to my daughter
April 29, 2014 § 5 Comments
Last Friday we paused in our leisurely habits for your daddy daughter dance. Despite the grand theme that suggested more mature expressions of glamour, I held firmly to simpler wishes. It would have been so easy to masquerade you as a young woman, but there is still so much little girl in the balance of your experience and I guard this blessing least you grow too quickly beyond the innocence of this moment.
You are young enough still to seek my counsel, but old enough to push against my authority toward independence. My direction comes masked as a suggestion easily manipulated into your choice. Each selection, from shoes to dress, were an exercise in will and an experiment in self. We danced around subjects of maturity and cost, image and independence. I created boundaries to center you in practical details while lending you freedom enough to make choices that reflect your creativity.
I see so many young girls gathered into early expectations of grandeur. Little girls hidden beneath costumes of maturity or delighting in extravagances so impractical in their excess that they unwittingly create an impossible standard. I hope that you will continue to find joy in less, even in exceptional moments of celebration.
In as much as this was an evening to share with your father, I cherished our time together in preparation. The simplicity of our dining room manicure, the faint hue of your polish little more than a suggestion as you outlined your excitement. I silently applauded your decision to leave your hair to fall comfortably rather than endeavor to confine its bulk into something severe and took care as you let me untangle the day’s knots.
As the time came to dress, I smiled at the silver ballet flats whose sparkle was reminiscent of your toddler toes hidden in ruby, red slippers; the trail of glitter highlighting your path of play. When you unraveled strings of jewelry and dismissed the weight of a corsage for the luxury of white gloves, I saw again images of little girl dress-up accessories mismatched amidst everyday attire.
Watching your walk on your father’s arm I celebrated the blend of innocence and budding maturity in the collection of your choices. Part tomboy and part princess; ever my little girl.
Love, Mom
one minute
March 24, 2014 § 12 Comments
In the bustle of our morning busyness, between the sleepy progress of breakfast and the choreographed chaos of chauffeuring my children in different directions, I found myself stranded among fleeting minutes. Moving through the practiced efficiency of routine goodbyes I weighed unspoken words against lost opportunities in search of extra time.
On a whim, I asked my daughter for one minute; inviting her to watch the numbers guarding her time so long as she lent me her ears. The spontaneity of my request and my daughter’s unanticipated approval prevented a more calculated message. Instead my words tumbled one over another, clumsily but well-intentioned.
I told my daughter I do not know how not to worry and apologized in advance for all the words that come out wrong. I predicted personal failings in the imperfect practice of mothering and begged patience with errors of ignorance, promising only love. I set aside all the warnings and questions that whispered of my worries, finding my daughter’s eyes no longer measuring the time between us.
Then, I let go of things unsaid for the promise of one minute more and held my little girl close.
diagnosing silence
March 16, 2014 § 4 Comments
This past week I found myself caught in a moment’s pause, trying to give voice to faith in the clinical space of our doctor’s office. From the earliest stages of our son’s diagnoses, there was an implicit trust in the wisdom of our doctor’s experience and knowledge. Just as we introduced our child to this stranger in search of explanations, we were introduced to unfamiliar needs that would come to shadow our experiences lending insight to intimate challenges.
Last Wednesday, in the familiar space of our doctor’s office, I felt doubt in expertise and certainty in things unproven. The intangible instincts of parenthood informed by situations and experiences catalogued with care became evidence of something greater than the volumes of medical knowledge slumbering in our company. Nudged from silence into conflict I heard my voice cautioning our doctor’s certainty with my own; respectfully, but with faith in something unproven.
Grand ideas and daydreams too easily dismissed as symptoms of a disease were in sharp contrast to memories that hint at knowledge outside our understanding. Our doctor dwelled on education and resources as distinguishing factors between fact and fantasy; an ability to physically manifest the ideas our son shares so enthusiastically imperative to a clinical determination.
I stood in the undefined place of possibility, recalling ideas that have all too often appeared years after our son’s suggestion in scientific magazines that litter our home; inventions that even without an advanced education he could predict and without resources he could imagine. I heard echos of conversations past, shared with professional scientists I could not understand, but who met our son’s questions respectfully with interest and appreciation. My husband added his voice to these memories and I watched as our doctor joined us, mutual respect and appreciation for the individuality of our son’s unique abilities and needs have created a place of possibility in place of clinical certainty.
