back to basics
December 29, 2016 § 1 Comment
Vacations intentionally tend towards indulgence, time empty of responsibility and ripe with endless possibilities. When we travel, each menu becomes a treasure of choice; I consciously seek out those dishes with fresh ingredients that demand extra care and settle into the pregnant space of anticipation.
I am the same with new environments, surveying my surroundings for beauty with an eagerness toward pleasure and discovery. I observe strangers with the same fascination I delight in nature; mysteries completely immune to my attention.
These are simple personal truths, distant cousins to my tendency toward sad novels or my preference for silence. The everyday truths and vacation indulgences are casualties of distraction; joy lost in the rut of routine and the chaos of false expectations.
Little fears that worry the peacefulness of contentment. Am I succeeding in parenting? Is my partner fulfilled? Gestures of maturity and accountability that overshadow the value of pleasure. Are the rooms tidied, the laundry washed, papers signed and appointments scheduled?
This vacation I’ve ordered my time at home with the same relaxed amusement I so often reserve for travel; creating opportunity for pleasure with the playful insistency too often lost to the day’s demands. Small, selfish gifts of time that make the days longer despite the season.
I’ve let the kids’ bedding remain wrinkled in the chaos of each night’s dreams, looked the other way at the remnants of Christmas gifts that weigh countertops with forgotten clutter.
Instead, I’ve woken early to exercise, squirreled away stolen hours for new books, let the laundry wait, and interrupted our children’s interests with invitations for family time. In another week, when the mechanics of school days disrupt us from the ease of these holiday luxuries, I want to live more mindfully of these basic truths.
It is, after all, a tradition of clean slates and good intentions as we dress the New Year in hope for our best selves.
I’ve not yet drafted a list of goals or settled on my One Little Word. I’m still sounding out the shape of my promise, savoring the space between recognition and choice.
To exercise, breathe, rest, and read.
To play and listen with care and curiosity.
To live mindfully, with gratitude.
It is a return to basic truths and small delights.
peace
December 26, 2016 § 1 Comment
Friday morning I was the first to wake. Warm coffee in my favorite mug and only the light of the Christmas tree, I watched the first snowflakes tumble lazily against the darkness. Curled beneath the blanket my mother crocheted, with a book fallen forgotten across my lap, I lingered in content distraction while my family slept.
The past few days have been a happy treasure of simple riches; the company of loved ones and the easy busyness of cooking, card games and old movies. Our children curled into my parents’ company and I stole kisses from Mr. Claus beneath the mistletoe.
Some traditions were lost, Christmas picture books collected dust. The elf watched from his shelf, but without the magic of forgotten caution. A game of clues was played with the distracted mastery of someone sleepwalking a familiar path.
I might have grieved these small changes, reminders that my children were outgrowing beloved holiday hallmarks, but in the quiet moments I marveled at the new traditions in this unfolding season of joy. My children drafting their own Christmas cards to friends, an activity I once performed in solitude, or their company in the kitchen as we worked through the mechanics of family meals and holiday baking.
It’s been years since I baked with so much joy, exploring unfamiliar recipes and experimenting with new ingredients. Stumbling through the mess of failed dough for the perfect cookie. The meditative quality of soapy water and endless dishes. Meals that unfolded into the rhythm of wakefulness and rest, punctuated with conversation and laughter.
There was a gentleness to this Christmas, a quiet togetherness that ruffled old memories with fresh air. It was impossible not to remember the complicated experiences of past holidays; destructive houseguests that rattled peace with unkindness. There was a time I might have been caught in the contradiction of these experiences with disappointment or remorse, but the wealth of my gratitude outweighs regret.
This week, as I tuck away ornaments to welcome the New Year, there is a tranquility of peace and joy; mindfulness and presence for this season.
rush delivery
December 22, 2016 § 3 Comments
Fifteen minutes before the mad dash for the bus, on the last day of school before vacation, my daughter unraveled over a missing sweater. The calendar called for an ugly adornment to culminate a week of playful spirit wear.
We had nothing beyond my confusion and my daughter’s quiet crocodile tears. Disappointment and confusion sat heavy among frustration and false cheer.
