consistently contradictory
May 22, 2014 § 11 Comments
Sameness seems an impossible standard, the only consistency change. I evolve into each new experience, moving through a new unknown holding tightly to self while searching for an uncertain other. This journey from surety through doubt loops the past and present in winding contradictory circles; linking me in a place of paused humility even as I move toward knowing.
With age I have come to error intimately, holding my principles more privately; voicing questions and suggestions in place of statements. On the occasion I lean into an opinion, I look toward opposition for harmony. I have become less invested in feeling correct over understood, more welcoming of my own uncertainty and others’ conviction.
I find these moments of insight in my children’s questions and certainties, friends’ opinions, and strangers’ voices; exchanges that challenge assumptions and lend perspective. This morning I am thinking of the good fortune and grace that accompanies each lesson, the beauty within each opportunity to grow.
to my daughter
May 21, 2014 § 4 Comments
Some days busyness blurs the best of intentions and my words get lost in thought. This place has become a safe haven for memories and musings, still the message is lost if they linger unshared. How many times do we save our words for another time, only to lose our opportunity?
This month your father and I met with administrators, educators, and support staff to discuss your academic progress and outline support for the coming school year. While some measure ability in charts and graphs, your father and I look to anecdotes that illustrate character.
I wish you could see how quickly your name lends smiles and your effort informs ability. The inconsistency of your performance is matched only by your steadfast determination; the space between struggle and accomplishment a picture of possibility.
This year you begged to step outside certain services, eager to stand among your peers. You spoke with such conviction that your father and I carried your request in writing so that your words might mold our goals and honor your ambitions. In patient penmanship you asked each of us to demonstrate faith in something unmeasurable and made us happy conspirators to your choices.
Independent and brave, stubborn and sincere; you are the architect of your dreams. I could not be more proud to be the messenger of your story.
Love, Mom
to my son
May 16, 2014 § 10 Comments
High school waits on the other side of summer, I feel this milestone with the tenderness of motherhood and the wisdom of hindsight. For as much as we caution the value of hard work and academics, these years will bring emotional experiences that teach more of self and selflessness, community and individuality.
Somewhere between classrooms and homework, extracurricular interests and family obligations you are going to fall in love and out of friendship; you will come to see others more clearly and your sense of self will be challenged. If I could lend you counsel in three simple parts, it would be this:
Look up at the world around you and navigate discomfort for an opportunity to engage. Make a new friend, try a new activity. The greatest regrets are formed from missed opportunities. Dare to look silly and feel overwhelmed.
Hold tightly to those relationships where you can laugh and cry with the same unfiltered abandon. Make room, too, for others to be unapologetically imperfect. Care for these relationships, they will ground you in humility and gratitude on days you feel lost.
Always trust the little voice that whispers caution. There will be moments when you tempt fate with difficult lessons, this voice will tether you to safety in the face of harm and create an opportunity to borrow strength. We are only a phone call away.
If you are still listening:
Remember we love you. These years are a comedy of awkward chaos, emotions tangling the simplest of intentions; for us, too. Your father and I will look silly and seem unfair, our advice will sound comical and useless through the filter of teenage angst. When you cannot hear our logic, look for signs of love in the boundaries that inform your independence. I will try to see your ability through your errors and give you room enough to stumble. Love you.
Mom
a lesson in self
May 7, 2014 § 10 Comments
Yesterday I had the opportunity to gather with strangers to discuss our community as mothers of school aged children with special needs. So I thought.
In fact, I met with mothers who were, are, accomplished professionals meeting with the intention of discussing business; the identity of their children secondary to our conversation. As the women introduced themselves, business cards identifying their area of expertise, I quietly pondered how I might identify myself and my place at their table without a professional identity.
Initially I tallied my insignificance with insecurities. I silently measured my worth by lengths of comparison that were as unkind to myself and those I presumed might judge me.
Tempting as it might have been in a fleeting fantasy to apologetically dismiss myself from their company, I invited my doubts to lunch and settled in to enjoy an experience that was a gift of error.
