magic
March 3, 2013 § 2 Comments
There are phrases that consume us, our imaginations, drawing us into distraction; for a moment we are untethered, lost to language. Last week I found myself closing the pages of a book upon a phrase to hold it tightly in my mouth, rolling the words on my tongue to keep the moment close; memories and comprehension curling over words to draw out the sweetness of their familiarity. For a moment I felt all the joy and wonder of a child conjuring my first phrase or extracting another’s words from the pages of a storybook. This love does not age, it is with me always; bound by threads of language.
becoming & being
March 1, 2013 § 2 Comments
Not so very long ago, my daughter made a statement cautioning a young bride against becoming the woman who gets married and takes care of children. Of course, between her words are the collective moments of my experience as a stay-at-home mother. Unprepared for her statement, my daughter recognized my surprise and with the confidence of a sage reassured me that she wasn’t talking about me, I’m great.
I am comfortable enough in myself and appreciative of my children’s unedited expressions of self to laugh at the irony. Still, within moments of humor there are often tiny truths like pebbles in a shoe striking tender places with recognition.
Truthfully, I didn’t plan the past thirteen years of motherhood, rather my days unfolded one into the next leading me along a path whose corners I cannot see around. Some days, in the company of women with careers that offer alternate experiences, I wonder what I might have been or could yet become.
Among all my joy as is there is still a wealth of yet to be and I am perpetually peeking around new experiences curiously hopeful. I explore my days aware of my own wants beside my family’s needs; wondering what I might yet become while content with who I am.
ever after
February 25, 2013 § 4 Comments
A friend’s daughter is getting married and the first refrains of territorial claims over endless choices triggered memories of my own wedding. From the beginning my husband and I didn’t want a wedding, we were already planning for the family we had begun and our hearts and minds were full of bigger choices; houses and baby names dwarfed reception menus and song titles. Our day was crafted out of good intentions and false assumptions, the imperfect moments more true to life than the ceremony that bound us together.
Intentions and assumptions often distort the scale of our troubles. This morning our breakfast table tumbled out of harmony over spilled cereal. I can guarantee that each of the four members of our family experienced the morning’s discontent differently lost to their own perspective with the same certainty that I know weddings are not about flowers or cake.
We photograph the beautiful moments while learning most about one another in the uncomfortable moments. Anger and sadness are guards against tenderness when we are our most vulnerable. So often our holidays and anniversaries are laden with vulnerability stretched between expectations and intentions. In everyday moments responsibilities, fatigue, and miscommunication similarly create conflict.
Over the years, my husband and I have exchanged countless words. Most of them with less consideration than I poured into our vows. Emotional and honest, there is little poetry to these exchanges but they are the very foundation for where we stand.
Today, on the eve of our anniversary and following a morning tinged with chords of disharmony I am most grateful for the unspoken committment between us, the silent promises to weather difficult moments mindful of our good fortune. The awareness that as we look back at our greatest challenges in marriage and family, our footsteps are always close together.
holiday leftovers
February 24, 2013 § Leave a comment
I am always surprised by the extraneous ornament or forgotten keepsake that escapes my efforts to contain holiday trappings before welcoming in the New Year. Perhaps my haste makes this inevitable, still the sight of these items stings with an irritation that contradicts the sentiment that accompanies their unpacking. I am similarly unforgiving of holiday songs and movies that sneak uninvited into January, trespassers leaving footprints on an otherwise pristine calendar.
Last Thursday, my daughter invited Christmas to breakfast in the form of a question:
Mom, remember before Christmas when you would remind us to be good because Santa only comes for good boys and girls? Well, I was just thinking that we really aren’t that good and maybe that means that Santa isn’t real.
There. Smack in the middle of February I was stranded in December, grasping for traces of magic to ward of doubt all the while distracted by my own recognition of my daughter’s awareness. Thankfully her big brother was quick to lend reassurance giving me a moment to absorb the simple reality that both children are maturing into the very perimeter of childhood faith in fantasy, making me relax my guard against lingering holiday leftovers.
wishes & whimsy
February 23, 2013 § 2 Comments
Neither my daughter nor I enjoy shopping, so when my daughter needs clothes to accommodate the change in seasons or a special occasion I compromise by sharing catalogues whose choices give my little girl an opportunity for self-expression while honoring my boundaries. Today I opened a catalogue and found her signature circles looped around elements not for sale: a miniature horse on a shelf, an elegant Indian headdress, silk butterflies, toy birds, and pastel paper flowers.
This filter with which my little girl embraces something as mundane as selecting clothing was an act of magic. Turning the pages was like watching tiny pen marks pull together an intricately organized blur of movement, my daughter’s daydreams strung together on the colorful pages of a catalogue. A flipbook of fantasy.
