tidy
December 27, 2015 § Leave a comment
The nutcrackers have marched their way back into storage and the ornaments are tucked away for the year, the tree still boasts a gown of light and sentiments from loved ones adorn the wall. It is a time of delightful in-between; our hearts full with the joy of Christmas and our thoughts happily distracted by a brief holiday. This week, in the fleeting days between play and rest, I’ll sort shelves for ill-fitting clothes and misplaced clutter; readying our home to greet the New Year. We’ll tidy our nooks and sweep the cobwebs that our threshold will welcome new dreams.
to my daughter’s science teacher
December 26, 2015 § 5 Comments
On Wednesday, my daughter showed me a narrow strip of colorful paper with a message written thoughtfully by hand. I can tell you without looking that it is already buried beside a stack of paper rewards in a messy drawer; a treasure of kindness my daughter keeps to herself.
You gave thanks for her gentle heart, her creativity and the way she looks at the world. It was a message that would make anyone feel valued; a gesture that invites respect for others and invests emotionally in individuality.
You did this for every student and that is what my daughter cherished. More than her own words, she noted that you had taken the time to write individual messages to everyone.
It’s a lesson that extends beyond textbook subjects, one that informs a standard of appreciation for individuality, collectively, that was not lost in the excitement for the season.
On the days when you are tired, discouraged, overwhelmed or uncertain those hours of personal time invested in your students are worth the cost of thoughtful details, they are.
Thank you.
writing on the wall
December 25, 2015 § Leave a comment
Before our move I traded old artwork for a clean slate. Family rules and whimsical subway art for newly painted walls in want of character. I sought new words cautiously and intentionally, joyfully and hopefully.
The choice came unexpectedly, a delightful recognition of a too often forgotten truth. An unadorned love letter to each new day to be placed where we gather our coats and shoes, backpacks and breath before embarking on our individual paths.
A reminder for the busy days, when we wake tired, not yet ready to leave the comfort of our dreams; when the day promises tests of patience or will with discouragement or disappointment; on the occasions we look too far past today or get muddled in days past.
It is an encouragement for times we second guess our abilities or undermine our contributions; a gentle push when we pause too long on the sidelines of our dreams. Words of encouragement written on the wall, a Christmas wish come true.
to my children
December 25, 2015 § Leave a comment
Lazy snowflakes and chocolate chip pancakes, Remember Whens and In a Bit. I will remember this holiday for the bounty of time, unhurried meals over our new dining table and lazy afternoons near the fire.
This morning I sat with my coffee and noted a few certainties for Christmases to come, least I forget the simplicity of your joy:
Neither of you numbered your wishes, no one tallied the boxes between you or calculated the cost to measure fairness. It was enough to feel appreciated with simple gifts that honored deeply ingrained interests; art tools and science equipment, toys you build and forgotten requests.
Stockings were pilfered for sugar without any interest in non-edible spoils; even then, chocolates were stowed away for a time soon forgotten. Between you there were some sweet similarities without any confectionary comparisons.
Given the choice between gifting and receiving, you were as eager to witness joy as experience your own. In fact, there was as much pleasure in crafting tags and tying simple bows as there was in discovering what surprises were buried beneath the wrapping.
In matters of menus, you were more interested in visiting over a meal than the formalities of traditional staples. Similarly you were just as happy to bake a single batch of cookies across days of spontaneous cravings, than to stock the pantry with multiple choices in advance.
By day’s end you have played with new toys, but gravitated predictably toward old favorites; savoring the unstructured freedom of a holiday from routine as much as the novelty of new indulgences. Traded laughter and curled into quiet contentment.
It has been a season of peace, simple traditions and fewer wants; bountiful joy in thoughtful gifts without a single complaint in the confetti of wrapping that littered the floor. For my part, I’ll hold dear for years to come the gentleness of this day and the fleeting magic of your gratitude in less.
Love, Mom
little nothings
December 23, 2015 § Leave a comment
Today was our children’s last day of school before Christmas vacation. With no great demands upon our day, my husband and I indulged in the gift of time. We visited a bakery, laughing at the foolishness of our whim amid the chaos of their busyness, and tended to a last-minute gift in a familiar shop around the corner from yesterday.
