Recipe for a Rainbow

Lyric is not what you would call "graceful" or athletic. I've always wanted to teach her, however, that she has to at least try new things and maybe even interact with a few more children. My sweet girl has strapped on cleats for one (very painful) season of softball, squeezed into tap shoes for six (yay! very successful) years of dance, and begrudgingly put on tennis shoes for a handful of fun runs. (She HATES shoes and socks so this is always an undertaking).

My sister-in-law recently marveled at how good I've been about keeping her involved in extra curricular activities while one mom with a special needs child shared that she wished she could be that "brave".

If only they knew just how excruciatingly difficult it can be. With each new experience, I'm forced to pluck my daughter out of her comfort zone and thrust her into the "real" world... while I literally hold my breath and pray with every "at-bat" or dance recital that the world will be kind to her.

Most of the time, we're lucky. Lyric's sweet disposition has endeared her to many people - primarily adults. Its not unusual though, to have children call out greetings to her at the grocery store or her classmates at dance to reach out to her with compliments about her hair, her dress or her shoes in an attempt to be nice. As she gets older, however, her quirky behaviors are becoming less "cute" and are more often than not...just plain weird. (Talking to trees or scolding imaginary friends doesn't typically result in a lot of friends.)

Tonight I took her to a theatrical dance class in hopes of expanding her social skills and providing her yet another structured setting to learn something, anything that would "click". One of her daycare teachers recommended it (knowing how much Lyric loves to sing and "act") and after conferring with the wonderful staff at the studio, I decided to give it a try.  Lyric, afterall,  frequently makes up her own plays or "shows" for us at home. This should be perfect!

Oh it was perfect alright. Perfectly disastrous.

Within two minutes of the class, I realized it was way over her head. For the first exercise, each student was asked to stand up, say their name and "act out" an emotion they feel. I knew there was no way Lyric understood what "emotion" meant. All I saw was a completely blank stare. The girls went around the circle very excitedly announcing their name "Kristi!" "Alexis!" "Ashley!" and acted out various emotions "anger!" (stomped her feet) "scared!" (shivered) "happy!" (big smile!) "tired!" (sleeping). When it came to Lyric she looked at me with desperation. She had NO idea what she was supposed to do.

You could hear a pin drop as the circle of girls waited for her to take her turn.

The teacher patiently and sweetly explained it one more time, then coaxed Lyric to her feet. I felt myself die a thousand deaths as I watched her struggle to comprehend.  She awkwardly stood up and looked right at me. She was pleading with her eyes, "now what do I do??"  I gave her the Lyric thumbs up sign - our frequent way to say "it's going to be ok" and held my breath.   She looked around nervously before promptly announcing she was too shy then quickly sat back down.

Whew. At least that part's over.

The teacher thanked the girls and then asked them to go around the circle one more time. Only this time, they should share a different emotion. (Oh dear Lord, shoot me!)

So that's how it went for 30 minutes (the class is a full hour) of various activities.  It might as well have been 24. At one point, the girls were asked to find an object in the room, work with a partner and make up a commercial. All the girls excitedly grabbed partners when the last one left realized she was "stuck" with Lyric. The look on her face was heartbreakingly disappointed. Lyric had become the lepper in the class.

Meanwhile Lyric ran over to me. "What's a commercial mommy?"

I took advantage of the break to pull Lyric to the side and suggest we just "watch" for awhile. I saw two girls who had been Lyric's partners at one point in the evening start talking in hushed tones about her  - (couldn't hear what they were saying but 11-year-old girls haven't mastered gossip). I'm sure they were simply trying to understand why this seemingly normal and beautiful girl was so odd. Then they saw me watching them with what I can only imagine looked like LION eyes.  One of the girls said "that's her mom!" and they immediately stopped.

Cue the heartbreak!

I barely made it to the car with Lyric before the sobs started. Now mind you - this is rare for me. Lyric has had several challenges over the years and I've tried to make it a point to never let her see me "down". This time, I didn't have a chance to refrain. I sat behind the wheel of my car and cried. Not because girls were talking about her (of course that stings a bit but its somewhat expected.) I was crying because everything is just so gosh darn hard for her.

Lyric called out from the back seat. "What's wrong mommy?"

"Nothing sweetie. I'm good". (Full sob at this point.)

"Why are you crying then?"  (Lyric is always perfectly observant when you don't want her to be.)

I decided to be honest. "It just makes mommy sad that I can't help you sometimes. I know it's hard for you to understand what peole are saying."

"I tried really hard, Mommy. I'm sorry I'm shy". (Cue even more heartbreak.)



Our little rainbow.



"Oh sweetie - I know you tried so hard. I'm sooooo proud of you! And it's really OK to be shy." I was trying to smile and be reassuring but the sobs kept coming - as if years of worry and anxiety were just too much for me to bear.

Lyric thought for a minute as we drove away. "Mommy? Would it help if I sat next to you at dinner and gave you lots of hugs and kisses?" And with that,  I started laughing through my tears.  "Yes, Lyric that would help very much".

Lyric paused again. "What if we got sushi? That makes you happy too, Mommy."

And just like that, Lyric reminded me (like she always does) that sometimes all you need is a little sunshine to turn the darkest rain into a beautiful rainbow. In fact, more often than not, I'm the only one that's even aware it's raining. All Lyric sees is the rainbow.