May I be frank here? Letting go of my, her, my, her MY dreams. Now that I've admitted it, I don't feel any better. Let me see if I can clarify.

First off, let me start off by saying that 9th grade has been tough on Chickie, mainly in the homework department. It wouldn't be half as bad right now if the school hadn't messed up her schedule, and TWO. WEEKS. LATER. finally got it straight. I will not go into details here because I want to spare you the incessant head banging and slamming my fist through the wall in the in the guidance counselor’s office. The one right next to her head. Well, the last part may not be true but suffice to say by the time we had straightened everything out I resembled a bull in a china shop with a hangover and no hair.

Now let's talk about Fay. During her visit last week the school was closed for two days. [sidenote: Fickle Fay was the hurricane, NO WAIT, tropical storm, NO WAIT, huri..trop..yes tropical storm that decided to outstay her visit. She was with us for three days.[/sidenote] Chickie had just started her new and improved (read correct) schedule that Monday. This is where all logic blew out the window. Her teachers expect her to be caught up (wait for it) by tomorrow. She has two huge tests tomorrow, five short stories to read (and be tested on) to name just a few. This does not include her everyday homework. So she's been studying, and reading and doing homework furiously.

Here is where I get to the point, for those of you who were wondering.

A few weeks ago she began talking about cutting down on her dance schedule. I fully supported that because I knew, under normal circumstances, her workload was going to be heavy. Last night she told me that she is really considering dropping dance all together. She has been rolling the idea around in her head for a while. She admitted to me that she just wanted to be a 9th grader. Dance takes up three nights a week, with a minimum of 2 1/2 hours each night. In her words she wants a life. She wants the freedom to go out for sports in school and perhaps be on the dance squad for the football team next year. She wants to join some clubs. She wants to do some volunteer work so that her college applications will be stronger (they are BIG on community service here in Georgia).

In my heart of hearts, I know that it has to be HER decision. I respect that, but can I help it if I don't like it? I mean really. This is my baby. She's so good (and no, I'm not biased, why do you ask?), and she really (or used to) enjoys it so much. She's given five years of her life to it, complete with sore muscles and blistered feet. She has sacrificed a lot. I know this in my mind but my heart does not comprehend. I loved going to her big recitals and all of the performances in between. I loved seeing her up on the stage, with her long graceful body, flowing effortlessly across the stage.

But it's not about me. It's about her. And her dreams, and wishes. I cannot enforce MY dreams on her, no matter how much I want to. She's not really losing anything by stopping. She has had five years of an unbelievable positive experience which have taught her a lot about hard work and discipline. And she has loved every minute of it.

It's time I step back and let her step forward. Let her make some of the decisions in her life. Let her be a kid. A teenager. Let her have fun. Lord help me, but it’s so hard. Am I alone here?

For now, I’ll close and give you Chickie. Just Chickie. In her bad 13 (almost 14!) year old self. The way a teenager is supposed to be. She took all of these pictures herself.