inanimate friendships
January 30, 2012 § Leave a comment
A beige, floppy eared, terry cloth bunny arrived shortly after my son’s birth wrapped in ribbon and celebratory well wishes from a family friend. I do not remember when my son first reached for the gift and I cannot recall a day without the treasured companion. My son’s shadow slumbers each evening in the folds of his bed covers beneath long limbs scattered in sleep.
The bunny is worn, the nose rubbed flat with toddler kisses. Tiny black eyes peer unblinking, a witness to our everyday lives. I wonder how many confidences his long, clumsy ears have been entrusted with and how many tears are tucked inside his stuffing. I can only imagine the stories the carefully stitched lips could share.
Often I find the limp limbs have traveled into my daughter’s room; she hides the tiny form, mischievously pleased by her big brother’s anxious endeavor to find the borrowed friend. In a world filled with change simple constants reassure him.
The bunny’s name has evolved into an endearment. The familiar figure represents over a decade of bedtime stories and goodnight kisses; memories gathered for safekeeping in a child’s toy.
editing our story
January 29, 2012 § 2 Comments
Writing allows me to capture snapshots of my life filtered through a uniquely intimate perspective. I endeavor to share my stories with genuineness and honesty, without remorse or regret. Occasionally I will retrieve a thought, tucking it tenderly aside for my eyes only; keeping my words rather than erasing an experience. This morning, feelings of gratitude for a successful school week mocked undercurrents of frustration with my son’s education in a recent post.
This past week has been a more joyful adventure in learning. My son has come out of his shell, the hallmarks of anger and sadness replaced with an easy smile and willingness to learn. His teachers are experiencing similar success during the school day. Gone is the chasm between my son’s needs and adults’ expectations, we have bridged the void with resources. Rather than retract an expression of genuine unhappiness and concerns for my son’s educational experiences, I thought I would take a moment to reflect on my words and emotions; charting our journey, sharing our story.
Let me begin at the middle of the beginning, a page out of a chapter of my son’s educational experience. A couple of weeks ago, on a day weighted with uncertainty, I gave voice to an internal conflict over my son’s education. For several months I have struggled watching my son curl into himself, sad and angry over frustrations within the boundaries of his school day; moments of unkindness from peers and difficulties processing his world independently. Each school day I felt like we were moving against a current too powerful to overcome and I sought calmer waters. I toyed with the notion of keeping my son home and personally assuming the responsibility of providing an individualized education. There was an immediate sense of peace in this possibility. Others could not say and do hurtful things that chipped away at my son’s spirit. I could work around my son’s needs rather than forcing him to navigate other’s needs. Coulds, maybes, and possibility built a wistful expectation of something better.
Even as I embraced the utopia of my mind’s eye, I was humbly aware of potential challenges. Academically my son would require similarly structured lessons and mandatory testing to demonstrate he was receiving an education that properly prepared him for a continuing education. Personally, I would have to restructure our family experience and overcome my organizational weaknesses to provide the education my son deserves. I would also need to supplement the social and speech therapies my son requires. The question remained, how do I ensure my son receives the education he deserves?
It is in this place of frustration and uncertainty that I explored a new, old possibility. Rather than move my son from the mainstream classroom whose work he can handle into a modified classroom or keeping him home and sacrificing the social lessons of a classroom, I revisited a resource we had hoped to have outgrown, the utilization of an aide. Every council warned against an aide at the middle school level, but my son was not processing his environment independently; academics were slipping and his increased anxiety had led to exaggerated episodes of socially awkward behavior deteriorating his relationship with peers.
With doubt and hope this past week we welcomed an aide to my son’s days, someone to help my son navigate the halls of middle school until he can read the unwritten social cues that would properly prompt him to an individual understanding of other’s expectations. We are fortunate in that the aide is a teacher that is familiar with my son from another classroom setting; someone who embraces my son as is while endeavoring to teach him that which he does not know. He is a translator, lending comprehension and modeling expectations.
My son’s anxiety has leveled; he has begun to interact more appropriately with peers and perform academic exercises with greater productivity. Our goal of independence remains, but for now I am grateful for the peace of mind that comes from knowing my son is not withdrawing from his education. Rather than delete expressions of frustration or uncertainty, I am sharing my hopes and doubts; documenting our experiences rather than editing our lives. Holding myself accountable to my son’s education by evaluating challenges with the same enthusiasm I celebrate moments of success.
busy stillness
January 26, 2012 § 2 Comments
I am learning to set aside distractions and create stillness from restlessness with action; repetitive and mindless movements that free my mind while centering my body. Yesterday, as apprehension marked the minutes of my morning, I drew myself into activities that required solitude and movement to better gather my thoughts with clarity.
