hands free
March 20, 2012 § 2 Comments
Family vacation, time away from daily routines and the distractions of technology for simpler joys.
Our hands will be free for: holding a book, holding a pencil, holding hands.
Our time will be marked by: restful stillness, curious exploration, unhurried conversations.
We will slip outside the predictable routines of: homework, paperwork, housework.
I am logging off, shutting down and reconnecting with my family. Grasping the moment tightly with both hands.
home
March 18, 2012 § 3 Comments
A place within and in between, constant and ever changing; more solid than beams and bricks and yet at once intangible. My mind and heart are wrapped around the word home today. This week I have been preparing to visit my mother while taking care of my little girl, a quiet week with pockets of business and gentle reminders that home is a moment of understanding and recognition between two people of something shared but unspoken.
The past few weeks I have watched my vivacious seven-year old side kick fight off a variety of irritating cold and flu symptoms. Yesterday a fever robbed my little girl of her smile and she drifted into a deep sleep; I was restless without the playful antics and dramatic declarations that punctuate my daughter’s days. Today, as she tugs joyfully at my patience with stubborn independence our house feels more like home.
Like mother, like daughter. My mother and I tug tirelessly at one another’s patience with the same predictability. We are as similar as we are different, stubborn certainties mingled with unspoken insecurities clutter the space between hugs and harmony. I have learned to appreciate the complications between my mother and I as both universal and unique; sore subjects and shared respect hallmarks of our journey as daughters and mothers in a sisterhood of womanhood.
This week as I prepare to share time with my family in the infinite space of home that ties us together with heartstrings, I am folding clothes into suitcases and unfolding old memories. Celebrating and giving thanks for my daughter and my mother.
unwritten
March 15, 2012 § 3 Comments
Stuck inside my thoughts, dwelling in distraction, I came across a quote that inspired me to set aside the act of writing for an exercise in living.
How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live.
Henry David Thoreau
This blank space that so peacefully accepts my thoughts without judgment created a place of solitude where I could pause on the periphery of my life lost in thought. In my youth I tucked myself quietly between the pages of countless books seeking the reassuring security of a story. Writing has gifted me the same peaceful reprieve from expectations and uncertainty.
Rather than reflecting, I have begun to seek. Where I rested in uncertainty, I have created movement inspired by curiosity. I am balancing my words with exercises in living. The pauses between sharings filled with life.
constructive criticism
March 8, 2012 § 2 Comments
Teachers and specialists have assured me it is quite normal for a sibling of a child with special needs to become a miniature caregiver. In this respect my daughter is exceptionally normal. From the time she was born I would follow behind my son trying to help facilitate social experiences. I would watch to note his strengths and identify areas of concern that we might later role play or work through; uncomfortable dialogue and mannerisms that created conflict among peers. My daughter grew naturally from a witness to these exchanges into a tiny tutor in the subject of social behavior; actively identifying and demonstrating proper behavior in different settings.
Some days my daughter will guide her big brother with one hand on the small of his back, speaking quietly just behind him. She cues expectations naturally, predicting and translating his environment. She does this with love and frustration. At times she wishes him her equal and resents the imbalance her older brother’s needs create. Other times she is his greatest champion, defending him against unkindness and following in his shadow marveling at his interests.
My daughter has her own needs that have gifted her unique experiences outside the norm among peers. Sensitive and aware she aligns herself in the company of children sometimes marginalized and stands true in her beliefs in the face of other’s opinions. Recently she lent me constructive criticism for my own social behavior.
It began when another parent initiated a conversation outside my daughter’s school. I could not wriggle free of the exchange and found myself taking hurried steps toward the back of the building where my daughter meets me daily. I was late and she was angry. Frustrated by the distraction my daughter offered me a social script. She instructed me that in moments when I cannot be rude and I have a commitment to say: I’m sorry but my daughter is waiting for me. I need to go. She offered me the solution so naturally I had to remind myself to answer. Quickly I acknowledged the polite and appropriate language as well as the gentle reminder that she rightfully wants to be my first priority at the end of her school day. Then I pulled my daughter into a hug and celebrated her ability to recognize a problem, offer a solution, and share her feelings confidently. Internally I marveled at how quickly I had become her student.
