Last weekend, my daughter (a Kindermusik graduate) participated in Flabbergast with Ririe-Woodbury Dance Company. The show was described as “a journey of wonder,” and indeed, it was. Tandy Beal, the choreographer, said in the Salt Lake Tribune, “We can get through some of the harder moments in life if we can achieve a sense of wonder.”
The show was not like anything I had seen from a dance company. There were acrobatics, and dancing with helium balloons and all sorts of antics, wrapped up in the story of a woman’s desire to share with her grandchildren the importance of enjoying life.
Although I knew that children would be performing, the group of parents who came out to dance with their babies completely surprised me. I realized, moments into the dance, that this was something special. Not only did they somehow manage to get a group of eleven babies, all about the same age, to be happy all at the same time, they also turned the everyday movements parents do with their kids into art. It was stunning.
I have swooped my children around, dancing with them in the living room or the Kindermusik studio, many times. I have connected with my children through movement, and have enjoyed the raw emotion that comes from savoring that fleeting moment. I have also observed many Kindermusik parents, all dancing with their little ones together, perhaps to Skinnamarink or Dance, Little Baby. Perhaps it was context—since I was paying for a ticket and observing a choreographed show on the Capitol Theater stage, the movements ceased to be common, and instead took on an element of artistic expression. But I doubt it. I think I was thrilled with the art of the dance because, as part of the theme of the show, I realized just how magical it is to lift a baby into the air and see the smile that emerges on her face.
Of course, I also marveled at my daughter, now almost a teen, dancing up on stage. It seems only yesterday she was one of those babies. My challenge to you this week, as you’re in Kindermusik class with your little one: take a moment and absorb the artistry of what you’re creating. Allow that moment to carry you through some of the more difficult aspects of parenting, and wonder at the delight that we can take in dancing with our children.
My daughter attends the Salt Lake Arts Academy and has a class in dance improvisation. Last night we attended a dance recital where we saw many ways that my daughter and her classmates participate in moving through space and time, aware of their own bodies and those of their classmates. My favorite dance number was one in which the kids started in pairs, mirroring each other’s movements and taking turns being the leader. Then, the pairs became groups of four and then eight, with leadership positions shifting regularly (and, on the fly, as it were) as the students turned around and navigated their flocks with respect to the other groups.
Most of my formative years were spent at the piano, so I never took a dance class as a youth. However, as an adult, I have discovered how much I love to move my body with rhythm. Zumba is my lifeline, and I have even participated in some dance therapy that has been profoundly moving (see what I did there?). Still, I don’t know much technique and I am certainly in awe of dancers who can use their bodies to communicate and express emotion.
As a Kindermuisk instructor and parent, I became increasingly aware of the joy that I experienced dancing with my kids. Letting go of inhibition and showing my kids how to just enjoy inhabiting their skin has been an amazing lesson for me, too. Each time I skip in public with my daughter, I am grateful to her for reminding me that walking isn’t the only way to get from place to place. Getting in tune with the sheer joy that comes from a skipping movement often gives me a little boost of appreciation for the fleeting moment with my child—the only moment I have, really.
Research from Tortora, Lerner and Ciervo teaches us that movement has so many benefits for a child’s overall development. It improves strength and physical health, sure, but it also builds self-confidence and improves emotional stability. My oldest daughter always comes home from dance class substantially less inclined to fight with her siblings, even though she may be tired. She’s able to use her words and interact positively with the family. Children may choose to communicate or solve problems with movement; but, I notice even as an adult, after a Zumba class I often find it easier to deal a particularly frustrating situation or concern. Finally, movement is one critical way that caregivers can bond with their children, and a child will often move specifically in an effort to be close and connect with a parent or other grown-up. It only takes dancing with my kids in a Kindermusik class or to some music in the living room to show me how much they enjoy being with me!
One of the great things is that movement doesn’t have to be restricted to dancing. Rides in the laundry basket, playing around in the Bilibos, or even lap bounces can facilitate all these benefits, too. Check out this video and see just how many ways we move in Kindermusik class!
The relationship we have with our bodies (especially as adults) can be complex indeed. Nevertheless, I love how dancing and movement, regardless of our age, allow us to nurture our spirits. May you all embrace the moment, the next time you find yourself moving with your little one.
Yes, it was a couple of weeks ago, but we just passed the autumnal equinox, and the lesson that I learned about it as a metaphor for my life still lingers on my mind. So pretend that it didn’t snow this week and hearken back to those 2 weeks of September when it still felt like fall.
There are two times of the year when the day and the night are in balance. From the vernal equinox, the daylight increases and we remember birth and renewal. I start looking for the bulbs to sprout. They are by far my favorite types of flowers, because when I plant them in the fall, I do so with hope for the spring. Then, just when I begin to believe that spring, in some great anomaly of nature, will never come, up pop the crocii.
From the autumnal equinox, we experience more night, and we enjoy and give thanks for the harvest season. We slow down (well, except for when we’re knee-deep in parenting, then it seems like approaching the holiday season requires a certain speeding up). The first day that we get lots of snow I always have mixed emotions—frustration that I haven’t yet completed all the yard projects I planned, and relief that there’s little I can do, anyway. I will just have to wait until spring.
The metaphor of changing seasons is nothing new. I’m beginning to sound like The Byrds.
