to my daughter
August 18, 2012 § 1 Comment
I love the sound of your giggles drifting under your door as you talk about everything and nothing with your friend. I watched you form this friendship under a summer sun, in the cool shallow waters of our public pool just before your Kindergarten year.
There have been days when you and your friend were divided by hurt feelings and days you were inseparably linked hand in hand, heart to heart. There have been times I questioned your connection and times it seemed unquestionable you were both destined for friendship. Watching you grow as a friend and an individual there are two lessons we are sharing as mother and daughter.
Letting go. Despite my wish to shield you from mistakes and guide you towards joy, you must navigate your own friendships. When you hurt I stand close enough for you to find me and wait for you to unravel your emotions until you find the kernel of harm. I balance sharing my perspective with valuing your insight.
Holding tight. On occasion I reach for your hand and pull you aside reminding you of your choices and my expectations. While you choose friendships, I hold you simultaneously to the values we share as a family creating a mindfulness of your own behaviors as an individual within a friendship.
My sweet girl, I wish you friendship that comforts you and challenges you, inspires and celebrates you. I wish you friendship you earn with others you trust. In this world where we use the word friendship casually, I hope you weigh its value with truth and love.
knock on wood
August 15, 2012 § 2 Comments
I like to think I am above superstitious beliefs, I am not. Difficult days have dissipated and I am cautiously releasing the breath I have been holding while we struggled to find peace with our son’s challenging behaviors this summer. A string of good days and I am brimming with hope. Knock on wood.
My optimism is being held in check by a tiny superstitious fear that I will jinx the good, inviting the bad. Misfortune seeking a place amidst our contentment. In an unending game of musical chairs we shuffle along hoping to rest in good fortune, dodging poor luck.
I am hesitant to divulge the details, good or bad, least I tempt fate to mock my celebration with a lesson in humility. Instead, I am giving thanks for calmer days and knocking on wood.
animal instincts
August 14, 2012 § Leave a comment
Today the weather was sunny and cool, a perfect opportunity to embrace an outdoor adventure. After a leisurely breakfast I corralled my children into the car and we headed for the zoo. I often dread the parenting pitfalls of this animal excursion. My children have been known to wander in opposite directions or beg for overpriced mementos and nutritionally bankrupt snack food.
Upon our arrival at the zoo, parking had spilled over to adjacent fields of unmarked lawn. As we made the long walk to the entrance I realized we had chosen the Children Free day for Our Day. I scanned the overpopulated pathways and paused, poised to flee. I imagined my worst fears, tantrums and roaming, exaggerated by crowded exhibits. Hesitantly I merged our small group into the stream of families meandering along the walkway.
Standing in front of the first exhibit my children huddled with strangers’ children and marveled at each colorful fish on display. Slowly they moved on to a new population of children at the next attraction. It was an afternoon of shared wonder and I was in awe of the positive, peaceful spirit that guided my children through out the day.
At no point did my children part ways, in fact on multiple occasions they reached for the other’s hand to draw them closer to the moment. They helped one another spy the stubborn species tucked out of sight. They held the door for one another and others. They skipped over food and trinkets eager to see all the attractions; each animal gifted a moment of genuine gratitude for their presence.
My worries were replaced with a peaceful sense of satisfaction. For all the fond memories of my children toddling the same paths directionless and unconscious of those around them, this new moment of awareness for others and controlled conduct was rewarding. In the chaos of the crowds, I quietly celebrated my children’s demonstration of maturity alongside their unchecked curiosity. Perhaps my instinct to worry should be traded for a greater sense of trust.
containing chaos
August 14, 2012 § 2 Comments
Over the past six years our home has been in varying stages of controlled chaos during multiple remodeling projects. Now, as we near the end of our large projects, I find myself willing everything into a designated space.
Sifting through collections of misplaced clutter I have created a greater hodgepodge of miscellaneous items waiting to be contained. I am taking my time, trying to piece together the patterns of what gets used where, when, and by whom so that our home is functional, logical. It occurred to me yesterday that I am clinging to order because at the moment this piece of my life can be controlled.