It was this unhurried contentment that cast a spell upon our children’s return from school. Homework forgotten and housekeeping postponed, we settled into a string of old movies and simple distractions. Trading stories of our day and falling into companionable silence.
I doodled cherished characters onto blank gift tags the way I once sketched stories onto school day napkins tucked into lunch boxes. Our daughter filled in the gray pencil outlines with color until each personality took shape. Eventually we traded markers, delighted with our efforts, happily lost to the work of play.
Play became dinner and dinner became stories by the fireplace; our coffee table covered in beloved picture books from holiday’s past. We took turns reading sentimental favorites in funny voices until the sky demanded we admire the uncluttered canvas of stars that seemed to apologize for the absence of snowflakes.
It was magic; peace and joy crafted from paper and words, stars and stolen minutes. Little nothings made into something extraordinary.
last minute
December 21, 2015 § Leave a comment
There are three more days of school before we break for the holiday. Three days for last-minute gifts and groceries; time enough to plan a little magic in this, a new season, of joy.
Gone are the years of elaborate gingerbread houses, little fingers sticky with frosting and candy scattered to the far corners of progress. No longer do I wrap our packages with intricate bows or hide the seams of my wrapping by laboring over the folds with hot glue. I’ve stopped staging our home for a Christmas card, becoming almost reckless in my disregard for dramatic details.
In the beginning I was performing to the expectations of impossible standards to please my husband’s family and delight my children with a storybook fairytale. I thought I might preserve make-believe with carefully choreographed awe and excessive measures of enthusiasm. Except, I was exhausted by the work of performing a disingenuous act of joy.
I was raised with a simpler experience of magic, the company of loved ones and the smell of baked goods. I cannot remember a single gift, but I can close my eyes and remember the generosity of peace that marks my memories and the wealth of love made invaluable by time spent with family. I wish I had honored these traditions earlier, before I adopted the superficial demonstrations inherent in my husband’s memories.
Our children rallied against unhappy traditions, in want of simpler experiences almost as soon as they could speak their mind. Unimpressed with the decorative packaging that was my husband’s family’s hallmark, they hated the seams that would not tear beneath layers of glue. They bemoaned the nagging directives in sharp tones from grandparents who demanded they preserve each ribbon. They endured with sullen postures the formality of Christmas morning brunch; traditional foods set against pristine table cloths and heirloom quality place settings with little room for cheer.
For some time I tried to please both generations.
New traditions became apologies for patience. To drown out the demands of unwrapping gifts, I let my children scatter their mess with joy. We saved the ribbon but buried our floor beneath hastily torn wrapping paper. I packed away my china and snuck donuts onto countertops, a small concession for the menu of dreaded hash. I created a new dress code that restricted our children from properly dressing for the day and refused, myself, to change out of pajamas.
Little changes that acknowledged the brevity of childhood. Still misery found its way to our doorstep with sharp tongues and crude demonstrations of excess. So we tucked our happiness beneath tolerance and waited for each departure to relax into an uncomplicated contentment for simpler traditions. We swept away the wealth of material gifts for more charitable purposes and settled into play.
This year we have invited new guests to preserve a spirit of love that embraces less with gifts of mindfulness. Magic guarded by a menu of frivolous fun with a few special gifts wrapped with haste to be opened with abandon and cheer. Last minute festivities to linger across years of happier memories.
I’m still holding sacred gingerbread houses of Christmases past with gratitude for a less cluttered season of now.
good & honest
December 20, 2015 § 5 Comments
I was raised to be good, compliant; to tend to expectations and keep private those ideas that hinted at selfishness. Sometimes good came at no greater cost than performing an unwanted task, other times a favor meant compromising the integrity of my own needs.
Tonight someone asked me a favor. A small request that assumed a convenience that did not exist. My first instinct was to please, but conceding convenience meant creating an expectation that was untrue.
I considered the times I said yes to a pastime I did not enjoy, a beer I did not want, a bad joke I thought was in poor taste, gossip that sounded bitter to my ears or an untruth I did not correct with polite silence. It is easy to be good; to nurse a drink I will not finish or laugh to avoid making another uncomfortable, to listen without contradicting or correcting.
Except, if I am not honest in my choices, others are lost to assume I want another drink or share criticism or humor I do not enjoy. Performing a fallacy of self creates little untruths of passiveness.