Unable to sit still and unfocused, I set my car keys aside and switched off the coffee maker. I wanted to run towards distractions and away from home to keep concerns at bay, instead I ran intentionally into distraction. I shed my tension on a treadmill, allowing my body to move with the same endless repetition as my thoughts circling familiar fears. Forward I pushed, gaining strength and sweating uncertainty. I wish I had found this path earlier in life, the physical, mental, and emotional calm that comes when I exercise my demons rather than hiding behind unproductive business.
When I could walk, run, move no more I eased into the quiet comforts of stretching my thoughts and muscles in unison. My heart and mind purged of apprehension and uncertainty, I was left only with feelings of strength and stillness. I looked around and determined I would keep busy with simple acts at home and try to maintain my sense of peace.
I made myself lunch, sitting to eat; completed minor housekeeping tasks to lighten my chores; straightened up corners of our home to make room for time together at the end of the day. When at last it was time for a mid-day meeting, I toted my patience and sense of calm to keep my company.
None of this is revolutionary. Running, meditating amid quiet movements, self-care and homemaking are simple over-looked gestures of affection, generally shaded with expectation and necessity. Prioritizing myself and my home in moments of anxiety was so wildly unassuming and indulgently satisfying that I am hoping to structure more time to set aside errands for stillness and small gestures of care.
nooks & crannies
January 23, 2012 § Leave a comment
This weekend I sifted through old calendars, simplifying a cluttered corner of my life. As I struggled with sentiment and logic, I recalled the words of Albert Einstein: “Out of clutter, find simplicity. From discord, find harmony. In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity.”
One project completed, I sought out other pockets of procrastination. Old photographs and a year of recipe magazines stored away for another day were unpacked and filtered by need. Photographs that stirred memories were lovingly nestled in a box with promises of permanent homes on album pages. Recipe magazines that had accumulated over the past year were scanned for old favorites and new possibilities to store in my kitchen organizer.
Inspired I grabbed a notebook and scribbled the names of my cluttered crannies, intent creating tidier nooks with action. Room by room, I sought the spaces that pull on my energy with the weight of tasks undone. Closets, drawers, and boxes unopened were filtered for need. Unused items were set aside to donate, piles of papers were cast to the recycling bin.
I had begun a genuine change, creating an expectation of simplicity and harmony for my home and family. The hidden lesson was one of opportunity. Humbly, I was reminded of something I wrote last year as I reflected on the power of a list, “..concept seems pulled from the pages of possibility into stark reality when pen meets pad.” Seeking out projects in my home, naming the places and items I store out of sight, I looked more closely at where I struggle to nurture order.
The clean lines of my counter tops are false mirrors of hidden spaces. I tuck away pieces of my days for later to lesson immediate distractions and in moments of uncertainty, creating disorder among things left undone. In this I must try not only to sift through old clutter, but to prioritize what I keep in days ahead. Sentimental keepsakes must have a home, important documents must not be buried beneath good intentions.
I am hoping my efforts to organize will foster a more peaceful home. I am sharing my moment of clarity in an effort to hold my intentions present among written promises to myself.
Note: My children are fluent in the language of clutter, their eclectic collections mock my efforts at order. I cannot deny them their childhood discoveries and mementos of special occasions, but I am hopeful my own efforts will inspire a more thoughtful manner of storing these treasures for safekeeping.
calendar days
January 22, 2012 § Leave a comment
January sweeps away the old year with a gust of cool air. Snow flurries cover the ground and the world feels new, a year of calendar days unmarked like untouched snow. I have turned my attention to our home peeking inside drawers and behind cabinet doors, looking for ways to sweep away clutter making room for days to come.
Hidden beneath my children’s carefully printed stories and classroom artwork were a decade’s worth of old calendars piled together haphazardly. The years were out-of-order, some marked in datebooks and others stretched between folded wall calendars. Empty days and holidays, milestones and monotonous moments touching. Carefully printed plans, generously embellished celebrations, hurriedly scribbled notes and coded reminders. Different shades of ink blurring into abstract impressions over time.
I gathered my first moments as a wife and mother and began saving old dates for my children. Sentiment was my companion as I revisited the past. I could neither save the calendars nor list every moment. The practical side of me wanted to let go of old paper; nostalgia tugged at my heartstrings and I attempted to draw my past into notes to keep them present.
