We didn't even go to church on Sunday because I felt like I just couldn't deal. I'm only at work because I HAVE to be.
This morning I sighed one of my patented "dragon breath" sighs and Mr. Daddy asked me what's wrong. "I'm stressed," I replied.
"About Punkin." And although he reminded me that really, she's fine, she's healthy, she's smart, she's sweet and really we have NOTHING to worry about, I can't help it.
She breaks my heart. I want the world for her. I look at her little face and she wants to do big things, I can just tell.
Last night I had to nix the violin lessons she's been talking about since she was three. We were at our second lesson and she just wouldn't do anything, again. She picked up the violin and was picking at the strings as the instructor asked her to, but only barely. And when he laughed -- not at her -- she thought that he WAS laughing at her and she melted down. I thanked him for his time and said that perhaps we would try again when she was older. At that point I saw her making an effort to pull herself out of her shell. She reached over to the violin sitting in its case and began plucking at the strings, but when I told her that we were done, she got mad and stormed out of the room.
We went outside and sat on the bench. "Are you sad?" I asked her.
"I wanted to play it," she said, "but I was just so nervous."
I pulled her into my lap and wrapped my arms around her. "You have years and years to learn how to play the violin," I assured her, my quivering voice almost betraying me.
Am I making mountains out of molehills? Maybe. Who knows. I think I feel just as lost as she does.