She is still just a little girl.

This weekend was a tough one. Our daughter's chorus group was involved in a competition in Mississippi, six hours away. It has been a demanding few weeks. Her honor classes require hard evenings of homework and extra reading. Along the way, she is preparing for cheer leading tryouts next week and Junior Miss. Yesterday, faraway from our comfort of home, I began to see the wear and tear on our daughter's face. I began to see the crumbling within her spirit. I know her well enough to know she has had enough. We stood outside the auditorium, the sounds and music echoing from the other show choirs performances, I became aware of the the real show opening within my daughter. She had reached her max. The tears began to spill out unto her face and drip from her exhausted lashes that circled dimming eyes. I stepped out from my place of viewing, a spectator, and quickly became her mother once again. Battling the world of competition versus knowing your daughter and making mother decisions isn't for the weak of heart. I felt my strenght rising and I knew I must make a hard decision. We were taking our daughter and heading for home. Why? Because she is our daughter first. She is a member of the chorus second. Maybe you are sitting there and saying, "this will teach her a lesson, don't get so involved that you can't do it all." Of course, you are exactly right. However, I am going to teach her a different lesson.....a lesson on what is the most important.....her well being. I explained my decision to her teacher, I accepted responsibility for the consequences of my decision and my husband and I gathered our crumbling daughter into the backseat of our car. I stopped to grab her purple pillow out of the trunk and handed it to her. We exchanged a few words. Her tears had stopped dripping, slowing down to oozing around her swollen eyes. I felt the release. The peace. The reassurance of being her mom, her protector, when she was losing her battle from the pressures of life. The car turned unto the interstate headed for the six and a half hour trip home and there was complete silence. I turned to say something and saw our daughter, melted into her purple pillow, asleep. Two minutes down the road. I smiled back at my husband. I smiled at myself. I realized she's still just a little girl who gets tired, becomes overwhelmed and needs her mom to step in and say....."it's time to go home and take a nap, playtime is over and so is this competition." I would rather win the prize for knowing my daughter well enough to know she had already lost the fight and needed to go home. To know she was more important. And that will help her make tough decisions later in life when I won't be there. She'll remember. She will know.