growing up
January 22, 2015 § 6 Comments
Perhaps it is because my children are of an age where I find myself unintentionally referencing outside expectations and their growing independence with an insincere acquiescence of external values, but lately I am unimpressed with the accomplishment of maturity. I hear my voice contorted into hollow directives as I play at my role of adult, chagrined by the unoriginality of my dialogue and lonely for the magic of my children’s childhood expressions.
There are few lingering exclamations of exaggerated mastery, those treasures of language that once speckled conversations with endearingly irrelevant statements of fact and whimsical brushstrokes of self. Pronunciation and tense were a chaos of communication that drew me into a Seussical world of impossible realities that I became adept at translating into the gray language of the world around me. Some days the gray seems to suffocate the prisms of possibility from our speech.
There are fewer pockets of clutter as play seems relegated to more private spaces. I give thanks every day for the carnival of colorful figurines that circle the perimeter of the bathtub, poised in a silent story line, for interrupting the monotony of my routine with an act of imagination. I tenderly note the direction of the characters, wondering at the changes in their stance and marveling at the endless performance of which I am a second-hand witness.
Most worrisome is the absence of Why, a word that so often announced the beginning of a new adventure with enthusiastic curiosity. The school years have directed our attention to a more singular expectation of mastery and I miss unraveling all the possibilities of the unknown.
To my children,
Growing up is about balancing responsibilities; we are all committed to basic burdens that exist to inform care for self, home, and our world. Do not let your success in these areas define the measure of your maturity. I hope you will continue to color outside the lines and speak in passionate uncertainties. Think less of the answers and more of the journey to knowing. We are never too old to play and always old enough to dream. Don’t ever misconstrue growing-up with outgrowing the child within.
Love, Mom
scribblechic 
The figurines touched a chord with me. When I cleaned out our basement, there came a time when most of the toys went. My boys had progressed to playing with video games, air hockey set, etc. Much of the little boy years went out the door in bags and boxes. It was bittersweet. Kind of like your figurines . . .
I am often torn between cleaning the stage and risking the sterile emptiness, should I break the spell with my sponge. I’ve actually requested the director engage in her own set maintenance.
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Dreaming In Summer ♥
I genuinely love the irony of being called mature in a post that rebels a bit against growing up. Thank you for the smile.
hehehe 🙂 no probs
hehehe 😉 no probs