Friday, November 2, 2012

No Dress Rehearsal

Every child is an artist. The problem is remaining an artist once we grow up.
-Pablo Picasso

First, let me say that my daughter has three grandmothers and four grandfathers. She had no less than seven princess/fairy costumes to choose from for Halloween. She has every imaginable accessory too. She wore one to the pumpkin patch and a different one to her school party. Her dad was in charge of getting her dressed for trick or treating. If your a mom, you probably know where this story is going. She came down looking like a disheveled street urchin.  The term "hot mess" comes to mind. She told me she was an “ice cream fairy” and was quite pleased with her choice to mix most of her costumes together. I sent them upstairs to try again. Pick one, I demanded. 

They came back with an equally ridiculous ensemble. This time she managed to layer five of the dresses on top of each other and a plain green t-shirt over one arm and neck for some reason.. No beads. No pretty crown. No matching wig. No sparkly slippers. This time, she was a “lemonade sunflower princess.” 

My initial reaction was to insist she conform.  I wanted an adorable picture for Facebook. All that money wasted on real costumes. What would the grandparents think? The neighbors? But her smile was so genuine. She was so sure of her self. So sure of her choice or rather figuring out a way not to choose. I relented. 

In the month of November, the focus shifts from intuition to imagination. My daughter, the royal lemonade sunflower princess, is the perfect muse for the new  topic. Why be Merida or Snow White when she can be someone no one else has ever seen. Someone born from her imagination. I love her confidence in the beauty of her vision. I love her insistence that she doesn’t have to limit her choices. She can create her own choice. I love that she recognizes that there are no dress rehearsals. This was her moment to put on her favorite wings, her lucky t-shirt, her comfy pajama bottoms, her twirly tutu and carry her baseball backpack. If she waited until tomorrow, it wouldn’t be right now anymore.

I pray that I remember this moment the next time my way too adult initial reaction kicks in.

Who is your muse for your imagination?

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