Alina Ballerina and Mommy's Pride

Alina, right before leaving to balet on the first day.

Proud. There is no other word to describe how I feel to be Alina’s Mom (and Aydon’s, but this is about Alina). From the moment I held her, I was in love. Adoring every piece of her being. As time goes by, these feelings have only grown stronger. Experiences are becoming her story and it’s going by so quickly. With every experience, I fall more in love and become more proud.

As she grows into a beautiful young girl, her personality traits are becoming more prevalent and admirable. One of her most obvious traits is her independence. Last week was Alina’s first day at ballet. We walked into a tiny room with many moms and little girls waiting for class to begin. While many of the girls were clinging to their moms, crying, Alina was asking me, “You’re going to leave, right, Mommy?” She was so excited to face the new challenge. She then went into the room with her new teacher, Miss Kathy, and followed instructions so well. I, of course, was in the lobby taking pictures and watching through the window. Driving home I was still taking pictures of my little girl in her ballet attire, reminiscing on how fast time has gone by and how my baby is becoming a little girl.

Alina during balet, listening to Miss Kathy.

Alina is now asking daily if she gets to be a ballerina today. She is loving this newfound freedom and the opportunity to do something. I hope the drive is always there and that I have the ability to hold on to all of the moments in her story. Her first performance is on September 25th at Harvest Festival and I am again, so excited, and so proud. Alina will probably be happy to perform, and I may just be the one crying.

On our way home, Alina kept saying, "I want to go back to balet, again, again and again."

Moments

As I hung up the phone I began to cry. Tears of sadness. Tears of pride. Tears of pure empathy. Tears.

We live life through moments, and we don’t always know what the next moment might bring or when it’s going to hit. I literally had just uttered the words, “Nick leaves for Iraq tomorrow,” to my husband, and the phone rang. I carried this weight with me all day but hadn’t shared it with anyone. Then, I spoke with Nick on the phone. He was his typical goofy self – cracking jokes and talking as if he just called to call. I made it through the phone call strong; I felt I had to as I can’t imagine what emotions are plaguing him - leaving his wife and five-month-old son to go and “clean up” a war. Whatever that means. Carrying the thought that some men and women go to this place and never return. He is proud to do this and proud of our country; more driven then I have seen him probably ever, but still taking on such a big task with huge risks involved.

As his big sister that unfortunately hasn’t always been the most supportive, but rather, judgmental, I still want to protect him. I still envision this little boy that shouldn’t see death first-hand, or have to wonder about his safety every day. I feel his wife’s pain just thinking about if the situation were my own. I think of what it’s like to be in his shoes, missing the first year of his son’s life. I hurt knowing that he carries the pain of losing his mother, and regarding her as his “guardian angel.” I don’t want to have him need a guardian angel.

Today’s moment was a million thoughts and emotions surfacing about my brother. Thinking about his first-grade play in Mrs. Greene’s class where he was such a star. Long, shaggy hair and personality to boot. Thinking about when we were the only two left at home and having to have our picture taken together. We both thought that was the worst thing ever. Remembering having him pose for pictures in all of his new school clothes before 2nd or 3rd grade. Being livid over his birth, because I was no longer the baby. Thinking about how strong he has been through the last five years, and how driven he is to make us proud.

Sitting under the tree, pondering his future, Nick proudly holds Lane, his son.

It was a moment of realization that people are fighting a war for my safety. For my lifestyle. For my kids. My family. Not just “people.” Brothers, sons, daughters, husbands, wives, etc. People that have families that love them and cherish them and will spend every moment praying for their safe return to our “normal” lives.

I am so proud of my brother, and the chance to relish in the moments of life. We don’t get these moments back, so we need to enjoy them all.