Communication unraveled into staccato questions? A triage of information to properly assess the severity of the preteen meltdown.
Is this important? Will you have regrets? What do we have at our disposal and is this solution an acceptable compromise?
Like Cinderella’s mice, we scavenged our surroundings for resources. The sweater off my back, a garland of red ribbon, and a bow from Christmas past.
We solved the physical problem but between sloppy, hurried stitches we learned a few important self truths, too.
My daughter learned to speak up when something is important to her. Those trips to stores searching for a bargain ugly sweater were all met with a postured acceptance of frugality.
She learned to prioritize her needs rather than crumpling into honesty out of disappointment.
Lastly, she learned to problem solve with what she had is a far greater comfort than crying over what she cannot change.
I learned a few lessons, too. Anger was an unfortunate response to frustration. I let my insecurities about short changing my daughter’s experience predict failure and that bitterness tainted the miracle of my feverish stitch work.
I criticized my daughter for not speaking up sooner, being honest, and getting emotional. I can’t imagine why she might have hesitated to speak up at all.
Rather than high-fiving and hugging over our last minute miracle of sheer stubborn determination, we were quietly pulling ourselves together from the stomach churning exhaustion of our fears and insecurities.
What will the other kids say? Am I a bad mother?
Will she be disappointed in me?
I succeeded in crafting the much needed sweater, but I missed a stitch mothering. This is the moment, the scrap of knotty ends I don’t want to unravel into forgetfulness:
I confessed to my daughter that I had wanted to provide perfectly and I thought I needed more time, more resources when what we had between us was enough. A fragment of string, an old sweater, and a partially crumpled bow all held together with effort and love. Sometimes the things we are most worried about failing at, missing out on, or not having are all just under our nose.
comfort & joy
December 21, 2016 § 4 Comments
There is a stillness to this season, small changes that have created a simpler experience of Christmastime. Gone is the chaos of elementary school parties; teacher gifts and classroom games, goodie bags and delegated snack assignments. Our children are of an age that we can recall the quiet frenzy of these holiday productions with equal measure sentiment and relief.
This year we’ve kept our social commitments minimal, intentionally gathering among old friends and new while preserving time enough to rest between festivities. A lunch celebration with co-workers and a coffee date between errands, a formal performance and an elegant evening among neighbors are sandwiched between lazy mornings and reruns of beloved movies. School nights have been squandered with spontaneous baking and vacation days given to family.
Even the gifts are no longer choreographed into tidy measurements of equality among our children, but aligned by need in anticipation of joy. Small gestures of thoughtfulness and indulgent offerings of appreciation. Our children have outgrown wish lists and are content to pen their names to family Christmas cards, adding their own greetings to old school friends and favorite teachers.
We’ve outgrown some traditions and added others, traded responsibilities and packed away reminders of unhappier Christmas spirits. As we near Christmas Eve, I find myself lingering in the quiet hours by the tree. Counting my blessings, unfolding gratitude like little cardboard doors on advent calendars; each day the sweetest gift of all.
no wrong answer
December 17, 2016 § 4 Comments
Yesterday a last-minute invitation for previously postponed plans lead to a contradiction of desires. The offering was indulgently unruffled, old friends on the eve of a winter storm. The richness of comfort food and conversation with the promise of an evening stay to avoid slippery roads home.
Opportunity came on the heels of today’s cancellations. No longer did we need to rise early for extra curricular activities; there was a treasure of time to forfeit a lazy evening at home. Except, it has been a long week. One that entailed travel for work and cold, afternoon dog walks; holiday errands and a stubborn runny nose. Despite careful planning and restful evenings, I could feel my family exhaling into home.
Instead of leaping towards an instinctive yes, we leaned into an intuitive no. Rather than an improvised celebration, we gathered into shared stillness. My husband cooked a seemingly endless offering of snacks while the kids and I nestled into a movie; laughter bubbling over the space between kitchen and couch.
