breath to swim to whomever is there to receive her in the “cowld water”. She has tanned, olive skin that she got from her father, and bright blue eyes that trust and accept a world she is only just beginning to understand. She is a quietly whispered, “I love you” in the middle of the night. She is “Pat me just a little while” when she doesn’t want me to leave at bed time. She is a cuddle in the morning and a loud, “I have to go pee-pee, Mama… NOW!” When I am still groggy at 7:30am. She is Montessori school singing, “Friends, friends, 1, 2, 3, all my friends are here today” and the paintings, art work, and handprints taped to her bedroom door lovely crafted by the hands of a future Van Gogh. She is a kiss to a manna’s forehead, pink and blue bath foam soap, cold milk poured into her “crap and crunch”, and a delighted smile because I gave her a sucker. She is the tight grasp around my neck after a stay with bahbah, and the stories of her visit the whole way home. She is Hajj’s “belching buddy” and his favorite reason to play the farting noises on the iPhone. She is almost a big sister…

She is my baby girl who is about to be three years old in a few months, and she is the love of my life.

I pray many things each day. I pray for my family back in Washington and the separate journeys we all take in our lives apart from each other; my siblings, my daddy, my Cathiest of all Cathys. I pray for Teta and Giddo and Bahbah because these are my daughter’s biggest fans besides her mommy and daddy in the Sterling home. I pray for my husband’s family and my friends, in Texas and back home. I pray for my marriage, and for the safety and happiness of my husband as he ventures out to work each day. I pray we endure no matter what this life throws our way.

Somewhere in there I pray for my own heart to persist, to live another day so I can assume and accept the privilege to be in the lives of those I love so dearly.

But, most of these, most of all, I pray for my little girl. Correction, “My Big Girl”. My Layla Samaya Roberta. My first child. My purest love. I pray she never forgets what she is worth. I pray she never abandons the Creator who made her. And I pray she never doubts the one who carried her before she took her first breathe: That my love will move mountains, and my heart will find no greater happiness in this life than the moment I became a mother for the first time. It only increases exponentially each day I am blessed with another day to be her Mama.

My Layla baby, my girl…

“So let my love give you roots and help you find your wings.”

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