It was a small moment on the outside, but my daughter’s ability to help others navigate the unspoken social rules that complicate simple exchanges is extraordinary. I pause here to admire the way in which she guides us all with a gentle heart and a quiet certainty, kindness and conviction.
accomplishing everything
March 7, 2012 § 1 Comment
Today began with a list, a quick itemized account of tasks and errands that needed to be done. In the early minutes of my morning I gathered my thoughts for the day ahead, scribbling items onto scratch paper. Then, distracted by the business of waking sleepy children and herding them through the motions of breakfast, I became distracted. Sitting at the table with my children I stopped thinking of what came next and enjoyed the spectacularly common experience of beginning our day together.
Driving my daughter to school she filled the brief trip with a stream of unrelated banter. Just before popping out of the car and waving a spirited goodbye she declared a little boy in class keeps making a handsome face to try to make her fall in love with him. I was in love with my daughter’s voice sharing a story from her adventures in Second Grade.
Late morning my phone registered a missed call. Checking my messages I was surprised to hear the sound of my son’s voice. He had called from school to request my permission to apply for a Presidential grant in hopes he would be given a job that might help fund his research. Before the message cut off he assured me we could talk about it after school and then ended with I love you. I love the dreams of my eleven-year-old son.
At noon I invited my husband out to lunch. A neighbor had given us a gift certificate to a popular restaurant and I seized the opportunity as an excuse to escape our chores and play. Indulging in a savory entrée and decadent dessert in the middle of the day for no special occasion we sat still and talked about everything and nothing at all.
My laundry waits in mountainous piles, but the people I love most shared pieces of their day with me. I have accomplished nothing and everything all at once.
out to lunch
March 3, 2012 § 1 Comment
Two weeks ago my daughter was ill. I kept her home for an extra day of rest before returning her to the school day routine. Her first day back was a Friday and on this particular day her father and I found our lunch hour free. Having promised my daughter a warm lunch to build her strength we invited our little girl out to lunch.
The weekend passed and my daughter’s cough lingered enough that by Monday I decided to schedule Mom & Me lunch dates for the week to make certain my daughter was eating a balanced meal and keep her out of the cool air over recess. Noon became a special treat for me; sitting in the office I would wait to see my daughter bounce around the corner. She would hold my hand as we walked the short distance to the car filling the air around us with a steady stream of information about her morning.
As her cough improved and the week drew to a close my daughter became quiet, eyes wide with uncertainty she said I am confused. On one had I don’t like begin sick, but then I am going to miss our time together. Lunch. Barely an hour out of our day had come to mean something more to each of us.
I have promised my daughter a place at our table on special days, our kitchen and my company staples. I know she will return to school lunches and recess with friends, aware of the importance of this social hour, but I am happy for the borrowed time.
PostScript
March 2, 2012 § Leave a comment
Yesterday I wanted to capture a promise to my son and take ownership of a challenge. I try to teach my children that with each difficulty we make a choice as to whether we will be victims or victors.
This morning is cool and rainy; the sky is gray, but my heart is full of sunshine. My children are home today while their teachers work in empty classrooms. I am nesting to the sounds of my children playing, their company and running commentary a wonderful reminder of what matters most.
to our son
March 1, 2012 § Leave a comment
Yesterday a parent shared with me their child’s stories of peers’ cruel behavior towards you. My heart sank with the realization that you had kept these recent wounds private from me. When I asked about these unkindnesses your words I’m used to it weighted me in sadness.
Know this: you are worth fighting for. I am sorry for the days you bore the weight of this alone in silence. Your father and I will be your voice and speak your truth until you find your voice.
