finding words
December 3, 2012 § 2 Comments
On an unexceptional evening, on a nondescript day, a small request lead to a discussion I had not imagined and an experience that reminds me we are always gathering strength and courage for days we cannot predict.
It began when I wasn’t looking. Snuggling beside my daughter, lost to a late night movie, her voice found me in quiet, urgent tones: Mom, I have something I need to tell you. I’m worried about how you will feel when I tell you this and how I will feel when you know.
My little girl for whom language is often a tangled riddle spoke clearly with a hushed urgency. The quiet in her voice contradicted the noise in my head and I felt myself center squarely in the moment. Clicking off the television I turned to my daughter and began with a promise. Making certain I had her full attention I held her eyes and hands pledging, There is nothing you could say that could change how I feel about you. Period.
Her pause was tangible and my nerves frayed by the weight of what rested unspoken. Not wanting to lose the moment I mothered gently, offering: I am going to look away so that you are not worried about my reaction. When you are ready, tell me as much or as little as you wish.
Her words came quickly. My little girl’s words filled the room and I collected my thoughts and emotions while she shared a difficult experience. At eight years old she had found herself trapped in an uncomfortable dilemma with a trusted friend.
Cautiously, aware this is the first in a series of crossroads that will map my daughter’s lifetime, I began my response by thanking her for trusting me and reassuring her that she had made the right choices. Then I briefly celebrated the markers my daughter used to navigate her experience: listening to her inner voice, placing boundaries between herself and harm, seeking someone she trusted to hear her story, and reaching out for support. Despite feeling overwhelmed and helpless, my daughter had exhibited the very strength she was seeking in my confidence.
It has been a week since her sharing and I have honored her confidence debating how and if there is a space in my story that allows me to preserve this moment in my daughter’s story. In the end, I hope this marks a unique moment at a tender age when my daughter discovered the balance between strength in her own abilities and vulnerability in sharing. I hope this will read one day as a letter of love to a little girl who was and is stronger and braver than she feels.
making time
November 28, 2012 § Leave a comment
Twenty minutes before the start of the school day my daughter asked if we had time to read a book. Her hair still tangled and her lunch unmade I debated nestling up with a book or scurrying through last minute preparations. Bewitched by a smile still missing a tooth I settled beside my daughter and indulged her request. She choose a holiday story, a tale of a Christmas tree that is perpetually trimmed to fit a home, the excess piece unknowingly gifted to a new family until each bough belongs.
Hours later as I endeavored to accomplish a list of holiday errands I found myself staring inside a store front at a collection of holiday books. There wasn’t a gift on my list or task to be tackled that carried the value of the minutes shared with my daughter this morning; a moment manufactured upon demand regardless of responsibilities.
I no longer wanted to surprise my children with a new holiday book, rather I wanted to curl on the bookstore floor and sift through titles for a new friend. Rather than arrive at home with a bakery box hiding a seasonal indulgence, I wanted to watch their eyes scan the local baker’s shelves for an old favorite or new curiosity. Together.
I am thinking less of Christmas morning and more of the little sharings sprinkled throughout the month of December as we stretch shorter days to encompass stolen moments of togetherness. Creating time and finding our place beside those who give us a sense of belonging.
unpacking the holidays
November 27, 2012 § 1 Comment
Beloved nutcrackers stand sentry and holiday picture books gather well-turned pages for quiet moments ahead. A space has been cleared as we introduce our tree to our home and ornaments nestled in tissue wait to unravel a story of Christmases past. With talisman of joy weighting our home in anticipation for holiday traditions it seems impossible that my head and heart can feel heavy with frustration.
As I tenderly unpack holiday decorations the season deposits emotional baggage to sort and stow. We welcome personalities into our home out of obligation and borrow patience in trade for peace. Loud and all consuming these voices of expectation take greedily without thought for the unrest they cause.
This year as I make my holiday wishes I am sending a silent prayer for a small miracle of my own, somewhere in the soft glow of innumerable white lights I am hoping for tranquility in the company of those whose love fill my days with gratitude for faith in kindness, gifts unseen, and love unending.
possible
November 19, 2012 § 2 Comments
Just before the elementary school bell signaled the end of the day my son and I popped in to the office for a quick errand. As I shuffled my papers into a staff mailbox my son scribbled a note and then gifted it to a child neither of us know sitting on a bench nearby. Peering over the boy’s shoulder I read: Anything is possible.
For all my well choreographed lessons in motherhood, the unscripted lessons I learn from my children are those that humble and inspire me.
framed
November 19, 2012 § Leave a comment
This weekend my husband and I collected frames and photographs for an overdue project. Years after we stripped our walls, slowly crafting my husband’s childhood home into our own, we weighed the same walls with memories. Mismatched frames and snapshots of our life together are now nestled near the dining room table. Walking through our front door, working in the kitchen, and passing from the stairway or garage I can peek at my favorite smiles, centering myself in gratitude and joy for my greatest blessings. It is a moment of homecoming and thanksgiving, just in time for the holidays.
disconnected
November 18, 2012 § Leave a comment
Yesterday morning I found a voice of humor and gratitude missing from my social network feed. The absence of this personality created a hollow echo that rattled around bumping up against empty statements. What was once an opportunity to connect with friends and family conveniently in the busyness of everyday life had become a measuring stick defining moments of self.
