scribblechic

There is a thread of worry that ravels itself between my daily actions, little fears for days to come and situations outside my control. I try to offer fragments of wisdom in unpredictable moments of attentiveness, hoping to educate the little voice that speaks internally to your doubts, filling the noise of uncertainty with a gentler conviction. Over the past week, I have heard echos of old lectures in familiar voices.

To my son, Your friend is navigating heartbreak, an ailment for which there is no cure. Rather than offer false hope or empty understanding, you have sat sentry to your friend’s emotions; allowing them a safe place to be vulnerable but not alone. When the worries felt greater than your comfort, you offered them the number of someone you trusted with your problems not knowing I would see my number or your message of encouragement. It was a small thing, almost comical for the unexpected endorsement, but reassuring; your voice quieting my doubts that you value my efforts to listen.

To my daughter, Schoolwork is rarely synonymous with learning; exercises in rote memorization are clumsy and inconsistent at best. Sometimes, in play, we shift roles; I become the student and you guide me into a game or topic of interest to you. It was during one of these moments of instruction, as I strained against the names and connections that are so naturally ingrained upon your interests, that you offered me familiar encouragement. You reminded me that mistakes are a part of learning; a message I have championed for years, but you more recently adopted from a classroom poster as your own. You are rarely as patient with your own mistakes, so the ease of this language in a teaching moment was a comfort to old anxieties.

To my children, Heartbreak and error are predictable pieces of imperfect experiences. These moments of awareness for others’ frustrations inform the presence of an inner dialogue I hope will offer a similar kindness to you when I cannot guard your joy from doubts. For now it is enough to know that you are listening and practicing a language of generosity in friendship and in learning.

Love, Mom

Tagged: Children, Friendship, Language, Learning, Listening, Musings

§ 2 Responses to to my children

• candidkay says:

  January 9, 2015 at 10:42 am

  Wise words for young souls. Beautiful.

  Reply
  • Marie says:

    January 9, 2015 at 10:56 am

    Thanks, Kay. It is an endless worry, wondering if the messages we carry are shared in unattended moments.

    Reply