I am worried about my children as we approach the new school year, but cautious that I keep these concerns bottled up so that I don’t project them onto my children’s expectations. Unable to pile my worries in coordinated baskets for convenient evaluation, I am rearranging my pantry and organizing extra school supplies for homework ahead.
Our final days of summer vacation are coming to an end as I prepare our home and make peace with that which I cannot control, I am containing the chaos of my heart and home.
self & sharing
August 13, 2012 § Leave a comment
I rarely know what I am going to write until my hands have already begun to translate a thought bubbling into my consciousness. Most of my sharings are personal truths I collect in an effort to celebrate my blessings and acknowledge my challenges. These sentiments evolve in something akin to diary entries. When an occasional response or like is posted to my page I am reminded of an unknown audience. At times this is a gift, reminding me to contextualize my thoughts and in doing so share a more complete picture. On other occasions I second guess technical qualities, grammar, titles, and tense. For the kind handful of friends, family, and strangers who follow, thank you for allowing my imperfections and embracing my stories.
school days
August 12, 2012 § Leave a comment
School. One word weighted with hope and worry. There was a time both of my children longed for school. They reached for a place of belonging with eager hands and curious minds. Now I feel their hesitation as clearly as I remember their joy. As we near the first day of school I want to acknowledge my children’s feelings alongside my dreams.
To my children, traditional classrooms are a well-defined space of rules and repetition. My darling round pegs you do not fit comfortably in these tidy square spaces. This is okay. Difficult days, moments of misunderstanding and frustration, will challenge your confidence but each of you are blessed with talents and strengths that reaffirm your ability to succeed. Your greatest assets are your dreams, determination, and resilience.
To my son, I see the impossibility of absorbing academic materials while trying to deconstruct social expectations. You are perpetually performing, testing on two planes; endeavoring to model appropriate social behavior while reeling in your need to create sound and movement. Simultaneously you listen, gathering almost everything said in lectures, but lost to the monotonous work that accompanies repetition for mastery. Bottom line: you need the practice despite your intelligence. It is boring, so are many details of daily life. Manage the small details with the same energy you brush your teeth and make your bed. By the way, please brush your teeth and make your bed.
To my daughter, if only your work were graded on effort and heart; there could be no greater measure of worth and yet you align your value by your weaknesses. Spelling and reading, math facts and word problems taunt you while your creative skills and comprehension of life’s greater truths reassure me of your gifts. I cannot dismiss you of reading, writing, and arithmetic; these are skills you need to build. One day these very same building blocks will allow you to create your own story. It feels a long way off, the challenges unending, but there are always challenges when we live fully.
To my children’s teachers, I wish you could see the devotion that burns brightly behind words of encouragement. Challenge them to reach beyond their comfort zones but make certain you see the effort behind imperfect work. Sloppy handwriting and incorrect answers are evidence of effort unedited by their parents’ hands. Highlight where they have room to grow, but celebrate each improvement.
To my husband, meet me at the dinner table for homework. Remind me when I forget that learning begins with curiosity and ends with criticism so that I am patient. May our home be a safe haven for failure and dreams that our children are not intimidated to explore their world in search of possibility.
laundry day
August 11, 2012 § Leave a comment
Despite my wish to gather every moment of sunshine for moments of whim and wonder, today is a day for practical activities. The sun teases me from the other side of the glass, but I bury my head a little deeper and move intentionally from corner to corner attempting to create calm from the chaos of dirty linens and cluttered piles of items waiting to be sorted another day, before school begins. Today is Another Day.
My children are sulking as they drift from task to play.
We are all a little out of sorts as we near the end of summer. To cast aside our responsibilities for a dramatic gesture of freedom would reaffirm the end is near. Instead we are denying the unavoidable; our gray moods pushing away the people we will miss the most come the first day back to school. Knowing this I am giving my children room to process their emotions, taking advantage of an indoor day to prepare our home for the routines of Fall and our minds for the unescapable truth that the end is nigh.
Gently, with small familiar tasks, I am reminding my children of the predictable moments, consistency between adventures. Life’s laundry days nestled between vacations.
full heart, sleepy head
August 10, 2012 § Leave a comment
This week my husband slipped out of his work routine and into an old summer tradition; we piled our children and a few haphazardly organized necessities into our car for a quick weekday getaway to his family’s lake house.