From the beginning I was cautious to contain my friends to family, a handful of friends from my childhood and college, along with mothers whose serendipitous presence in my life grounds me in a community of nurturers; those who share memories and know the sound of my laugh. I loved catching glimpses of my cousin’s daughters or the discovery of a dear friend with whom I had lost touch, casting quick hellos across the miles.
There were other statements I could not unread, strategically coded declarations by friends at odds, extravagant oversharings, and unnecessary updates. I too had created a sense of self with irrelevant facts: what we eat, where we are, what we do and between the lines – who we are, wish we were, or used to be.
This was my weakness, discerning statements of self from word play. Contrasting my days against other’s images and accomplishments there was an element of insecurity for the absence of Rockwellian images in photographs and prose to narrate my story and a presumed pressure to respond to others’ statements leaving my words forced and false for the pretense.
In this light I have taken a step back. Stripped of my likes and status all that remains are a freckling of images and an abbreviated collection of family and friends with whom I am unprepared to say goodbye. Years of fragmented sharings have been set aside like pages in an unopened album. Instead, I am embracing this season of Thanksgiving to acknowledge those whose presence in my life are a blessing and transitioning from online exchanges to a more intimate practice of handwritten holiday greetings.
I am gathering addresses and weighing my words, attempting to let go of one experience for another. For now my account sits bare uncertain of the next step as I balance limiting my account to family or keeping the door open for a change of heart.
unassigned
November 13, 2012 § Leave a comment
Tonight our family dining table was littered with assignments unattended while both children poured over a science text book. My son and daughter’s foreheads rested gently against one another as they uncovered new concepts – reading aloud and exclaiming over their discoveries with each turn of the page. Their minds full of material unrelated to what they must do before morning they eagerly, enthusiastically explored new ideas. A moment of unorchestrated friendship and child-led learning untethered by expectations or interference. I dared not blink for fear of disrupting the moment and breaking the spell.
character sketch
November 12, 2012 § 2 Comments
Some days I draw my expectations in shades too dark to invite error. Recently I have more consciously created opportunities for my son to draft his own experiences – the juxtaposition of the man I see growing in the child before me in contrast with my son’s choices. Mistakes loom around corners so visibly I am tempted to tug on the hand that once held mine and pull him from harm’s way.
A preteen age of false bravado and boisterous proclamations of independence have drawn new boundaries, my son is mapping himself in broad statements as he postures presumptuously. Despite his best efforts to demonstrate wisdom and strength, I see a little boy playing at being grown. Each error in judgment a skinned knee, a small badge of pride as he finds his strength in moments of weakness.
My daughter, four years her brother’s junior, mirrors her brother’s eagerness to be cast as capable. Here my children are divided by effort and ability. One is blessed with natural gifts that rest unused, neglected with assumption and entitlement. The other steps around challenges eager to keep pace.
I am learning as deeply as I am guiding. As my children grow into their dreams I am rapt with uncertainty and hope for these characters whose stories fill my days.
bare
November 8, 2012 § 4 Comments
The weather has turned cool stealing my breath and leaving my thoughts unfinished. I feel bare, sensitive to the emotions of those I love most. This week we have navigated our days consumed by deadlines, worries, and expectations; needs pulling at our time while stacking invisible weights on our shoulders. Hunched over, walking forcefully against discomfort there is little warmth as we draw ourselves smaller against our distractions. I am eager for the weekend that I might draw out the happy souls that fill our home with curiosity and humor better to cloak myself in their warmth.
sweet lesson
November 7, 2012 § 4 Comments
My son’s head is full of abstract thoughts, challenging ideas chasing through his mind’s eye pushing practical exercises in logic just out of reach. He also possesses an insatiable sweet tooth. Recently my son has been sneaking the subject of brownies into conversations, tiny pleas strung together until collectively they created an insistent nagging. Yesterday morning I handed my son a box of brownie mix suggesting he take a break from the task at hand to make a treat.
Moments into the endeavor he began pelting me with fragmented questions: What should I use? Where should I put this? How long should I stir, mix, bake? Questions and mumbling clanking noisily, like the mismatched instruments he employed. Watching bemused from behind my book, I finally set down my reading and said simply, “Worst case scenario the brownies don’t turn out. You’re a smart kid with great ideas, look outside the box.” He continued to look at the pieces without reading the clearly outlined instructions resting face up on our counter. I waited patiently and curiously gauging his progress without interference.
An hour later the house was filled with the smell of warm brownies, more importantly my son had stumbled successfully through a concrete exercise in problem solving. In a perfect world he might have created brownies from an assortment of ingredients scattered in cabinets rather than a store-bought short cut. The greater lesson was in trying. There was a definable need, an attainable goal, a gooey middle muddled with controlled chaos. In the end, he did it – from creating to cleaning he had found his way. The reward was sweet, the lesson sweeter.
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