between the lines
July 5, 2011 § Leave a comment
I set the book aside, knowingly. Days passed and I would greet the title with each dawn, waiting for the right moment to begin. On a cloudless day, beneath a brilliant blue sky, I sat in the shade of my backyard and slowly welcomed old memories between the lines of another’s words. With a lump in my throat and a full heart, I read The Anti-Romantic Child: A Story of Unexpected Joy by Priscilla Gilman.
Our lives have different beginnings, but our stories are hauntingly familiar. We meet in a place of beauty; kindred spirits bound by grace born of love for our children. Two mothers searching for and finding joy in our children’s extraordinary gifts and challenges.
My son, my first-born, was my homecoming. The first time our eyes met my speech failed, but my heart opened in an awakening. Large brown eyes, sage and serene, mirrored my own. Long, thin fingers wrapped around mine and centered me in a place of peace. I fell into contentment.
There were no other children to contrast my son’s development and I was blissfully unaware of heartaches and struggles looming in the shadows of our future. We toiled away hours, days, months, and years oblivious to red flags that would later signal an otherness. Endearing traits would later become cause for concern.
One doctor, with little more than an unsettled feeling, refered us to a child psychiatrist that would see what we had not. Diagnoses and abstract initials hovered heavy, stealing the air from the room as we began to understand our son in a new language. With love and hope we have found our way amidst the endless unknown determined to embrace our son for the special soul that he is.
Between the lines of a stranger’s story I have found strength and inspiration; a celebration for the unique spirits that accompany us on our journey through motherhood.
Please note: This post is my effort to capture my initial feelings as I read this very special book. I consciously did not reference the author’s words but rather my emotional connection to the experience of reading them.
father’s day
June 18, 2011 § Leave a comment
One of my first images of my husband as a father, was that of his large form filling the space of my hospital room doorway. A travel bag packed in haste, bulging with miscellaneous necessities was slung across his chest while a camcorder bag swinging from his other shoulder created a large X across his freshly starched dress shirt. Around him a colorful halo of balloons made his progress at once both cumbersome and celebratory. His face was a mask of pride, fear, hope, and love.
He was by my side through both our children’s labor and deliveries, but this singular moment seems to best capture his spirit as a father. By nature he is a happy soul, playful and outgoing. Like the balloons that followed him into the room, he often brings a sense of celebration to a simple event. The bag packed in haste seems to best represent his eagerness to care for those of us closest to him. The camera toted safely aside the necessities to record the moment true to his desire to create tradition and roots as a father. His face filled with his deepest emotions, radiating love so that you could read it in the dark.
unscripted
February 28, 2011 § Leave a comment
Planning a special moment I tend to orchestrate events based on a visualized physical manifestation of happiness; my desire to create something beautiful overshadowing the moment itself. This is a lesson I am learning to embrace after stumbling over disappointment only to uncover a simpler, less structured experience of happiness.
My lesson began with good intentions. My husband and I made reservations to celebrate our anniversary at the place we said I do. One of my favorite places, quaint and romantic, I was happy for the opportunity to return; creating new memories among cherished memories. This is where I should have paused. The space of our time together was enough.
Instead, I began making new plans and generating an expectation of indulgence. Specifically, I began to daydream about spa treatments. My husband never fought my plans, but his silence caught my ear. I didn’t hear his enthusiasm. I was making anniversary plans for one, rather than focusing on how I communicated love and respect. Scented candles and his favorite wine were simple edits to the script in my mind. I let go. Replacing exaggerated expectations with acts of kindness created opportunities for new moments of shared happiness.
I encountered an unexpected edit to another expectation upon our arrival. I assumed I would find my way to the same room my husband and I shared on our wedding night and first anniversary. Standing in an unfamiliar suite I pouted. My husband recognized my disappointment and offered to fix what wasn’t broken. The simple recognition of my feelings helped me let go of the familiar for something new. I unpacked our belongings along with my expectations. When I stopped looking for what I knew, I noticed the abundant beauty of my surroundings. A tiny shift in my perspective and I began to see more clearly.