Days later this exchange still lingers in my mind, cautioning against silence in place of certainty and the threat of misunderstanding unfamiliar experiences as something incorrect. Watching our doctor dance between certain diagnosis and an uncertain error, I gave thanks for humility in fallibility. Looking to our son I am reminded of the beauty of our dreams and the trajectory of a life unbound by predetermined boundaries.
To my son, There will be moments when the momentum of others’ assumptions and experiences will inform understanding. You must not be afraid to push against certainty with the force of your own doubts. The world is full of those who cannot imagine change without first knowing proof, do not be afraid to move in certainty against their doubts. Love, Mom
aggressively passive
March 8, 2014 § 14 Comments
In an altogether too common happenstance I read a casually, intentional social media message of victimization with undertones of accusatory wrongdoing. I was uncomfortable with the passive aggressive statement of harm, but not for the reason you might expect.
A couple days ago I might have composed a similar statement of injustice. A moment of unkindness toward my son had me puffed up with righteous indignation. I considered buoying myself with the reassurance of friends while passively labeling the children involved as bad, mean, or bullying. Perhaps they were all of these things, but labeling others in a public manner makes me no better a person.
I see this more often, otherwise kind individuals posting unkind sentiments. One statement becomes a thread of conviction; responses based in concern and loyalty unintentionally becomes a secondary source of harm. We take moments out of context and recycle wounds into weapons.
Reading unkindness I am not so innocent a bystander either, my silence a passive acquiescence of wrongdoing. Somewhere in the space between assumptions and statements there must be time enough for greater consciousness in our words.
Perhaps we must begin in silence, allowing ourselves time to experience a harm privately before expressing ourselves publicly. As a mother I am especially concerned with how I address injury and promote healing. I do not want my children to balance justice by a contingency of karma or hold tightly to bitterness; to label or convict casually another’s error in judgement. This is my challenge, to model with clarity an experience often cluttered emotionally.
to my son
March 7, 2014 § Leave a comment
This morning we sat among familiar faces and new, planning for the academic year to come. It was our second of two, thoughtfully attended meetings in preparation for your transition to high school.
In the moments before you joined us, I listened to those who have shared your days these past three years introduce you to our high school coordinator with words of kindness for your character, confidence in your ability, and concern for your well-being. In turn I heard the echo of our experiences past in the voice of shared expectations for the future.
When you joined our discussion I marveled at the young man you have become. With each gesture I remembered small exercises in etiquette, a toddler’s hand reaching out in greeting and eyes intentionally seeking acknowledgment in small demonstrations of respect. I saw a young man fighting nerves in recognition of the weight of this milestone, endeavoring to speak conscientiously of his doubts and hopes.
You spoke of the joy you have found working with others and looked eagerly to create this experience of community in your future. When evaluating choices for opportunities to explore new interests you spoke enthusiastically and chose intentionally. You asked questions and provided answers while I sat quietly, giving you room to use the voice of self-advocacy your father and I have endeavored to help you cultivate.
Later, when you replay this moment in your mind gauging your words and reflecting on your decisions, I hope you remember the faces of the individuals in your company who have collectively and actively shared in our journey; steadfastly supporting you for the unique spirit you are. I also hope you see yourself in your plans and pause to honor the importance of presence in creating your future.
Love, Mom
the learning place
March 4, 2014 § 2 Comments
The space of learning is a constant source of my distraction. My thoughts on my children’s identity and accomplishment, confidence and curiosity are entangled in the environment of their education. My husband and I map the physical space of our children’s academics with the same attention we note the emotional and psychological space of their days as independent learners navigating unique needs in a traditional environment.
Most days I am as tempted to reject the boundaries of familiar classroom settings as I am to embrace its potential. Between rows of identical chairs there is a community of diversity that gifts difficult lessons in sharing space with children and adults whose expectations and values compliment and challenge our assumptions. Simultaneously there is a homogenization that too often undermines the individuality of the child who does not move so easily within the current of curriculum.
Over the past couple years I have watched my children slowly assimilate into a blind acceptance of the unspoken rules of classroom performance. With less curiosity for their world and a greater awareness of each error, I have begun to worry that the current they once resisted has worn away the sharp edges of their perseverance making them more passive students.
