return to routine
April 1, 2013 § 2 Comments
This morning I begrudgingly answered the determined prodding of my alarm. Coffee in hand and sunlight streaming from the windows I fought the urge to tumble back to bed beneath covers still warm from sleep. In the quiet minutes before nudging my children from their own cocoons of tangled sheets I cast a silent wish into the morning light for one more day of everything and nothing, togetherness outside the normal and necessary obligations of routine expectations. Then, I shuffled my sleepwalking dreamers blindly through familiar tasks allowing them space for unspoken resistance without ceremony or humor; missing them long before saying goodbye.
unpacking time
March 29, 2013 § 2 Comments
Stranded between loads of unfinished laundry, I have been sifting through images of our family vacation. Snapshots tickling smiles and sentiment for the experience of our time together; my mind drifting to the moments captured outside the lens of our cameras.
My expectations for family vacations are born more of literary experiences than childhood travels. I have traveled more as a mother than I did as a child. I have come to understand that uncomfortable, imperfect moments lend as much insight as humor to our collective memories. Our personalities, larger than our physical presence, crowded into the confined spaces of public transportation or hotel rooms nurture equal parts frustration and appreciation.
Our children have grown, no longer are they tucked passively into strollers or nestled safely in our arms. Too big to tether themselves to our hands at all times their eyes scanned the environment for their own interests while I still marked their presence, reassuring myself of their safety among congested streets and crowded landmarks. Occasionally their stubborn impetuousness contradicted my Rockwellian expectations and I would pause among the sites to marvel at my children with equal parts irritation and amusement.
My temperamental preteen would bemoan the discomfort of unending sightseeing on loud, exaggerated sighs only to welcome each crosswalk with a march as elegant as a great dane puppy tripping over awkward limbs. Watching my son balance his attitude with unguarded enthusiasm he was an enigma of contradictions, trapped between illogical indignation and immature amusement.
My daughter was both fearless and fascinated. She absorbed our new environment in wrinkled stacks of pamphlets and haphazardly scribbled notes. She surfed the subway, determined to overpower the force of the train’s momentum with outstretched arms and a broad smile. The youngest and often our son’s model for social norms, she was fiercely independent in a new setting unthreatened by the scale of the unknown.
None of this is a revelation. My children unfold into new stages daily, but outside the framework of our routines I paused to acknowledge the passage of time. As we settle back into the comforts of home, I am unpacking expectations and realizations alongside laundry and souvenirs. Emotions and sentiment cluttering my thoughts like the physical trappings of our vacation littering our home.
home & away
March 17, 2013 § 2 Comments
As our family vacation nears I am closing my laptop to settle my home and prepare to pack. The days before an adventure I attempt to anticipate each family member’s needs outside the space of our routines while simultaneously preparing simple comforts for our homecoming. I tidy cluttered corners of our home between washing linen and stacking colorful piles of clothing and miniature toiletries stowed in suitcases.
These days are a prelude to a time of rejuvenation, exploration, and connectivity. There is no call important enough to interrupt our time, no message or update newsworthy enough to infringe on our activities. We wander new places, sharing discoveries and collecting memories. We carry wish lists of sights and sample new foods, cloaked in the obvious invisibility of tourists.
We leave behind familiar comforts to explore the unknown, unhurried outside the daily obligations of home, work, and school only to return eager for the familiarity of our beds, the luxury of home cooked meals, and predictable rhythm of our routines. Today I am giving thanks for the blessings of home and the gift of tomorrows away, together. Saying a small goodbye, until we return.
note to self
March 15, 2013 § 7 Comments
Most days between the layers of busyness are quiet insecurities. I am unkind to myself, silently. Yesterday, watching my children unwind from the routine of the school day into themselves, their interests and humor, I caught myself marveling at the unassuming brilliance of their self-assurance. In the safe, non-judgmental space of our home they glow with a playful and unpretentious confidence.
I wonder where my children acquired these gifts? I am too careful with my joy, too calculating in my risks, too aware of my imperfections. Most days I race between moments, measuring my value against impossible standards. By day’s end I am tired and feel misplaced.
Today I determined I would set aside the nagging doubts and worries that cloud my light. With a headache tugging at my attention and slowing my movements, I pledged to spend the hours I am alone walking in my children’s footsteps. I am practicing compassion by permitting myself unproductive minutes to heal the persistent throbbing in my head. I am gifting myself small indulgences of time and care to create joy within discomfort. More importantly I am finding occasions to be kinder to myself.
Today I am Enough. Without bullying myself into productivity or criticizing failed accomplishments, I am inviting possibility and peace. I want to see myself with the same frame I see my children, an image filtered by love.
tin can telephones
March 13, 2013 § 2 Comments
There is a casual certainty threaded between conversations among mothers, a sisterhood of fallibility and earnestness. These women who were strangers to me until our children were clustered by happenstance into a collective sameness. We met over the tops of toddlers’ heads in crowded classrooms and chaotic end-of-school-day dismissals. Over the years we have come to know one another while perched on miniature classroom chairs and in the perimeters of extracurricular events.