However, for the first time this year I thought about the equinox in terms of the balance I’m striving for in my life. For two magical days, the day and the night are exactly the same. However, a day of equinox doesn’t come around very often. In fact, 363 other days of the year, things are not in balance. It’s a worthy goal, but sometimes it requires the very act of absolute imbalance to help us come back into equilibrium. In fact, if everything were always perfectly balanced, we would miss the beauty of the solstice.
With three kids, I find myself continually washing the kitchen floor. Or, rather, continually sticking to the kitchen floor despite the number of times it gets washed. I’m learning the electric guitar. I’m trying to spend one-on-one time with each child and I’m trying to nurture my marriage. I’m going back to school and I’m trying to carve out time to volunteer. I have Halloween costumes to get ready and I have scones to prep for Trick-or-Treaters. And a storage room to clean. So many roles, so many places to spend my time.
Pema Chödrön teaches us, though, that with all the chaos swirling around, with trying to keep everything in balance, there is hope. It comes in embracing the moments as they come (and it certainly requires practice!). In her book The Wisdom of No Escape: How to Love Yourself and Your World, she relates the following:
“There is a story of a woman running away from tigers. She runs and runs and the tigers are getting closer and closer. When she comes to the edge of a cliff, she sees some vines there, so she climbs down and holds on to the vines. Looking down, she sees that there are tigers below her as well. She then notices that a mouse is gnawing away at the vine to which she is clinging. She also sees a beautiful little bunch of strawberries close to her, growing out of a clump of grass. She looks up and she looks down. She looks at the mouse. Then she just takes a strawberry, puts it in her mouth, and enjoys it thoroughly. Tigers above, tigers below. This is actually the predicament that we are always in, in terms of our birth and death. Each moment is just what it is. It might be the only moment of our life; it might be the only strawberry we’ll ever eat. We could get depressed about it, or we could finally appreciate it and delight in the preciousness of every single moment of our life.”
May you find a big, juicy strawberry today and enjoy!
I am here in the Kindermusik studio, having arrived late for what I thought was an 11:30 class. But arriving at 11:35 for a class that actually started at 11 wasn’t my proudest parenting moment, as my daughter was very disappointed to spend all of 3 minutes with Ms. Carol. Fortunately, she actually belongs in the 12:30 class, so we in fact arrived early. A lot early. I guess this means I’ll have time to run up to the store and get toilet paper (because, though we might need other things in our house, our toilet paper supply has reached critical status).
This, on top of everything else I’m trying to get done. I found out yesterday that one of my cousins died, so I’m headed to San Francisco in 2 days. Which means that all that time that I was counting on to practice my guitar for our band’s gig next week, plus plan my son’s birthday party, has quickly vanished.
Meanwhile, someone keeps getting all the dishes in my house dirty (oh, right! That would be me and the kids!) and the laundry keeps piling up.
There is nothing like death, however, to help me think about life—I’d bet this is probably a universal reaction to such news. We contemplate how we spend our time, about how quickly it may be over. Or even about how, from one phone call to the next, our lives can change on a dime. And do I really want to spend the time that I have, stressed about laundry or getting to the right Kindermusik class for the first week of the new year? Maybe it’s OK that my daughter is wearing a nightgown today (her choice), because in the grand scheme of things it’s just not that important to worry about my preschooler’s clothes.
One of the most powerful tools I’ve learned to help me deal with stress is the art and practice of being mindful. I probably don’t sound very relaxed today, but if I had written this blog a year ago, you would have seen a difference.
I have learned that when I spend my time thinking about the past, in an obsessive sort of way, I waste away the only moment that I actually have (now). And I can spend my time in anxiety, worrying about what might happen in the future. But even that’s a pretty good waste of the immediate present, since thinking about what might happen means I will probably miss what’s actually happening right now.
Steering my thoughts towards things I can’t control will ensure that the moments that carry me through any tragedy will be wasted. The joy of looking at the sunflowers as my girl and I drive in the car to get here, or the time that I take from writing this post to read a few words to her (she now patiently awaits the 12:30 class) bring meaning to my life. Especially since my life is made up of moments, if I’m not aware of the soap on my hands as I wash dishes or the feel of the sheets on my skin as I lay down to bed (at least every once in awhile), I find myself unaware of much of my own life.
For me, one of the best ways to practice mindfulness is to spend some time in meditation thinking about my breathing. Jon Kabbat-Zinn teaches, “Breathing is central to every aspect of meditation training. It’s a wonderful place to focus in training the mind to be calm and concentrated.” Or, my favorite quote of his, “Remember as long as you are breathing there is more right with you than wrong with you,” though that seems sort of dark to include today.
Have you noticed, if you have an older child in Kindermusik, that we start doing some breathing arms? Ms. Carol always says, “OK, friends, let’s do some breathing arms. Breathing arms up. . . . breathing arms down.” I love that we can take this moment at the start of class to simply exist for a moment. It sets our children in the frame of mind to learn, to be present in class. Since one of my favorite reasons to come to Kindermusik is that it allows us to spend time just being with our kids (without worrying about the laundry), it seems appropriate that we start class this way.
Merely noticing our breathing slows it down and allows us to breathe more deeply. It reduces stress, and, especially when kids are super-upset, helps stabilize their emotions. There are so many benefits, you can check more out here.
May you enjoy the moments that present themselves today, and use one or two of them to give hugs to those you love.