In my greatest moments of doubt I am reminded of one certainty: Uncertainties are the elixir to complacency. Resignation fosters stagnancy that decays the spirit of learning. With this in mind I am more consciously questioning my children’s days, looking for indications of acquiescence. I am mapping my worries with question marks, reminding my children (and myself) that learning begins within the intangible space of unanswered questions in search of information that challenges our comfort and sparks awareness for our environment; extending the classroom to every corner of our day and transforming our measurement of success to one of independent accountability in the pursuit of knowledge without fear of failure.
to my daughter
February 13, 2014 § 4 Comments
This week you found yourself in the middle of a mistake, one you could not hide from and wore with naked vulnerability. Self conscious you held your chin up and navigated your days with grace; you shared your worries with a friend, giving trust and demonstrating faith; you spoke up for other children even when it would have been easier to keep quiet and bask in the silence. You chased each day’s joy despite an uncomfortable companion and I am in awe of the quiet strength that informed your choices. Love you.
Mom
lost in time
January 30, 2014 § 5 Comments
This morning my daughter nestled on the stairway, dressed for the day but hidden beneath a tangled curtain of hair; shoulders draped over a paperback book and tiptoes curling her frame against the hands of time. My mind on the clock, but heart in my throat, I left her to linger over the last pages of her story in the dwindling minutes before school; each of us lost to a moment in time.
direction
January 12, 2014 § 4 Comments
This year each day has felt tethered to a moment I could no more escape than I could ignore; the universal worries and intimate hopes that accompany a common childhood milestone exaggerated and informed by past experiences unique to our story.
Soon, on a day yet undetermined, we will gather as a family among educators, administrators, and support staff to begin our son’s formal transition from the familiar halls of middle school to the personal expectations that will manifest as an introduction to his high school experience. This occurs in a series of well choreographed routines as dictated by our son’s Individualized Education Program; a necessity of diagnoses that determine academic need.
I could note here the specifics of our son’s diagnoses, but each naming seems to undermine the complexity of his character. Instead I will introduce you to the process I engage each year to inform the language of his ability. Prior to each meeting I outline the resources that create success, the struggles that inform growth, and areas of risk alongside exceptional ability. My husband shares his perspective and our son outlines his goals so that we speak neither of or for our son, but rather to his well-being academically and emotionally.
Over the years I have come to seek counsel from experts whose experiences are both professional and personal in an effort to increase awareness and identify potential. Administrators and educators, parents and advocates, friends and strangers help me navigate choices whose weight is greater than my knowledge. This year I have drawn from these same voices until the collective din of contrasting counsel was deafening.
Yesterday, in the sleepless early morning hours, I let go of worries and wondering for a self-indulgent exercise in escapism. I closed my lap top and snuggled into my husband’s company to watch a movie. He had chosen a title unfamiliar to me, one that is completely irrelevant to this story, with the exception of one line in the movie’s dialogue that interrupted my distraction and sent me scurrying for a scrap of paper.
Just because you’re lost doesn’t mean you say your compass is broken. – Anthony Hopkins, “The Edge”
This language of direction could not have come at a more necessary moment. A gift of perspective guiding me to center myself in simple sureties and reminding me that we have the right to choose our own path. As others map possibilities by our son’s need, we have the burden and benefit of choosing a path that honors his potential.
I am no more certain of the days to come. This experience is one of humbling success and heartbreaking struggles; we grow into each moment uncovering rare souls who recognize the blessings within our challenges and walk with us in moments of adversity, learning more about ourselves as we evolve personally to cultivate resilience.
For today I am content in what I know and cannot predict, certain only of the love that guides me and the company of remarkable souls who accompany me on this journey. Instead I will gather my words and endeavor to breathe our son’s voice into the sterile language that occupies the dense pages of his Individualized Education Program least he is lost in assessments that cannot speak to the beautiful eccentricities of his gifts.
written word
August 28, 2013 § 11 Comments
To my daughter,
I keep returning to a recent memory, my thoughts snag on the image of your form bent over a note card. You were writing a letter of thanks, one hand balled tightly into a fist holding the stationary in place.
You do the same when you read.
Your body naturally contracts with the force of your concentration and I am reminded great strength rests in your small hands. I have often imagined a day might come when reading would flow through you with greater ease, instead it remains an exercise of will. Every page is a beautiful victory.
Thank you for modeling grace and determination, for allowing me to explore language more conscious of the treasure of literacy. Without you books were little more than the air I breathe, I slipped between words casually unaware. What came easily to me has more value for my experiences as your mother.
Of all my favorite storybook characters, you are my heroine.
Love, Mom
scribblechic 