I am simplifying and organizing days that unfolded mindless of order, finding distractions in moments forgotten. Recycling faded paper to make room for new mementos, saving pieces of the past for the future. Holding tight and letting go.
old habits
January 15, 2012 § 2 Comments
Little things and comfortable routines, bookstores and baked goods. When my son was little I would take him, swaddled in a stroller to our local bookstore where I could browse heavy hardcovers for myself. Once home I would nestle him in my arms are read aloud to share my first love with my tiny new love.
As my son grew older and more independent he would gather near the bookshelves quietly captivated by the images that danced among the pages of picture books. The hands of time stopped marking minutes while we browsed shelves for hidden treasures. Later we gathered my daughter into our adventures. Once our books were purchased we would celebrate with a small treat, stretching an errand into an event.
Trips to the bookstore were something we took for granted. Nearby and diverse in their offerings we filled rainy days, snow days, summer days and quiet days in familiar chairs. Employees were friends and the colorful walls of books landmarks by which we could find favorite stories and recall old memories. Our local stores now closed, we have found new stores for old habits.
Last night we made our way to our new bookstore, each child quickly found their places and curled into stories. Sitting among rows of colorful book displays and small children bent over books my heart was full for the easy friendship among readers; the shared solitude and community of dreamers.
We celebrated our findings over a simple meal at a nearby bakery; my son hiding his new books on his lap beneath the table unable to leave them unattended and my daughter eagerly reaching for and hovering over her brother’s selection desperate to share. The books were closed only to eat. The car ride home was quiet as each child held open books in their arms stealing a moment in the glow of a dome light. A flurry of footsteps marked our return home as both children scurried upstairs to their rooms eager to finish new books and joyful with old habits.
color & style
January 14, 2012 § 1 Comment
Last week I introduced the subject of design as I began working with a patient and talented woman to create a more personal style for my blog. Behind each design choice I found occasion to learn something new about myself. I thought I would pause to note these moments of insight layered between lines of messages exchanged over color and style.
Communication is cluttered with assumptions, largely my own. Working with a stranger and attempting to define myself with broad statements of color preferences created unique inferences with color. Initially I wanted to create a serene space centered in neutrals that conjured calming colors of a quiet, isolated beach. I avoided this description as it felt cliché. Instead, I inferred with statements of color. I listed gray, brown, green, blue without naming the warm sands or tranquil waters in my mind’s eye. Lost in translation, I referenced a site dedicated to inspiring palettes and found myself drawn to combinations outside my assumed favorites, but amusingly familiar to elements in my everyday life.
Style is a feeling. Where I inferred with color, I gave long winded references to personal preferences trying to project my sense of style. I listed elements of design in my home hoping to draw on decisions I have already made. Wood floors, stone materials, contemporary fixtures; clean lines and earth tones. I elaborated by unpacking my wardrobe trying to accessorize my personality with articles of clothing. I described my affinity for a cotton t-shirt and well-worn jeans with flip flops and my grown-up standards of pencil skirts and tailored dresses; casual and comfortable contrasting elegant and contemporary. Like pieces of my home or closet, choosing elements of design is less logical and more instinctive; a personal fit.
When in doubt, trust my gut. Underneath all of my assumptions and expectations, shades of truth were written in black and white. The things I did not like were clear with knee jerk honesty. Even elements I specifically requested did not always resonate. I was tempted to question friends for guidance, only to realize I was hiding behind others’ opinions. Of all the lessons in this exercise, this one was most humbling. When defining myself, I turned to others rather than inwards. I look outside myself for what I can only find within. This revelation lead to exercises in speaking up and being patient.
Working with a stranger on a personal project requires honesty and patience. There are days when we say nothing and days we exchange messages back and forth mucking through details. Having never met and without a relationship upon which to draw assumptions, opinions are at once uniquely intimate and impersonal. We are not friends who can hurt one another’s feelings yet each design is personal. This lovely stranger offers me beautiful options and I look among them for a reflection of self, learning a little about myself along the way.
for joy
January 13, 2012 § 2 Comments
I was very young when I declared to my parents and a family friend that I wanted to be a teacher when I grew up. My step mother was an elementary school teacher and this afforded me the gift of visiting a school in the quiet months of summer. I have a deep affinity for the space of classrooms, knowledge resting among the walls and tucked in reference books for the finding. My childhood declaration was met with doubt and adult reminders that prioritized monetary gain over dreams. I did what children do, I hid my wish keeping it safe from judgment until it was forgotten.
By the time I left for college, my future was mapped with others’ shoulds: You should be an attorney. I studied in preparation for law school; choosing classes dense with reading and writing, subjects that were diverse and demanded critical thought. I was hiding among subjects that I loved; my spirit whispering over others’ shouts. I was immersed in books that inspired me, sharing thoughts among peers and professors that lit fires in the quiet corners of my mind.