There is no excuse for unkindness, no explanation that dismisses bullies of accountability for their behavior. Your story will not be written over by others’ words. Do not wait for others to validate your harm, your father and I are your witnesses. This is the beginning of a new day.
Love,
Mom and Dad
on bended knee
February 25, 2012 § Leave a comment
Tomorrow is my wedding anniversary, today I am remembering the day I became friends with the man I married. My husband and I crossed paths accidentally at an off-campus St. Patrick’s Day party two years after having met in a college English class. I was dating his friend.
I had conceded to setting aside my studies that evening just long enough to experience the festive consumption of tinted beer with strangers camouflaged in waves of green; my perfunctory attendance a compromise between my boyfriend’s plans for the evening and my disinterest. Biding my time for a discrete exit, I watched with amusement as the boy I was dating engaged the crowded apartment with his infectious good humor and easy laugh.
Then my husband took a knee. We had been classmates and the familiarity of his face was a happy surprise. Reintroducing ourselves my husband settled by my side grounding me in a comfortable conversation. In the coming weeks he would continue to appear on my dates keeping me company. The school year ended as did my relationship and we all parted ways in the early days of summer.
I celebrated a newfound independence making room for myself between work and studies, relishing solitary endeavors. I sent a note to my future husband from a place of independent contentment and so we began a conversation that covered miles between us and created a new journey in friendship.
Long phone calls and handwritten letters documented our beginning, but I always return to the simple gesture of pausing on bended knee. When my daughter sings the timeless refrain of How do you know? I share my husbands willingness to meet me patiently, resting beside me in friendship. This is how I know.
written wishes
February 23, 2012 § Leave a comment
This week my daughter’s school celebrated the multicultural diversity of our community with an evening dedicated to honoring the customs of our school’s families. A photojournalist shared his extensive travels; eclectic collections of music were performed and traditional dances demonstrated; art activities and game stations provided an occasion to learn through play; the library was littered with fairy tales from across the world. Around each corner the building was bustling with curiosity and acceptance.
Making my way among the displays shared by families from our school I found myself drawn to a cardboard wall sprinkled with tiny pieces of paper and messages scribbled in the whimsical penmanship of children. A dear friend had contrived a mock Wishing Wall engaging student’s curiosity for her culture by encouraging them to write a wish for the world and then placing it on the wall.
A wish.
My heart swelled and something resonated in the quiet unconscious corners of my mind. In the chaos of a school function I felt myself emotionally drawn to more than an endearing exercise that shared a custom from a different culture. The gift of giving voice to a wish weighted me serenely in a place centered in the written word. The feeling of peace followed me home after a joyful evening of learning and sharing.
The next day my heart full of wishes I came across another sharing. An author I respect and admire shared an article about creating and using a God Box, a safe vessel to store written prayers. I found this lesson on letting go of hopes and fears with faith on Facebook. Much like the space of a crowded gymnasium, I was amused to uncover a moment of spiritual insight outside a traditional place of worship, but acknowledged the relevance of a timely chorus giving voice to a personal moment of growth rippling the surface of my consciousness.
I have come to believe life, God, the universe speaks to us in moments of uncertainty lending us the wisdom of the wind. Truths that fill the air around us and as old as time itself. In these moments my heart swells and I pause to center my spirit, acknowledging the power of listening to silence around me. In these moments of awakening I try to uncover the value of an unexpected lesson.
My heart has been heavy recently with concerns outside of my control. My spirit centered peacefully welcoming the suggestion of giving voice to my deepest hopes and fears in the simple act of writing them and letting go in faith. I won’t name these private hopes and fears, rather I want to acknowledge the beauty of lessons woven intricately into the fabric of our daily activities with a wish for each of you: Be still. Listen. Be present that you hear your own lessons whispered to your heart. Know when to give voice to that which you cannot control and let go in faith.