Choices became occasions for opportunity rather than disappointment. I shifted my attention from planning the next moment to relaxing and embracing each moment as it unfolded. Our anniversary was filled with acts of kindness and conversation balanced with listening. We share a beautiful life and our ability to respect one another’s needs and let go of expectations was a gift I hope to apply in practice more often.
love
February 26, 2011 § Leave a comment
In a moment of nostalgia, I poured over my wedding photos. Not the leather-bound album our photographer gathered into glossy cliff notes of poise for posterity. Rather the binder of proofs, snap shots of a day through another’s lens. Candid moments, unposed.
Kindness, generosity, and love highlight my favorite images. My step-father calmly receiving my panic during the short waltz down the aisle. Women whose lives intertwine with mine in friendship offering strength and love in support of my promise. My mother proud and sentimental, celebrating a new milestone.
There is one photograph that I pause over. Alone on a winding staircase, overwhelmed by the organized chaos around us, I leaned into my husband. There is an unspoken plea in the language of my body. Feeling lost and vulnerable I gave all of my needs to my husband in a kiss. It is me asking for patience and seeking shelter. My husband’s image stands tall, accepting and giving in the same breath. I have known beautiful moments of romance, but love is a greater indulgence.
in bloom
February 22, 2011 § 1 Comment
Anticipation woke me early the day of my wedding. Restless, sitting stifled in my hotel room, I slipped out for a brief walk in the company of my bridesmaids. With no particular route in mind we wandered the quaint downtown storefronts near the hotel. I paused briefly at a local florist to purchase a simple bundle of apricot colored tulips that brought sunlight and spontaneity into my cream-colored wedding suite. Every February I welcome these early bursts of sunshine into my kitchen and celebrate the beauty of friendship and love gathered into a bouquet of memories from a sentimental day.
date night
February 11, 2011 § Leave a comment
Calendars cluttered with commitments, time with my husband hinges on two little words. Date nights are no longer exaggerated gestures of courtship, but pockets of time filled with gratitude. An indulgent meal or popcorn at a movie; an opportunity to address a concern or a moment of quiet distraction weightless in frivolity are really happy excuses in disguise.
Some plans are better for pleasant accidents. En route to a movie one evening, my husband and I detoured to a nearby store to explore their selection of area rugs. Our home seemed to echo with a cacophony of noise and lacked the warmth of patchwork interruptions underfoot. The task of making a decision together transformed a simple furnishing into a tiny remembrance of a moment shared. We returned home early from our date eager to unroll our purchase and settle the space. A beautiful night, completely unintended.
Anniversaries suggest an occasion for something extraordinary, but our 10th anniversary was exceptionally average. Dressed in casual attire we settled into a booth at a restaurant bar. We toasted over featured cocktails and indulged in favorite foods with little care for the world outside our table. Afterwards we drove with no destination in mind; tired, but happy to be alone with our shared thoughts.
Once in a while, everything goes according to plan. My husband had developed an interest in tea that created an opportunity for me to acknowledge something important to him. I scheduled an evening cup of tea and reflexology treatment for two. Sitting in the sanctuary I smiled at the sound a soothing waterfall punctuated by my husband’s happy snores.
Date nights are touchstones of togetherness, but more importantly they are opportunities to gather strength and celebrate the passage of time.
sticks and stones
February 10, 2011 § 1 Comment
When we are little, adults encourage us to dismiss hurtful words, to brush off unkind sentiments like powdered snow on pant legs. Still, feelings are bruised sometimes before we recognize the wound. Other times we lash out in pain creating new wounds. These sticks thrown in anger or defense land heavy with the weight of stones.
Momentarily lost to hurt feelings some hurl unkind thoughts with an unintentional belligerence similar to indiscernible curse words muttered over a stubbed toe. Hurt and anger radiate outward creating secondary wounds. The victim inflicts new pain making sorry too small a word to bandage two wounds.