Our conversations are often fragmented, pieces of unending exchanges littered between passing. We pick-up threads of conversations only to leave between thoughts to be continued another day. Like tin can telephones stretched between homes, we pour our doubts and fears, hopes and wisdom into spontaneous sharings. I am tied to each of these women, grateful for the easy comfort of their company.
in between
March 12, 2013 § 4 Comments
The sky today is gray. From indoors wayward strands of sunshine seem to beckon me outdoors. Conjuring an excuse to move beneath the sun I step into the promise of warmth only to be assaulted by cool gusts of wind forcing icy hands inside my coat. This restless cold that chases me indoors beneath blankets mocks my good humor, sending me scurrying further between the pages of a book while I wait for Spring to dust away the lingering traces of Winter.
titles & meaning
March 10, 2013 § 2 Comments
I have become acutely aware of titles these past seven years. Medical diagnoses and academic interventions have created new ways of addressing my children’s needs through measurements and labels intended to create opportunities to better understand and appreciate their abilities. Recently, test scores created a lesson in honesty and humility as I learned a little about myself and the meaning I assign to titles.
For years I have endeavored to weigh that which my children know against gray areas of uncertainty. Often the standard for measurement rests in test scores as reflective of academic ability. While administrators and teachers compiled scores into potential, I thought I had shed my need for validation in numbers. I dismissed placement as irrelevant and abstract, in truth I was very much tied to the titles I professed to disdain.
I suppose I could trace my own experiences as a student, drawing meaning and assigning value to how I perceive my children’s labels as students. I could also chart my daughter’s journey, identifying contradictions between labels and ability. Instead I will share pieces of my son’s story beginning eight years ago, his kindergarten year. An early reader, I championed my son’s abilities and noisily celebrated his earliest accomplishments; aware of an otherness we had yet to comprehend. I substituted academic success for social failings, consciously drawing attention to my son’s abilities to obscure gray areas of doubt.
By first grade we were armed with diagnoses that helped create a new consciousness. I embraced uncertainties determined to gather information. I set aside previous expectations grateful for answers to explain behavior and struggles that did not align with ability. When the teacher informed me our son would be tested for a Challenge program, I saw an opportunity for him to find belonging for his strengths. He tested at the same time we explored a new treatment and I allowed his perceived failure to be blurred by the variables outside our control.
Rather than deem my son excluded from certain opportunities by inability, I dismissed my own desire to label him exceptional. I adopted self-depreciating humor to camouflage disappointment. Underneath carefully choreographed casual disinterest was a secret wish that others would see my son’s abilities in neatly compiled data.
This year test scores placed him in a new limelight. Teachers, administrators, and we as his parents were faced with information that suggested a place of belonging in an advanced academic setting. My son might never be an athlete or musician, but for a moment there is a chance to give him a sense of belonging among peers for a difference that is worthy of respect. After years of feigned indifference, the truth is I am emotionally invested in these titles that define how others see the young man I try to shield from judgment.
time keeper
March 10, 2013 § Leave a comment
This day comes predictably unexpected each year. The familiarity of winding time into the future makes me wistful for a mysterious unknown; in between quiet predictable patterns of my morning routine I long for the paused possibility that never was and yet always is. I have lost nothing and still the missing minutes stretch infinitely in my mind distracting me with whispers of What if?
more or less
March 9, 2013 § 2 Comments
Occasionally, someone will suggest I write. The statement is usually tied to a fragmented sharing on a social network, the unanswered question hovers in the air and I pause wondering if I should acknowledge this piece of myself.
Here my thoughts are untethered to my daily interactions, my words unencumbered by self-consciousness and weighted in a perspective that is unguarded. I allow my insecurities and uncertainties to pool beneath a more naked sharing, exposing unspoken questions and emotions within experiences that are intimately my own.
Still, some days, I feel less myself without the company of my words. This week faced with the question Do you write? I hesitated to respond feeling less myself for the unanswered question.
Perhaps the greater measurement of self rests between more and less. The unwritten question one of sustained authenticity standing consciously among my words unfettered by others’ opinions. In truth I am more worried that I could be enough among my thoughts.
to my daughter at bedtime
March 6, 2013 § Leave a comment
However our days unfold, evenings have always held the promise of stillness and stories. Tucked together between quiet minutes we have unraveled countless stories as we tiptoed closer to dreams.
The past three years you have shared your own story as a developing reader. Unlike your brother who slipped seamlessly from listening to reading, your journey has been an experience fraught with frustration. Your fears and my worries lingered beneath broken efforts as we gathered books and expectations into disorderly stacks. Each reading was a partnership in hope and perseverance. Each evening I mindfully noted your emotions, trying to encourage you without suffocating the joy from the act of reading.
Your earliest success still lingers in my mind. I can see your mouth moving around the shape of the words forcing them intentionally from page to sound. Slowly words linked into sentences, then pages. Each effort was met honestly with determination, but little joy.
Last Wednesday you finished your first chapter book and I held your accomplishment with the breathless wonder I witnessed other firsts. However, unlike your first steps which quickly collected into an endless path of discovery, this new milestone seemed stuck in a moment. Until last night.
Opening to the first page in a new chapter you read diligently to the last page. It is the first step in our evening dance, as we exchange roles as reader and listener. Upon reaching the end of your chapter we settled into our routine, I slipped downstairs to replenish the water for your bedside before gathering my book to share. Returning to your room, I paused at the top of the stairs listening to the sound of your voice reading ahead. Lost to the story, moving blindly forward without tallying the pages kept I waited out of sight cautious not to break the spell.
When at last you were quiet I entered your room to the most endearing exclamation: Mom, you are never going to believe what happened! Want to hear what you missed?
You then contextualized the missing piece of the story for me, punctuating facts with dramatic voices and the toothless grin that has become the hallmark of your elementary years. When you fumbled between the pages for a particular passage my heart burst in a million pieces for the shared experience of seeking and sharing a written treasure. Our evening unfolded into five more chapters, trading places only when you could no longer keep from yawning between words.
Yours is my favorite bedtime story. I could not be more proud or humbled to witness your journey, page by page.
Love, Mom
scribblechic 