before we say goodbye
December 15, 2011 § 1 Comment
My husband and I try to honor a handful of well-intentioned rules we made as newlyweds. Among them is a simple promise to say something nice before we say goodbye. Some days it is a rote I love you. and other days it is an intentional sharing. On days we disagree or accidentally hurt one another’s feelings we are more conscious in our efforts. The gesture is forced by an unspoken awareness that each time we part we may not see one another again.
This act of love has been a part of our lives together for so long I cannot draw into consciousness its source. It could be our son’s premature birth made us mindful of the fragility of life and our blessings. It could be the experience of witnessing the tragic loss of 9/11 in the media as a young married couple with an infant child. Certainly unexpected tragedies in our friends’ lives have kept our eyes open to loss and mindful of the blessing of time. However it began, our parting words are a priority.
Last night, we learned a family in our community lost a loved one. I looked at my children and realized that in another house there were children learning they would not see a parent again. In a sudden, tragic accident another family woke up today without the opportunity to say I love you. In the face of such tragedy it is easy to say that loss makes you appreciate that which we have, but I challenge myself to identify how I express my gratitude for my blessings.
If I were not home tonight to read bedtime books and kiss my children good-night, if I couldn’t share in the events of the day with my husband, if I couldn’t call my mother to share a funny anecdote about my children… would my family know they were loved? Would my heart and mind be at peace with our last goodbye?
In place of resolutions to improve myself, I am contemplating how I might extend my goals to encompass how I love. Brainstorming new ideas, critiquing old behaviors, and lingering over impulsive acts. I don’t have a perfect answer, but I am resting in this moment and trying to consider what I say, how I act, and those I love.
how many sleeps
December 13, 2011 § Leave a comment
My daughter measures time in dreams. As we near winter break and Christmas festivities the days seem to pass at an excruciatingly slow pace; refrains of How many sleeps? pepper the waking hours with unbridled eagerness. Anticipation taunts our patience with promises of lazy days unbound by the restrictions of school day routines as we slip into winter coats and begrudgingly go through the motions of our days.
Eyes cast to the calendar I am longing for leisurely mornings of cocoa and coffee, lounging languidly in pajamas. Spontaneous baking and late night movies. Gathering friends near and embarking on journeys unplanned in search of happy distractions. I am eager for the sound of my children’s laughter in the middle of the day and extra hours to enjoy their thoughts. I am ready for the gift of time.
within reach
December 12, 2011 § Leave a comment
This holiday I hung my children’s advent calendars lower on their doors, a gesture of trust and an act of faith. I heightened temptation placing tiny indulgences just within reach. I simultaneously raised the bar for good behavior.
Silly or trite, this one act is a metaphor for greater lessons. Each day I try to guide my children towards a future filled with opportunities where risk and ethics challenge them to make choices that will reward them with meaningful relationships, personal success, and emotional fulfillment. They must be able to navigate around danger mindfully, without living in fear of a mistake; secure in their own boundaries but not limited to the sidelines.
I watched bemused as my children noted the lowering of the candy and stood taller with heightened pride. The treats were always within reach, I just eliminated the need for a chair with trust.
dear santa
December 11, 2011 § Leave a comment
Last night I found my daughter curled over a piece of paper carefully composing a letter to Santa. A heartfelt Christmas wish in her careful print, punctuated with hope. Dear Santa, I would like a puppy. Our home has been empty without our four-legged friend and the vacancy has broadened into loneliness.
My daughter wakes each day eager for a playmate. Afternoon school dismissals are met with abrupt greetings followed by anxious pleas for playdates. She is the perfect candidate for a canine companion, but it is a gift I cannot give; a wish I fear will invite disappointment to accompany our Christmas morning.
I understand disappointment is a difficult and necessary experience to foster gratitude for greater blessings. Still, my heart is heavy for my daughter’s foreseeable disappointment. I repeat a gentle chorus hoping the words resonate in time: If you have everything you wish for, there is nothing left to dream of. May her dreams be greater than a singular moment of joy and her disappointments inspire paths toward possibilities.
wish lists & inspiration
December 10, 2011 § Leave a comment
Throughout the year as my children stumble across new items of interest I instruct them gently to create a wish list. To set their hopes firmly on paper so that they may return to an item and contrast it among other wishes, editing their wants with a more concrete perspective. Some items are spontaneous and fleeting, quickly forgotten and never cemented in writing. Others linger throughout seasons and inspire plans and daydreams.
As the holiday season drew near, I asked my children to consider their wish lists and share a wish with Santa and a couple wishes with family that we might all know better where their interests rest. Amusingly, lists and letters to Santa sat incomplete. My son couldn’t put a finger on a wish. My daughter shifted focus to what the rest of us might appreciate. My husband shrugged his shoulders and I could not come up with a singular suggestion for myself. We are content, as is.
With this in mind I shifted my focus from fulfilling a wish, to creating something joyful. I turned off the television and refused to allow clever advertising campaigns to cast false dreams. I began with new lists centered in recent conversations and then considered how I might inspire creativity or celebrate individual interests.
I imagined gifts that might fill Christmas day with happy surprises and activities; toys that fit into the space of my children’s days and would feel at home among old favorites; well-loved book titles and things to make rather than things already made in another’s vision. The gifts are not excessive or extravagant, but wrapping them I was filled with anticipation for my children’s reactions.
a gift of presence
December 9, 2011 § 2 Comments
In all the hustle and bustle of the holidays we sometimes lose sight of unwrapped gifts of presence. This year my daughter’s eager anticipation and awareness for the moment has created a sense of wonderment and awe that inspires me to be still.