Tonight I was honest when it might have been easier to be good.
self made
December 18, 2015 § 4 Comments
It began with a classroom assignment, a Social Studies lesson asking children to create a model example of ancient technology. Our daughter was cavalier in her efforts right up to the day she appeared with a colorful stack of construction paper piled onto her bed. In a single evening she cut and folded unlikely material into the shape of her assignment.
There was a moment when I first saw her bent over the stack of paper, that I was tempted to entertain a trip to a craft store for materials that might be more pliable and polished. Instead I watched as one-dimensional pieces of paper began to evolve into wheels with intricate spokes, suffocated in layers of scotch tape.
I cannot remember an assignment in our old community where children weren’t required to purchase materials for projects or when parents didn’t fashion their handiwork into their child’s task. I worried that our daughter’s efforts would appear laughable next to more elegant models, but I couldn’t bring myself to undermine her independence.
It was a happy surprise, when my husband and I attended her class museum, to see similarly fashioned models. Construction paper artifacts and Lego creations, repurposed toys and hand drawn examples. It is a standard of excellence that speaks to effort and attention over end results.
Today our daughter will present another project, this time for Science. When asked to create a solution to a problem, our daughter started engineering something I didn’t understand. There was a temptation to ask questions or offer help; an instinct to guide under the guise of support. Then, I read a quote tagged to a message from her Science teacher.
“Too often we give children answers to remember rather than problems to solve.” Roger Lewin
So I created space, offering our daughter room to struggle a bit against her assignment. There were times she came to me worried she might be wrong and we looked together for what those doubts might mean. I challenged our daughter to honor her big idea and I trusted her teacher to recognize the value in each mistake.
Last night our daughter asked that she go it alone today; that her father and I sit out her presentation. Gone are the days of elementary parties and hands-on help, our youngest is coming into her own; standing proudly independent at the culmination of her work.
sentence fragments
December 16, 2015 § 6 Comments
It is a strange mischief that distracts me when my intentions are most earnest. Every sentence breaks under the weight of silence until there are only fragments.
“no matter the seasons of responsibilities that pull at my attention, I have carved this small sanctuary for joy”
“one-dimensional pieces of paper began to evolve into wheels with intricate spokes suffocated in layers of scotch tape”
“as the horn assaulted the quiet, I moved toward you as if through water; there was no air between us”
“little promises etched against the day”
dog training
December 13, 2015 § 4 Comments
Our dog’s leash caked in a layer of mud to match the stretch of filth that reached from tip to tail, pulled me from the evening’s holiday plans. I cursed myself for allowing her to chase after a new friend into unknown nooks of our neighborhood, but the joy between the two had been contagious and I had released her to play.
It was only after I called our dog back to finish our walk, that I considered the unlikely events that must transpire before our company arrived. Sixty pounds of mud and fur would need to be carried up a flight of stairs to be cleaned. I’m not sure I’ve previously noted her fear of stairs, but there was no doubt that she would not be bribed our commanded in the direction of the available bathroom given an equally unfortunate fear of baths. Then, our oversized, dirty chicken would need to be bathed.
I began in my head with all the inconveniences. Trotting them out for show, naming them and sulking in their company. By the time we returned home, I had set aside the frustrations of the moment and began moving through a checklist of necessity.
It was a comedy of error, our sweet pup watching through the shower door as I struggled into my bathing suit; a small precaution in anticipation of my own inevitable bath. She was patient still as I scavenged our cabinets for the shampoo I had over organized into unlikely storage. It was only when I filled a large bucket with water that she curled in protest against the tiles as I began earnestly scrubbing the layers of mud from her fur.
As she settled into a helpless trust, I too let go; dismissing my regrets and thoughts of inconvenience to the task at hand. I stopped worrying that my hair would be undone or that the bathroom would soon be a mess of fur and water. I put off the hour and thoughts of our company, focusing on the work that demanded patience and let the irritation chase the mud that circled the drain.
This is the blessing of loving a dog; they challenge us to get lost in an unpredictable moment where small fears and inconveniences allow us to center ourselves completely in a moment of care. Our priorities get shuffled and we uncover minutes we had previously allocated to other plans, we let go of the false idea of control that so often hurries our actions and distorts the importance of our distractions.
We teach less than we learn.
scribblechic 