I believe fate is a marriage of opportunity and choice; yesterday three lovely strangers invited me to be present in a chance conversation, the opportunity and choice my own. Today I am reflecting on the space of self and the woman I am ever becoming in a community of women more inspiring for their diversity.
letting go
May 3, 2014 § 8 Comments
Life lessons so often appear as a serendipitous suggestion, one that must be invited into consciousness with a full heart and open mind. In April I was challenged as part of an on-line community project to embrace an exercise in letting go by identifying a direction to the assigned release.
Philosophically I debated the idea of dwelling on a theme while the practical pieces of my personality wanted to target a particular, functional element of my days; behaviors, mindsets, insecurities, old dreams all seemed equally relevant and hopelessly evasive. In the end, I permitted myself the freedom of uncertainty and let go of knowing the answer.
The moment I gave myself room to move beyond expectation, an answer revealed itself; creating an opportunity for change.
The past eight years I have amassed a collection of materials intended to guide and inform my choices as a mother of children with special needs. They were safe havens of knowledge fostering hope and instilling determination; conveniently outlined problems with bullet point suggestions for success. I read these books, assimilating relevant terms and practices into my dialogue and directing my choices as an advocate; determinedly crafting a plan for mothering my children by mastering my understanding of their needs.
Initially these books were a silent community of compassion and encouragement; I found reflections of self reading others’ experiences. There was also, however, an expectation that my children, despite their uncompromised individuality, could conveniently confine their needs to text-book cliff notes.
When my army of knowledge could not preserve my children’s peace of mind or protect them from other’s harm I began to second guess the instincts that undermined my certainty. So much of what I read could not address the gaps in my children’s needs. In a world unbound by logic and sometimes unbalanced in kindness and empathy there was no certain insurance to inform and guard against the irrational errors of others. More importantly there is no more informed expert on the complicated beauty of a single spirit than a parent.
Today I am letting go of answers and embracing my questions; gifting many of the books that I no longer reference for answers to my children’s schools for teachers and other families. I am lending insight to create a more balanced dialogue of care and sharing the responsibility of knowledge in genuine partnership for change.
I am still uncertain of this journey I began so many years ago, but I am unwaveringly certain in this moment that knowing my children as individuals is much more important than understanding their diagnoses. Just as informing others is more important than shouldering the burden of change alone.
to my son
April 30, 2014 § 2 Comments
While your sister twirled toward an evening with dad, last Friday we ventured out for air scavenging the lingering hours of the spring day for food and conversation. These companionable moments, just the two of us, are a happy indulgence.
On this occasion I centered my attention in celebration of a recent increase in your independence. I pelted you with compliments and, to my surprise, you became quiet. As I pushed forward, into the silence, with saccharin expressions of thankful exuberance you retreated further. Chasing your silence with the noise of my joy I tried to retract you from your corner until your words stilled me.
You explained that the more I spoke of your success, the more you felt suffocated by the uncertain momentum of your accomplishments. Initially I baulked at the suggestion that my praise might undermine your progress. It was only when I set aside the filter of my hopes as your mother that I could more clearly see the honesty in your teenage confession. In your vulnerable forthrightness, you translated a subtext of judgement that belied my contentment.
Rather than celebrating your accomplishment you wanted to stand simply in a place of self-awareness. Under your breath, almost to yourself, you confessed it felt good to be productive. This was my favorite moment, the casually measured acquiescence of your accomplishment. The greater joy is not the pride of others, but pride in self untethered to other’s expectations.
Love, Mom
to my daughter
April 29, 2014 § 5 Comments
Last Friday we paused in our leisurely habits for your daddy daughter dance. Despite the grand theme that suggested more mature expressions of glamour, I held firmly to simpler wishes. It would have been so easy to masquerade you as a young woman, but there is still so much little girl in the balance of your experience and I guard this blessing least you grow too quickly beyond the innocence of this moment.