This morning, in the beautiful mess of early snowfall, I considered the richness of our family’s good fortune. There was no wrong answer in the generosity of our choices, only an abundance of opportunity. Exquisitely ordinary gifts in a season of happy distractions.
winter
December 13, 2016 § 7 Comments
The days dawn cold and I draw further beneath blankets and rest, rituals of comfort to spite the season; sustenance to fortify my body and layers to ward off the cold.
I curl lazily into the routine of coffee, the patience of tea; my hands lingering around the inconsequential weight of unfinished dregs. Each layer of clothing is a ceremony of thoughtful details for the day’s demands, a belabored exaggeration of caution in protest of discomfort.
Activities have become more mindful, less spontaneous. Errands are graded more genuinely by need as I relax into the pages of forgotten book titles and the corners of unfinished tasks. The joyful chaos of holiday trappings are a clever distraction of light, a willful irrelevance for the hour in a stubborn disregard for time.
It is only when the stars interrupt lost minutes of daydreams that I rediscover Summer’s recklessness and Autumn’s whimsy; tumbling into tenderness and reverence for Winter’s stark elegance.
borrowed words
December 9, 2016 § 3 Comments
The space between my words are filled with a chaos of gratitude, a noisy contentment that has grounded my presence and busied my thoughts. I’m holding the emptiness of these pages with a borrowed quote to guide me back to this fullness.
“My head is a hive of words that won’t settle.” Virginia Woolf
to my daughter
November 22, 2016 § 10 Comments
It’s been six days since we picked up your back brace. In that time there have been no complaints, zero drama. You’ve been stubbornly independent and quietly determined as you muscle through the awkwardness of limited mobility and disrupted sleep.
Your doctor, orthotist, and nurses encouraged you to take your time, to settle into new routines, but each day you’ve challenged yesterday’s goals with your own ideas.
It was your idea to try sleeping through the night that first day; your idea to invite friends over to share your news quietly; your idea to wear it to school without a plan.
When teachers and staff offered to educate peers, you postponed the extra attention and planned for an upcoming health unit; a time when your experiences might complement the curriculum rather than interrupt routine.
You aren’t one to call attention to yourself, make excuses or seek special treatment. Humor and humility have armored you with a resilience that fortifies the tenderness of your self-awareness with grit.
A time will come when you don’t remember the sore muscles or cumbersome brace, so I’m stealing a moment today to remember your grace that you might one day know how very proud Dad and I are of your unassuming nature and uncommon courage.
At an age when so many worry about how they look, there is no vanity to your pride; no boastfulness in your effort.
Only the beautiful way you walk tall.
Love, Mom
play lessons
November 12, 2016 § 6 Comments
This morning I chauffeured both children to a robotics meet. We were there for my son, that he might support his team, but I quickly lost my daughter to new friends and a budding interest.
We fell into easy conversations as the teams competing worked collectively through individual challenges. They were patiently competitive, generously cooperative.
I was reminded of another day, years ago at a neighborhood park. A spontaneous collaboration between sand and water with young children whose age, skin color, needs and abilities were as diverse as their language. That day, like today, I marveled at the partnership and individuality of their effort.
Today I’m giving thanks for the lessons in play, the ingenuity of arts and science that foster appreciation for creativity and community. The universal language of respect and curiosity that invites hope with humble gestures of kindness and bold acts of imperfect effort.
If you want to see tomorrow’s leaders at their best, offer them an uncertainty and then give them room enough to play at creative solutions.
parenting & politics
November 9, 2016 § 2 Comments
The morning after the election, breakfast was a conversation in tolerance and respect. Educated, kind individuals are already speaking hate, fear and panic in the wake of yesterday’s election.
Some threaten to abandon America, passively pledging to list their homes and apply for Canadian citizenship. Others who once echoed the elegance of “when they go low, we go high” are speaking a different language.
I am reminded of the post-election rhetoric just eight short years ago and I wonder when we will learn the lessons our children are being taught in the midst of our distraction.
Today I am tasking my children with a responsibility to listen gently and speak kindly by modeling a discussion around opinions and emotions.
World leaders may be looking curiously at our choices, but our children are listening to our language.
scribblechic 