Then, before committing to a career, I became a mother. Each day I wake to life lessons and opportunities to guide my children. I gather them on adventures into books that push at the boundaries of their world. My tiny students with unique needs perpetually lead me to structure spontaneous lessons to help them understand their world. I am inspired and challenged on a path where I am neither teacher nor lawyer, ironically spending my days teaching and advocating for my children as I navigate school work and legal rights in an effort to provide for my children’s needs. My childhood dream found direction in motherhood.
As my children share their dreams, I try consciously to celebrate their statements of self. I want them to listen carefully to the whispers that come from within and to chart their lives with choices that resonate and bring them joy. I try to do this with words married with action, here. I am teaching my children to make room for joy in their lives, while creating moments of joy for myself.
For as long as I can remember I have written letters. Quick notes passed in classrooms, summer letters to school friends, love letters tied with heartstrings, and dreams scribbled in the margins of my days. I write for clarity and for joy. My children know that I do this and that writing is an expression that brings me happiness and comfort in the way building with LEGOs and creating artwork bring them pleasure and peace.
Slowly, I have invited my words to become a larger piece of my life. I do this cautiously, carrying with me an uncertainty born of those early statements of self among family and friends. I began here, where few could connect my words to myself, sheltering my feelings of joy from judgment. I still hear others’ shoulds. Throughout my life others have said: You should write. Should seems to shadow my joy, expectations suffocating pleasure. I have begun to internalize others’ opinions of how, what, when, why I write as measurements against which I gauge my ability and validate my efforts.
Then something special happened. My husband discovered pieces of me he didn’t know between the lines of my posts. My son serendipitously discovered a post and kept reading, celebrating my words with a hug. My daughter exclaimed proudly to a friend, my mother writes. People I love began to identify me by something I love to do.
I know my husband wishes this act of writing could evolve into a larger piece of our life, that someone would happily stumble into my words and open a door to something else. I know these are logical wishes and that his faith in me is a source of love. I am still growing, learning and dreaming; uncertain how to define why, how, when, and what. I am happy for a place to store my thoughts, for my children, for some day, for me. I write to invite joy and dreams into my day.
notable quotables
January 11, 2012 § Leave a comment
Wise and witty my children lend me humor and perspective in voices blessed with naivety and knowledge. I thought I would gather a few of my favorites to share.
If I am right, you must be wrong. My daughter has natural comedic timing. This discovery unfolded in her voice and eyes as she organized her thoughts out loud. Clearly, we are never too young to enjoy being right.
I wish there was a way to recycle wasted time. My son has revisited the subject of time desperately trying to make sense of its value. I cherish his realization that time is a resource we must not squander.
Adults over think possibility. I could not be more grateful that my son is already conscious of this truth. I am saving these words for him least he lose this awareness one day and limit himself.
You don’t have to have a man to be happy. I wish my daughter a life rich in healthy, fulfilling relationships and joy that comes from within.
My son to my daughter: You have a tendency to be very peculiar, which I find fascinating. May they both uncover the unique differences in those around them and celebrate diversity.
Next, I may sift through old notes for a few tongue twisters; early childhood sharings that come out mispronounced and rich in innuendo.
misplaced minutes
January 11, 2012 § 2 Comments
Despite good intentions I find myself frequently squandering time on bad habits. The air around me charged with inspiration and heightened consciousness born of resolutions, I am revisiting an old nemesis: distraction.
Last year I passed a sign promoting a time management class. My first thought was, I wonder if I have time for that? Hesitation is a distraction that keeps me from moving forward, uncertainty replacing action. This year I will add momentum to intent.
Insecurity also keeps me safely on the sidelines. Destructive messages like I’ll look silly. I’ll make a mistake. I’ll fail. keep me mired in presumed inability. When the moment passes inevitably my greatest regret is that I lost an opportunity to try. I will not be distracted by negativity, I will be open to possibility. After all, What if I succeeded?
Perspective can be paralyzing when I stand in the wrong place. Often my mountain is only a molehill too close to my lens. A couple of steps in a new direction and the path is much easier to find. How will I get through this? becomes Where should I begin? Allowing a problem to distract me from my goals places a greater value on the problem. My dreams are bigger than my doubts.
I want to gather minutes lost to distraction and invest it in possibility despite uncertainty, try something new without weighing success against failure, and exercise intent that moves mountains simply by shifting perspective. This is my early morning message to myself, scribbled and shared for accountability.