When sorry doesn’t fit we stretch our thoughts to cover the space between injuries; each person sharing in the hurt, bonding broken feelings with understanding and compassion. If not properly cared for the wound does not heal in good health, but scars leaving ugliness.
Pain is unavoidable in a life filled with unknown challenges. People are fallible; words hurt and cannot be unspoken. Healing is something shared, a nurtured kindness.
paper gems
February 9, 2011 § 1 Comment
A box of photographs, an eclectic collection of moments casually tossed together for safe storage. Each time I peek at the contents I feel like a small child with a box of costume jewelry; the combination of colorful jewels more beautiful for their haphazard entanglement. I extract images tenderly, the past intersecting with the present.
An undated photograph of my grandparents posed in front of their home lies on top. In the background rests the space of childhood holidays and summer vacations indulged with imaginary expeditions and fairy tale adventures. My senses are arrested with images and sounds of my youth; rows of freshly baked date nut bread protrude pregnantly from hollow soup cans on my grandmother’s kitchen counter, the air charged with the sound of my grandfather’s easy laughter, rich and generous.
Slipping my fingers between thick edges of old photographs I retrieve an early picture of my brother and I, faces red and cheeks damp with tears. We are closer apart where there is less friction between us. I love him dearly, but this is our truth. Sibling rivalry like a wool blanket, its coarseness creating discomfort and warmth.
My parents on their wedding day. There is an awkwardness in their posture that perhaps foreshadows the separation that would become a part of their future and my past. Still I am intrigued by these two young adults that seem at once foreign and familiar. Like paper dolls I am tempted to cover old hurts in bent paper wardrobes and provide them a new story.
One more photo before I tuck the past away for safekeeping. Two young girls, almost identical, peek out of the pile. My unofficial twin, my first friend. Matching clothes and long dark hair we stand shoulder to shoulder. The sentiment in the lines unspoken are greater than the space of our time together. It is learning to be a friend and the memories that linger after good-bye.
I sift through these paper gems rich in nostalgia gathering loved ones close and acknowledging my own spirit reflected in familiar faces.
karma
February 8, 2011 § Leave a comment
Fate has a sense of humor. I have proof. My youngest child lives outside the boundaries of my safe, people pleasing practices and has brought into my world a reckless fun that makes my days richer for the challenges.
At a swim lesson, my daughter’s classmates perched expectantly on the edge of the pool waiting in stillness for their chance to perform the assigned stroke. Sandwiched between other parents, I looked to my daughter hoping for just a hint of conformity to the class structure. No waves please. My daughter eased into a gentle back float and I closed my eyes in silent thanks. “You’re welcome” came in the form of flapping and sputtering, her peaceful form assaulted by her own perfect whale spout. I caught myself smiling as a chorus of giggles rippled across the water. My daughter lives fully in the moment embracing an opportunity to enjoy the space around her, while I sit on the sidelines hoping to go unnoticed, but vicariously enamored with the display.
Dining with family, a member of our party loudly criticized a small child’s messy manners at a nearby table. I cringed, physically arranged my body to remove any trace of support for the admonishment and sent the mother an apologetic look. Two years later, my youngest child embarked on a never-ending mission to challenge the same family member’s patience with poor manners. I should have named her Karma. Aware of the harsh judgment held against her by a loved one, she makes little apologies for imperfection. She offers love without conformity.
In her first soccer class, my daughter fell into the practice drills with an ease and interest that suggested she may have found a comfortable space where conformity was not a challenge. On her second day of class she took over the teacher’s role with the self-confidence and firm guidance of an adult authority figure; peers wobbled behind her like baby ducks. The teacher was unamused, but I was in awe of my daughter’s comfort in her own skin.
There is no shadow to hide behind when so forcefully thrust into the limelight of my daughter’s world. I am learning to wear shades.
mementoes
February 7, 2011 § Leave a comment
In the space of a day the signs of a dog-weathered house have gone from endearing to mementoes of a loved one no longer weaving between our legs. Deep breath. Today we will find our way through this difficult new experience of saying good-bye.
scribblechic 