My Fiddling Changeling

I love my children. I really, really do.

Before they were born, my husband and I made specific plans to raise them a certain way. We had priorities and goals. Sometimes, when I feel like I want to return them to the stork for a newer model, I have to remind myself that we are doing exceedingly well in those areas that were important to us.

My children have strong moral values. They are just the nicest kids you could ever meet. They are empathetic and loving. And most importantly to me, they are each other's best friend. My friends marvel at how well they get along and how affectionate they are to each other.

But they can drive me bananas.

Although my son looks just like his dad and has the killer brown eyes and long lashes that can get him out of any trouble, in every other way he is a little replica of me. So I understand him very well, but...well...come on. I'm not quite sure how the people who love me deal with my stubborn streak. It's cute on me, but it's not so attractive on a five-year-old.

And my daughter? I think she was switched at birth. She cannot possibly be our child. Or maybe aliens dropped her down on planet Earth and left her to torture us to death in small increments of frustration.

No. I know exactly where she came from. She is a fairy child. A changeling. The fairies took our own human baby and switched her for one of theirs. It's the best way to explain her constant dream-like state. Her body may be living here with us, but her heart, mind and soul are off in the land of magic, fairies and unicorns.

It has always seemed to me that she is missing that drive to be independent that every other child has. Maybe I am an over-achieving, competitive, perfectionist but...

Okay, I admit that I am an over-achieving, competitive, perfectionist which is why her nature is such a mystery to me.

This year she graduated from t-ball to softball. She says she loves it, but she just doesn't have that competitive drive. She loves it because she's made new friends and she gets to sit on the bench and talk to them. This has made attending her games an exercise in self-restraint. An exercise I often fail.

At tonight's game, I decided to test myself. I will essentially be a single parent come June and I need to ease up and let go of some of my expectations. I decided to sit back and relax tonight. I cheered for every girl, including my daughter. But I wasn't going to let anything upset me.

And I didn't. Not even when she struck out twice in a row because she will not keep her head in her swing! (Oops, okay. I almost lost it there.) It was a completely different experience. I actually had fun.

But the big test will be tomorrow night at her solo violin recital. I almost ruined our relationship for good with my criticisms before last year's recital. And the thing is that I sort of already know that she will mess up. That's just her. She'll be distracted by a noisy audience member, or her own dreams of performing on Broadway, or a fluttering fairy suspended just above her strings.

But I have to finally make myself believe that her failures are not my own. I never claim her successes. Those are all hers. So why am I so fast to claim her failures?

Tomorrow night I will sit in the audience with a smile on my face, proud that my child got up there all on her own and tried her best. And I'll remember that she is moral, empathetic, loving and affectionate. And that is more important than a correctly played D sharp no matter what.