I wouldn't have her any other way

There are plenty of ways that Emma and I are the same.  We both like to write and sing and read and draw.  We are happiest with margins of time alone in our rooms with the door shut.

But then there are other things about us, ways we are so different that I wonder where she came from.  One of my defining characteristics is that I am a doer who does things fairly quickly in the easiest possible way.  One of Emma's defining characteristics is that she does things right.  She doesn't want to approach a task unless she has ample time.  (I squeeze in projects when I can.  I am a little haphazard.)  She doesn't quit until she's satisfied.

Last night was Emma's choir concert and her preparation for it shed a glaring light on our differences. She had music to Fallen by Sarah McClachlan.  She could easily play the simplified sheet music on the piano and she wanted to accompany herself for the solo she was planning to sing. The problem was that she wanted different music.  She wanted more chords and runs in the music.  She wanted it to artistically represent her idea of what the music should sound like.

Last Friday afternoon was one of tears and slammed doors and angst as she grappled with this hard task.  I encouraged her to just play the easier music, not perform if it was going to be so stressful or to have her teacher accompany her on the piano.  (In other words, be more like me.  Find the simple way.) None of those suggestions worked for Emma.  I spent time helping her write the music she had in mind.  She would play a measure and I would draw in the notes.  (I kept having to ask her what the notes were.)  I'm not sure how much help I was but I tried.

We got the music all done to her satisfaction and then she practiced.  She practiced for four or five hours straight.  Upstairs Braeden, who had viewed all the drama of the afternoon from a safe and perplexed distance (he's more like me--soooo much more like me), asked me in a whisper just how much longer Emma was going to be practicing.  Finally I made her stop, her voice was cracking from the strain.  Her right arm was sore.  She was smiling though.  She was happy with her music.  (And when Emma's happy, my world is right.)

At the concert I was nervous.  My heart gave a little lurch when it was Emma's turn.  My hands were a little shaky as I recorded it for Adam who is in California.  She sang.  She played.  In my biased opinion as her mother, it was beautiful. She faltered when the microphone blocked her view of the music and then the piano keys, but she forged on.  I can't imagine being able to play and sing in front of so many people.  (I had all I could handle trying to hold Pinkie Pie still.)  My favorite part of her performance was at the end.  She grabbed the microphone after the applause and said, "Let's have one more round of applause for my fabulous page turner, Freja."  Freja blushed and Braeden stood up and clapped and I shook my head because my kids are sort of crazy.

But I love how hard Emma worked.  I love the ways that she is different than me.  I love that she's mine and will be forever.