What began as a way for us to communicate choice has become a time capsule of self, a little girl who seeks out beauty in the margins and draws pieces of art into the fabric of her days.
moving in stillness
February 23, 2013 § 2 Comments
Life moves at inconsistent pacing and so within movement I crave stillness. I wake in anticipation of predictable rhythms only to move into the fray of disjointed busyness. In these moments of movement I reach into quiet corners of my mind and body for stillness to center my words and actions with greater intention. I stand with my feet stretched against the ground below, rooting me to something larger than myself. I borrow the strength of the world I am connected to so that I can relax into breaths that purge my heart and mind of emotions that clutter a deeper connection to self, allowing the quiet to remind me that I need not race forward into thought or deed before first standing still. There is no ceremony to my experience, only the acknowledgment that I must at once be less of myself and all of myself; connected to everything and centered in self awareness.
why
February 20, 2013 § 2 Comments
This tiny word has peppered my days as a mother, each question mark carving out space for conversations. Some days the questions are easy and I relish the security that the answer is within reach. At times the absence of an answer creates a quest for information. On rare occasions, a question will haunt me with truths that weigh on my heart and mind.
This weekend there were no answers. My daughter wanted to know why children are unkind and why adults allow unkindness. School girl giggles and playground misbehavior have made my daughter acutely aware of unkindness. She watches strong children manipulate weaker children under adult supervision and her unease with the injustice sat between us, palpable.
I could no more label children bad than I could dismiss their behavior as acceptable. I could not point fingers without first accepting my responsibility alongside my daughter as witness to harm. Unkindness is an experience we share collectively.
Rather than provide false reassurance with dismissive answers, I asked a new question. How can I help?
For now I am doing my best to give my daughter a vocabulary that will empower her to extend belonging to those who cannot be left uncared for while reminding her of her own self-worth. I am interrupting moments of unkindness with information and inviting children and adults to remap expectations of acceptable behavior. I am carving out room for conversations that begin with questions in search of answers.
everyday love
February 15, 2013 § 11 Comments
Yesterday I lost myself in other’s expectations. Not one for dramatic gestures or extravagant gifts, I am content with handmade cards and thoughtful acts of kindness. Still, for a moment, I allowed myself to measure my husband’s affection against other’s expressions.
I recognized my own irrational behavior, but could not seem to shake my mood. My husband could have been angry or irritated, instead he accommodated my sudden inexplicable need for reassurance and sought out a traditional hallmark of the holiday; a large, heart-shaped box of chocolates. The generous act of sifting through last minute shoppers and picked over candies was not lost on me.
This morning racing thorough mindless motions before taking my daughter to school I snagged the fabric of my bulky winter coat in the teeth of its zipper. Without hesitation I presented myself hands full and zipper stuck for help. My husband, busy brushing his teeth and aware I was in a hurry stopped to lend a hand. Without words I reached for his toothbrush and he reached for my coat. It is the dance of a couple well acquainted with one another; seamlessly we predict the other’s movement, substituting our own for theirs to maintain balance.
This dance of everyday love is so much greater a gift than chocolates. Simple and undramatic, sometimes silly and always sweet these little things are everything, every day.
good company
February 13, 2013 § 7 Comments
Today I shared a milestone with two very special companions, my husband and son. Together we met with our son’s principal, special education coordinator, teacher representative, speech therapist, social worker, and aide to review this year’s academic experiences and outline our goals for the coming year. This was the first time our son accompanied us to his annual Individualized Education Program.
Prior to our meeting I diagrammed the room where we would meet, marking who would be in attendance and most likely where they might sit. I wrote our son into the picture, too, before outlining the process of introductions and formalities. I was prepared for my son’s voice, but the sight of his deliberate signature on the list of participants in attendance was a source of pride. His pen stroke centered him in a significant moment, a beginning that he will reference for years as he joins us in mapping his future.
Sitting between my husband and son I cast a silent note of thanks into the air around us. On this day we were a team within a team; a room of invested and inspired individuals working together in harmony for a young man with big dreams and endless potential.
rite of passage
February 8, 2013 § 4 Comments
No longer little and pliable to pleasing me with small civilities empty of meaning except for the simple joy of parental pride their offering lends, my son is reveling in his transition to a teenager. His extensive vocabulary and formal statements of self are picketing the peaceful space between us with noisy disruptions, drawing lines of protest that leave me trapped in a web of words, rules, and expectations that congest our conversations with assumptions.
Occasionally I find myself measuring conversations for misunderstandings, uncertain when my words became muddled by my son’s moods. Fortunately I am in good company, trapped in this space with my son’s frustrations alongside my own. Begrudgingly I remember he is exercising his independence, weighing his sense of self and his understanding of the world around him in assumptions that lend me a peek into his perspective.
Tonight when my son began posturing in front of a friend with casually hurtful statements of injustice I set aside my emotions engaging him as a young man to better acknowledge his own accountability. I spoke firmly, placing markers of respect among my directives to help my son find his way. I miss the ease of his unchallenged acceptance, but I am finding peace in small subtle lessons in communicating. Little reminders to listen patiently, acknowledge and accept differences, speak in respectful tones with kind words; mile markers guiding my son as he stumbles into maturity. Our errors and growing pains, uncomfortable rites of passage.
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