My husband spent his childhood summers in this space. In the earliest days of our relationship we played house on quiet weekends in its empty rooms. Our own children splashed naked in the murky lake water as infants and toddlers. We no longer spend endless days playing frivolously on the beach; still each visit brings old memories, the past and present intersecting beneath the summer sun.
Mornings began with a family breakfast. My husband prepared Eierkuchen, a German pancake made of eggs, milk, and flour topped with applesauce and a sprinkling of sugar. It is a meal my mother-in-law made my husband as a child, a piece of her heritage that we share with our children. A little thing, a simple meal, that feeds our bodies. The act of making a sentimental breakfast, a gesture of love.
On this trip, we explored the trails that encircle the lake. Riding along dusty paths beneath a brilliant blue sky we encountered wild turkeys and deer. My husband filled the quiet by recounting childhood adventures beneath the same trees, noting small changes along the way; the space between stories infused with questions and laughter. This new sharing immediately familiar in the company of old memories.
Navigating the lake water our children reveled in their sense of authority as the captains of our boat. We paused along the way for my husband and son to dive from a familiar rock. Watching my son I remembered similar moments from summers past; fierce declarations of bravery as well as reserved moments of uncertainty as my son gauged the cool depths below. I have never jumped, but I love the sight of my husband and son climbing and diving side by side. For a moment they were more friends than father and son.
Similarly I watched my husband and daughter swim, their playful personalities and easy confidence in the water make them unquestionably modern merpeople. It is as if they speak a language all their own punctuated with noisy, exuberant splashing. I often forget myself, lost to watching them play.
At the end of each day, after the sun had set, my husband and children curled into one of my husband’s childhood chapter books. In this moment, when the people I love most were gathered under the spell of a story, I sent up a silent note of gratitude for the simple blessings of family togetherness with a full heart and a sleepy head.
summertime
August 5, 2012 § 2 Comments
The first reminders of the school year ahead have created an elevated consciousness of our dwindling days of unscheduled adventure. The coming weeks are sprinkled with obligations, but the days and minutes surrounding our gradual return to the routine of our school year are filled with possibility. Rather than bemoan the structure of days ahead, I am trying to stand firmly in the twilight of our summer silliness. Day trips and weekend getaways tease away the tension as we itemize scavenged supplies stored safely in anticipation of this moment. A book in the shade, swimming in the sun, the company of friends, and a quiet moment to squander selfishly. I am gathering my minutes for memories.
waiting room only
August 4, 2012 § 1 Comment
Waiting rooms are rich with practical social skills opportunities. More than chairs arranged in a sterile circle and predesigned questions this space lends endless opportunities for practice.
Adults and children ranging in need and restless for their moment with an over-scheduled doctor, my son’s psychiatrist’s practice is ripe with practical applications of various behavioral exercises. Taking turns, controlling impulsive speech, using and interpreting body language.
Yesterday my daughter shared a special moment with a little boy. Her own needs and her experiences with her brother’s challenges lend her awareness and compassion. On this occasion she used the waiting room as an opportunity to play with another child while her brother and I met with the doctor. Play in this space is interpretive; often it consists of parallel play and fragmented conversations. My daughter asked me to trust her to play rather than sit quietly through her brother’s appointment. Grasping an occasion to exercise her independence I gave her room to play, trusting she would navigate the social space of the waiting room.
Upon ending my son’s appointment, a mother thanked me for my daughter’s kindness. She didn’t enumerate on how my daughter demonstrated kindness, but I understood the language of the other mother’s gratitude; the need to acknowledge another child’s compassion. I have shared breathtaking moments of thankfulness for small acts of generosity: a child patiently listening to a series of facts squished together without room for interruption, finding humor or brilliance in an otherwise misplaced mannerism, an absence of judgement or irritation when my child acts outside expectations.
In our home we deconstruct simple interactions to decode the invisible social rules. I couldn’t be more proud that my daughter has learned to share these lessons with others through acts of kindness tucked inside childhood play.
