A Change is Gonna Come

It ain’t much, but it’s a little something. A little change for my blog.

Last night I was checking out some local-to-me food blogs, and I noticed one on Blogger that had a “Print Friendly” button at the end of her post. I’d been looking for a gadget like that for my recipe posts, and TaDa: there it was! After a bit of googling, I successfully added a “Print Friendly” button to this blog, for your convenience, just in case there’s a recipe of mine that you’d like to try. (Look for it at the bottom of each post.)  It gives you the option to print the post without pictures, so that should save you some ink, which is another plus! So YAY for little improvements!

The button looks like this, only much smaller.

And while we’re talking about improvements, I’m seriously considering moving my blog to WordPress, and am talking with a friend about helping me with that process, but I’m not sure WHEN I’ll actually get around to doing that. We’re still in the talking stages right now.

Why would I do that?

Because I’m a glutton for punishment? Because blogging on Blogger is far too easy, and what I really desire is the endless frustration of learning new technology that will take me months and months to get used to?

Well, sure, those are some of the more obvious reasons. But I actually think that photographs LOOK better over on WordPress, (I’ve been told there’s some sort of technological reason for that) and I’d like to polish up my blog’s appearance a bit more.

I don’t know WHEN that’s going to happen, but I will keep you posted! I do think a change is gonna come.

Speaking of which, (and this all ties in together, as I promise you you’ll see, by the end of this post) the school calendar year has started up with a vengeance for our family, as it has for many of you, my dear readers.

I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed, as we re-incorporate all our usual school year activities back into the schedule again, now that summer is winding down, and I wonder if some of you might be feeling much the same way.

Dance has begun, and this year my dear daughter has four classes a week. I took her yesterday to buy pointe shoes for the very first time. This is kind of a momentous thing for her, and for me. She is thrilled to have reached this point (no pun intended) in her dance career. Her teacher has been very cautious and careful about not inviting her to dance en pointe at too young an age. (She’ll be 14 in a month.) As she was being fitted for her pointe shoes yesterday, and rose up on her toes to check the fit of the slippers, my heart rose up in my throat. My gorgeous little Stick Girl, all arms and now with giraffe-like long legs, rising up to meet the next big challenge of her life.

My Stick Girl, (she’s the center dancer)  two or three years ago.

As we drove away from the shop, I watched her stroke the satin of those slippers. She’s never owned a pair of shoes that expensive in her entire life. She examined their shimmer in the light, the softness of the soles, the cush of the lambs wool and gel pads that go inside the toes.

She’s been duly warned, by her teacher and other dancers, about many of the risks that are inherent in going en pointe, but… it’s her dream. What kind of a Mom would I be if I let my fears squash her dream at this point?

A wise one?

Or just a fearful dream squasher?

I don’t know. I don’t know the future.

But my heart says to let her try.

So…she’ll try.

And, we’ll see.

Last night, I also witnessed my son, boinging around the stage at his tutorial’s Band Night. Eighteen different acts, strutting their stuff, laying their hearts wide open on that stage, sharing their gifts, living life out loud. (With an emphasis on LOUD. Lord, have mercy.)

Helplessness Blues by Fleet Foxes.
Help me, Rhonda.

My son is an effervescent otter, without an ounce of stage fright. Some might say he could stand a bit more stage fright. (Said, perhaps, with a bit of a rueful smile.)

But again, what kind of Mom would I be if I squashed his dream?

So, I watched him cavort with his friends, enjoying his hour in the spotlight, and I marveled anew: where did this man/child come from? So relaxed in front of a crowd, so confident, so full of energy, so completely his own person. I found joy watching his antics. But even greater delight at the glimpses of focused musical skill that I saw lying behind some of the “flash”.

He wanted to process the event with his Dad, and later with me, after he got home, late last night. To bask in the glory, if only for a few more moments. Like the way you polish up a particularly pretty apple and admire it for just a few seconds, before you eat it. He wanted to hear our impressions. not only of his performance, but of the other acts as well. He wanted to give us his thoughts, too. To tell us what he loved. To laugh with us.

 I hold out hope for my boy. I think, perhaps, he just may have the sense that God gave a goose.

But again…the jury’s still out on that one. Time will tell.

Raising a teenaged son is NOT so very easy, for lots of us. It’s very, very, very tricky. You encourage, and try not to squash. You listen. You hope, and pray. You lecture. And, for some of us, at certain points, you are positive that all your words, hopes and prayers have been to no avail, whatsoever.

 And then…maybe…you start to see glimmers of light far away, at the end of the tunnel, and you pray to God it’s not a train barreling down on him and on you.

A change is gonna come. And that’s for sure.

But oh, dear God, don’t let it come too fast.

Don’t let me miss the joy of my Stick Girl, tottering a bit as she finds her way to balance on those pointe shoes. She’ll find that balance, and ultimately, she’ll twirl, and float, and soar.

Don’t let me miss the joy of my OtterPup of a son finding his voice, even if he hits a clam or two on the way, as he belts out his life-song for all to hear.

Skill is nice. Being polished is nice.

But there’s joy in the journey.

If only we have the eyes to see.

God grant me those eyes.

Help me to enter the moment, and be fully present with my kids, in this precious time that You have allotted us.


Yum
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