(Contributed by Sarah Richmond. Read about all our writers here.)
On a crisp, late October evening, our church hosted their annual Harvest Festival complete with face painting, balloon artists, inflatables galore and of course bags and bags of candy. This particular year, with my husband traveling for work, I was flying solo in the parenting department and bracing myself for a sugar-induced, sensory bombarding couple of hours. Needless to say, I was only in it for the kids...and also all the rejected Almond Joy minis I could sneak.
Things got off to a semi-peaceful start. I mean as much peace as there can be in a sea of a couple thousand people hyped-up on apple cider and fall fun. The kids and I visited the photo booth filled bags with treats and ran into good friends amid the crowd and inflatable slide lines.
“Okay,” I thought, “we can do this. No meltdowns (yet). Let’s just have our fun and make it to the car before anyone falls apart.” Clearly, I was set not so much for festive, but for survival with as few casualties as possible.
If you have been a parent longer than say, five minutes, then you know the anticipation game well. As moms and dads we quickly adapt, by choice or by force, learning to anticipate needs, triggers, dangers, and behaviors when it comes to our kids. We anticipate to keep the ball rolling, to keep the boat steady, and really, to save ourselves, and the greater public, all the drama. This evening of the Harvest Fest? It had me in full-on anticipation mode.
A little over an hour in, our seams started to tug...a popped balloon sword, a couple of sibling squabbles, nearby people not so subtly inching away from our tiffs. Immediately I began to plan our escape, announcing to my two youngest it was time to locate their older sister who was running around with friends, and start heading home. I reluctantly agreed to one more inflatable, one more round of the candy stations, and silently prayed for one more helping of grace. And grace God gave, along with something altogether unanticipated.
The kids chose one of the larger inflatables, and we joined the long line of thrill-seekers. It didn’t take long before my son bailed on the line, and decided to try the next bounce house over. There was no budging my little one, however. Her mind was set on this particular inflatable obstacle course I can only really describe as a child-sized set of that game show, Wipeout. I looked on as kid after kid, much larger and older than my pixie of a 4-year-old, flung themselves from one huge air-filled ball to another. Most of these kids were falling off the course within the first couple of jumps. With the cool evening settling into my fingers, and my heightened senses in trying to remain within eye sight and ear shot of all three kids, my anxiety level was on the rise.
I may have tried to suggest to my daughter skipping this one and going back to one of the other slides she had mastered earlier in the evening.
I also voiced my doubt in her even being able to jump from the launching platform to the first obstacle, due to her young age and small size.
She was not to be swayed.
So we stayed put in the slow moving line, while I instinctively started to anticipate her disappointment in not making it across, and the subsequent tears when I wouldn’t let her wait another 30 minutes to try again.
Eventually, my daughter’s turn came, and up she climbed. I gave her a little cheer as she made that first leap, and she actually landed it!
Before I knew it, she jumped again and landed the second big expanse without falling off. By the third large leap, people were cheering along and laughing as her tiny frame hit with such force after each landing on her stomach, her feet would nearly bounce up over her head. To my honest surprise, our little girl navigated every obstacle and conquered the entire course. Not once, did she ever look back. Not once did she pause in trepidation or fear. There was just decision, resolve, and LEAP!
The whole thing happened in probably less than 60 seconds, but was such an unexpected, turning point, victory in our day.
Minutes later as we all walked back to our car, I again expressed how impressed I was with her accomplishment. In her sing-songy, little voice she said matter-of-factly, “See, you thought I was too widdle, but I could do it.” She was absolutely right, and I was absolutely convicted.
While I’m priding myself on my many years experience of honing said skills of parental anticipation, reaction rates, and drama diffusing, I at times neglect to remember the element of surprise and individuality of each of my children. This brisk evening of family fun was one such time, and never would I have guessed seven yards of air-filled heavy duty vinyl would serve as such a catalyst for revelation.
As the champion, the loudest cheerleader for my children, I need to not only manage them and help them navigate the world, but also let loose my grip so they may grow to their next challenge. I must allow them to fail, to at times wail, and other times triumph, with me affirming all the while from the sidelines. I need to anticipate less, leaving room for my kids, and my Lord, to surprise me with the unexpected, the unanticipated and the victorious. And maybe most of all, may I learn from my brave kiddos to set my sights high, resolve my path, and LEAP- never looking back.
Photo Credit: John DeBoer
Originally Published 12/14/2015
