Last night, three of our kids had dress rehearsals for their upcoming dance recital. If you told me as a young person or even as a young mom that I would be a Dance Mom one day, I likely would have scoffed at you. Yet watching my kids perform last night in their costumes gave me an unaccountable sense of pride. There were many wins yesterday afternoon. Everyone who needed hair, makeup, and tights without holes got them. We managed, against all odds, to make it to the studio on time, everyone in their appropriate costumes.

The Chaplain met us there, and we tag-teamed the little kids. I took scads of pictures that turned out terrible, as I knew they would, due to the dark purple walls of the studio and the unforgiving fluorescent lights. I had used both my camera and my phone so hard that by the end of the practice performances, the batteries for both were limping along and close to death. I thought we were finished, and the Chaplain and I started loading the Littles into the car.

What I didn’t realize was that Three’s dance class had moved to a grassy field across from the studio to take more photos. The lighting and the background were perfect, and the dancers looked dreamy in their ballet buns and pink costumes. But my devices were dead, and by the time I realized that they were all outside, the girls had been posing for some time, and Three was completely done. The Chaplain lent me his phone to get a few shots, but when Three is finished with photos, she is FINISHED. I took a couple of half-hearted attempts, but it was really no use.

I felt a surge of disappointment. I’d spent all that time indoors, where I knew the lighting was bad and the background was less than ideal, burning up my camera’s batteries. I could have waited and taken some real frame-worthy photos outside. I was annoyed that no one had told me they were going outside for more photos so I could have taken some while my kid was still in the mood.

I am trying a new practice. I learned it from a book I’ll be featuring here later this summer (Update: Read about Come As You Are here). Here’s the idea: Stop fighting with your emotions because you’ve judged them for not being legit (i.e. I shouldn’t be frustrated and annoyed! I got a ton of pics, and it was no one’s job to tell me they were going outside to take more photos). According to the book, when you fight your feelings, keeping them trapped, they batter their wings against the sides of the cage, trying to escape like frightened birds. I’ve found this to be true.

The alternative? I let my feelings pass through me. It’s obviously not as easy as I just made it sound, but I am getting better at it.

I stood there outside, the Chaplain’s phone hanging uselessly in my hand, and breathed in the outside air, admiring the other little dancers who were cooperating to get beautiful photos with their moms’ nice cameras, cameras whose batteries were still working. And I let it go.

We left the studio not long after. On the way home, there is a bridge over the Mohawk River. For the four years we’ve been going to the dance studio, I have driven across the bridge and watched the sun set over the river in a dazzling display of golden light that is mesmerizing in every season. Just a month or so ago, I realized that just before we hop on the highway to drive home, there is a turn off that leads to a park with a pedestrian/bike path that winds along the river.

I have been driving this same route and loving that view for four years. And all along there was this incredible park there. The week after I discovered it, I took the kids there after their dance class. We parked and walked across to the path, bathed in golden sunlight, the air filled with feathery seeds that float around like snow at this time of year. I knew logically that one adult supervising six tired, hungry, and thirsty kids on a nature walk was a recipe for disaster. Yet I couldn’t wait any longer to explore this place I had admired for so long.

In many ways, that visit was a disaster. We struggled to make progress down the trail because Six wasn’t interested in walking. The other kids did a lot of complaining as well, and I wasn’t sure they enjoyed it.  But when as we drove to their dress rehearsal this week, knowing their Dad was meeting us there, someone suggested we go to the park together afterwards so that they could show the park to him. And no one seemed to think it was a bad idea.

We pulled into the park the second time, and again headed for the trail. This time, everyone willingly walked, danced, and galloped down the trail. The Chaplain and I had time to talk about our days. The air was filled with the smell of phlox, and white and purple mounds of it floated on both sides of the trail, interspersed with rich greens, slanting sunlight, and an occasional spray of buttercups.

We kept going, wanting to see what was beyond each new bend in the trail, and finally reluctantly made a decision to turn back. When we got back to our cars, I was surprised to see we had been gone for over an hour. No one had complained. The sights, sounds, and smells were incredible. The other folks we’d come across on the trail had been relaxed and friendly.

I didn’t have one picture to show for it.

But it didn’t matter. Before we had finished our walk, everyone was already talking about when we could do it again. There’s a reason so many songs use river imagery. It’s the place to go and let your spirit relax and expand. And this time, it worked on all of us.

The photo at the top of this post is from my first trip to the trail.