You are young enough still to seek my counsel, but old enough to push against my authority toward independence. My direction comes masked as a suggestion easily manipulated into your choice. Each selection, from shoes to dress, were an exercise in will and an experiment in self. We danced around subjects of maturity and cost, image and independence. I created boundaries to center you in practical details while lending you freedom enough to make choices that reflect your creativity.
I see so many young girls gathered into early expectations of grandeur. Little girls hidden beneath costumes of maturity or delighting in extravagances so impractical in their excess that they unwittingly create an impossible standard. I hope that you will continue to find joy in less, even in exceptional moments of celebration.
In as much as this was an evening to share with your father, I cherished our time together in preparation. The simplicity of our dining room manicure, the faint hue of your polish little more than a suggestion as you outlined your excitement. I silently applauded your decision to leave your hair to fall comfortably rather than endeavor to confine its bulk into something severe and took care as you let me untangle the day’s knots.
As the time came to dress, I smiled at the silver ballet flats whose sparkle was reminiscent of your toddler toes hidden in ruby, red slippers; the trail of glitter highlighting your path of play. When you unraveled strings of jewelry and dismissed the weight of a corsage for the luxury of white gloves, I saw again images of little girl dress-up accessories mismatched amidst everyday attire.
Watching your walk on your father’s arm I celebrated the blend of innocence and budding maturity in the collection of your choices. Part tomboy and part princess; ever my little girl.
Love, Mom
inviting intention
April 28, 2014 § 1 Comment
A greeting that invites conversation, quiet attentiveness guarding a needed sanctuary for worries, or a casual smile that lends good cheer; small generosities that gift community in a moment burdened with a debt of solitude.
I like to think there are no accidents, rather occasions of unobstructed awareness. Small acts of acknowledgment and intentional gestures of presence demonstrating appreciation threaded among strangers in a seemless community of conscious connectivity.
In such moments there is a recognition of possibility partnered with intention inviting opportunity far greater than errors of fate; a suggestion of direction guided by an internal knowing.
This thought comforts me on days tinged with uncertainty, casting my eyes to the company of chance that marks each fork in the path. Borrowed kindness or messages of encouragement centering me on a map whose margins are yet unprinted by destiny.
sweet nothings
April 21, 2014 § 10 Comments
Yesterday my daughter appeared beside me, her little girl hands cradling an abandoned bird’s nest. The unadorned simplicity of its elegant emptiness was in stark contrast to the memory of toddler hands greedily clutching at a confetti of confectionary eggs. Days once carefully orchestrated to infer evidence of magic now infused with a quiet appreciation for sweet nothings.
(un)processed
April 17, 2014 § 6 Comments
This week a kind comment challenged me with a curious invitation to connect with strangers on the subject of writing processes. My instinctive reaction was to withdraw from the opportunity; the formality of the phrase “writing process” felt fraudulent as it applies to my relationship with writing. Then, in the day between the invitation and this sharing I gathered a wish for my son that spoke to my doubts.
As a gesture of gratitude for the opportunity to explore my process and honor my counsel to my children in their pursuits, I would like to acknowledge the informality of my process and answer the questions posed to me.
What are you working on? As my writing endeavors to capture intimate musings, I would humbly suggest that I am working on self rather than a literary compilation. Each written wondering is a step in my journey to greater consciousness.
How does your work differ from others in its genre? I’m certain the majority of my writings are universal in their themes. If my story is unique it is only for my interpretation.
Why do you write what you do? I write to capture questions and explore my thoughts, pausing the passage of time with an exercise that nurtures my soul and brings me joy.
How does your writing process work? I write when the words seem to press against my mind’s eye, just askew of my tongue. I am most productive in the earliest hours of the day when my home is at rest and, occasionally, in the midst of empty busyness when a thought interrupts other endeavors with the disruptive forcefulness of a petulant child.
The elegant simplicity of these questions was deceptively complicated. Thank you to Derek at Playing In The City With Trains for the lovely encouragement. Rather than name another with the responsibility of sharing their process, I would welcome those interested in embracing this experience to link their reflections in the comments below that we might create a conversation as a community of writers nurturing individual voices, collectively.