One evening last week while returning to our quiet suburban subdivision my daughter lead me on a scavenger hunt for a special tree. Having seen the tree one evening with her father, she wanted to share the beauty of her discovery with me. We followed the curves of our neighborhood streets commenting on the lights until rounding a corner and arriving at the tree my daughter sought to share. Her joy lit her smile and we stopped to stretch the moment into a memory.
It would have been simple to drive home and forgo the search. To pass quickly nodding appreciatively. Instead we sat in the moment; marveling at the height of the tree and the endless strand of lights. I was reminded of my daughter’s eager toddler exclamations and spirited efforts to pull me from a task into play and I gave thanks for the tiny Christmas elf that still takes me by the hand and pulls me fully into a moment to gift me greater presence.
something borrowed, something new
December 4, 2011 § Leave a comment
Our family’s first Christmas traditions were borrowed from my husband’s childhood, lending familiarity and nostalgia to our home. Years later we have begun to embrace occasions to create something new among the borrowed.
We begin with the old, each year gently unpacking my husband’s collection of nutcrackers. Brightly colored, wooden forms stand sentry near the tree. A wooden advent and two smokers rest among them; each item quietly acknowledging a piece of my husband’s heritage and youth.
Our once calm tree, dusted in a blanket of tranquil white lights is now a kaleidoscope of color. The brilliance and whimsy of the lights a celebration of our children’s effervescent joy. The train circling beneath the boughs something from our earliest Christmas as a family; small signs of wear from clumsy toddler fists and little scratches stirring memories of a family pet no longer with us nestle shared memories like forgotten gifts beneath the tree.
European glass ornaments rest among handmade mementos marking the passing of time. This year my daughter stood beside me gently unpacking our decorations, pausing to marvel at the beauty of each item. I filled the seconds between discoveries sharing brief stories about the origin of each ornament as we placed them on the tree.
Tomorrow evening my children will set out their boots for St. Nicholas, a tradition of their father’s childhood. Then they will wake in search of the Elf on the Shelf, a new tradition gifted from my mother sharing in our holidays across the miles. Most recently, in the hope of celebrating our blessings and to center our spirits in a place of gratitude, I shared a new book with both children while we decorated our tree. In the pages of an old story, we found a gentle reminder that our greatest gifts are free. To share in our something new, look between the pages of Ed Mehler’s lovely holiday story The Scrawny Little Tree.
Borrowed and new the season is filled with happy memories and new celebrations as we share the company of loved ones gathered by the light of the tree.
it’s beginning to look a lot like
November 25, 2011 § 2 Comments
Christmas. Breath held, eyes closed I tiptoe nearer to a new moment. Limitless with possibilities the unknown is filled with hope and wonder. Like a child I dance in place unable to bottle the bubbling crescendo of joy. It is officially a new season of celebration.
Last night I gifted our little family a much needed moment of silliness. Candy cane striped pajamas strung on the long gangly limbs of my children inspired spontaneous nonsense set to a soundtrack of giggles. Our laughter smoothed away wrinkles of worry.
Today I woke happy for a new day and the anticipation of joy. I am ready for white lights and wish lists, make-believe and magic.
pausing & embracing
November 21, 2011 § 2 Comments
In a moment of unanticipated sadness, I slipped into a simple, natural gesture of grief; curving my body into itself, pausing to embrace a moment of frailty. I recalled the grade school comfort of bowing my head into my hands, curled over an elementary school desk in a universally accepted, quiet plea for solitude. As an adult I rarely stop and process a private sentiment amidst the busyness of the day. I have lost my smile and I have no desire to project false joy. It will pass, the moment is fleeting, but I wish we could all gift ourselves and one another the same everyday truths, honest expressions of our emotions. As my son once said: to make our faces match our hearts.
self talk, pep talk
November 17, 2011 § 2 Comments
Sometimes my most coherent thought comes moments after I press Publish. In this case, I cast the thoughts below into the vast space of uncertain readership under the guise of likeability and respectability. In truth the following is a pep talk, to myself, on the eve of a meeting with teachers and support staff addressing my son’s educational needs. It is important to note that previously I attended these meetings looking for direction, smiling and nodding, accepting and trusting. I am currently acting from a place of new consciousness as to what my son needs and can no longer accept without question the guidance of others, but must lead.
I am a people pleaser. I like to be liked. Recently, I have had to set aside the nagging question of what others think and step into a place of uncomfortable accountability. I have had to use my otherwise quiet voice to insist on aggressive actions concerning my son’s education and this dissension from the more comfortable corners of agreeability have taught me a lesson. It is better to be respected than liked. Genial smiles and nods of acknowledgment are nice, but self-respect lingers in moments of solitude.
This is not to say that I have been unkind or inconsiderate, stomping on others’ feelings my sights set single-mindedly on my own needs. I have merely stood firm in my resolution to speak up and ask for fair and reasonable support rather than trust blindly while following along unassumingly. Therein lies the greater truth: I believe you can be liked and respected if you are reasonable and kind.
Here is what sat between the lines of my initial sharing: I want the people who work with my son to like me, to be comfortable working with our family. I also want to respect myself when I leave the meeting tomorrow; to know that I have done what is in my son’s best interest. As I count the hours until the meeting I keep turning over in my mind what I must say and how best to ask so that I am reasonable and kind. Likeable and worthy of respect.
Follow-up: After a restless night’s sleep I gathered my courage along with my notes and respectfully requested a long list of specific tests to best determine my son’s academic needs. I was one voice in a room of eight, solely responsible for speaking on my son’s behalf. My voice and hands shook with anxiety, but I am proud. Now begins another chapter as we collect new information.
