a stage mom and some stage fright

The other day I posted a rather playful story about my hidden desire to join my 3 yo Lily on stage at her preschool concert. Though I was poking fun at my own longing to be on stage every minute of the day, when the time rolled around for Lily to perform, I really did want to run on stage with her; but not for my own limelight seeking pleasure.

To set the stage, so to speak, the “concert” was in her pre-school classroom on a day that she doesn’t normally go to school. So I dressed her up in a cute outfit, that she picked out herself, and we headed over to school with the whole family in tow. When we walked in the small preschool classroom, there were already at least 15 other parents there, and the kids were all running around playing together. Lily became quite quiet and clingy.

When it was time to sing, I escorted her over to the chairs to make sure she was seated next to her BFF for moral support. I then walked a few feet away to the first “row” of joyful, proud spectators/parents and busted out the Flip Cam. I couldn’t wait to capture her very first concert on camera. What a treat to have this special moment documented, or so I thought.

As soon as the song (Jingle Bells) began, I could tell Lily was not havin’ it; there would be no jingling, no singing, no way, no how. She looked straight at me, stared at me, and did the weird tongue thing she does when she gets nervous. She was terrified. Stage Fright in full effect. I wanted to run up there to just hold her; to get her back and comfort her. I mouthed the words like any stage mom would, in hopes it might shake her out of her stupor. She was like the little kid in Magnolia who peed his pants during the game show. (One of my favorite all-time movies by the way).

It broke my heart, but not because she wasn’t hamming it up like a Mouseketeer, or like me. But more because I could see she was afraid, and I didn’t know what to do. It was a real MOMent for me, when I realized that Lily is her own little person, who is leading her own life; that she will be struggling, falling, failing and succeeding, all on her own, through life. And all I can do is to be here for her, with a hug and an encouraging word.

If it’s not Jingle Bells in a stuffy classroom, then it’s gonna be a header on the soccer field, a stroke of the paintbrush on a canvas or a pirouette on the dance floor where she wil find her passion and her own joy. I can’t wait to see where she’s gonna shine.