the wind beneath her wings

Piano recital-time is approaching.  Our piano teacher likes to add a little something extra to these performances and usually assigns some kind of neat extra, like artwork or an essay.  }I blame this on the fact that her child is not school age yet, more homework:the gift that keeps on giving for mom. So- for the recital my kids were to compose a little essay to dedicate their performance at the recital to some person, ideal or sentiment.  These will be printed up in the little program booklet and the kiddos will read it/ speak it to the audience before they perform.

Let me preface this story by saying I had no preconceived ideas about this assignment, no guesses as to what my kids would pick (my kids always amaze and surprise me with their individual ways at looking at the world/life) and no real desire to delve deeply into it besides making sure it was done and punctuated correctly.

So, I pick up Amie after her last lesson and her teacher with simmering excitement bids me to sit down, takes my hand, and tells me that she has some exciting news about little Amie's dedication....(I have to preface this by begging you to realize that I don't expect adoration, thanks, fawning, etc. from my crew, I am just happy if they follow my directions without grumbling-they are all reaching tween/teen years- we are just trying to survive at this stage.  I drive them around, teach them, direct them, sacrifice for them and figure that someday- ten years from now when as a parent they are sitting up at 2 a.m. rocking a crying child who has just puked on them, my children will each, in turn lift of a prayer of love and thanksgiving for me, beyond that...not expecting fanfare...)   So, no passing thoughts as to who they will pick- but the way the teacher was acting, the fact that she took my hand...I will admit that just for a teeny/tiny fraction of an instant- my heart leapt a little at the thought that it must be me.  Amie must be giving her dedication to me, for the time I spend taking her to lessons, finding her music book, making sure she is clean before she goes, asking her to practice... just for an instant I kind of thought this.

drum-roll please...  her teacher told me with great excitement that Amie's performance was dedicated with much love to ~

our dog, Emma.

yes, she is the wind beneath her wings.

this was the only way this story could end, really.