to my younger self
July 9, 2012 § Leave a comment
There will come a day that you no longer feel the music beneath your fingers. You will set aside dancing shoes and tuck away your crayons trying to fit into your expectations of adulthood. I wish I were beside you to lead you back to a piano bench, to unpack your art supplies, and to partner you in song. These expressions of self are essential to your spirit. You will find them again waiting for you in motherhood.
Years from now your fingers and eyes will no longer translate music from paper to sound, but your heart will still answer to a piano. Your childhood dance shoes will be a memory stored in long forgotten recital pictures now aged with yellow edges, but you will dance with your children filling the kitchen with sound and smiles. Art was always an intimate endeavor and your hesitant sketches will become simple gestures of affection that adorn your son and daughter’s school lunches.
I can no more prevent you from letting go than I can keep you from holding on to these small pieces of yourself. So, nestle this knowledge close and remember always to play. Just as your encourage your children to believe in their dreams and make room for joy, lead them by example.
finding my way
July 4, 2012 § Leave a comment
My journey through motherhood is freckled with occasions to second guess old choices. Hindsight often jests at my expense. Should’ves and would’ves, maybes and might haves pile up accusingly mocking my good intentions.
Reflecting on my decisions, sifting through reservations and regrets, I was reminded that my worries are not at all unusual. Parenting children with special needs my doubts are not dissimilar from parents of neurotypical children or those whose children live with physical disabilities or illness. We are an eclectic community of individuals nurturing uniquely beautiful children into a place of independent strength founded in unconditional love and confidence in their abilities.
Today as I count the paths unchosen, curious if I have overlooked a simpler journey, I am reminded of the lessons in love and resilience that have accompanied my errors. I carry my apologies alongside my hope and move forward towards the next bend in the road.
knowing & naming
July 3, 2012 § Leave a comment
The doctor’s couch is deceptively inviting. Rather than soothed by its familiar comfort I feel trapped, my balance lost as my feet stretch toward the floor seeking the reassurance of resistance. Our doctor’s tone is calm, his words carefully measured in long eloquent loops. I place questions between us trying to piece together greater comprehension.
This place, the couch and company, are familiar landmarks on the landscape of our family’s story. The small waiting room scattered with magazines and brightly colored furniture a nesting place for families waiting to collect their marked minutes with the doctor. We return here at regular intervals to name my son’s needs and measure growth. New concerns have challenged old assumptions and I find myself overwhelmed by the unknown.
Cautiously and lovingly we must embrace new information while honoring old truths. This boy, whole, long before we knew his diagnoses and named his needs is unchanged. It is us, his parents, that are forever reaching towards understanding.
shared time
June 27, 2012 § Leave a comment
While my daughter explores the novelty of day camp my son and I are squandering our mornings together.
On Monday we spent the early morning walking a quiet path around a local lake. The first few laps I listened as my son jumped from topic to topic until he slowly made room for my thoughts. When the sun chased us into the shade we drove to a shared favorite spot settling into oversized chairs with books.
Yesterday we balanced necessary errands with moments of silliness. We ordered lunch from the hot dog stand downtown watching pedestrians from our perch on a park bench before indulging in assorted treats from a local candy store. We talked about nothing in particular and found humor in I Spy observations like a pacifier that read volume control.
Today we settled indoors with individual endeavors. Like parallel play we are happily occupied in our own interests but sharing a little more time together. Stolen moments of nothing in particular that mean everything.
sack lunch
June 26, 2012 § Leave a comment
This afternoon I was eager to capture my daughter’s new camp experience. Embracing a quiet moment to gather my thoughts I was distracted by a nagging awareness I couldn’t quite name. I began looking around the house wondering what was amiss. Looking to the calendar I quickly realized I had misread the camp itinerary for today, confusing it with tomorrow. This morning I packed my daughter’s mess kit for her group’s food preparation activity scheduled for tomorrow. Slowly, my error caught up with me. I had not sent today’s sack lunch.
My realization came moments before I needed to leave and collect my daughter from the bus stop. Negative thoughts chased through my mind. How could I make such an error? I am a horrible mother. What must my daughter have thought? What must the camp counselors think? Then, something unexpected happened.
My daughter’s missing lunch became another adventure woven into her day. She laughed at the “horrible peanut butter and jelly sandwich that wasn’t actually that bad.” The counselors reassured me the oversight was not uncommon, lending me humor and dismissing my guilt. Everything was okay despite my error.
Behind my mistake was a lovely lesson in imperfection. My daughter didn’t feel less loved. The counselors didn’t reprimand me for failure. Instead, my daughter and the counselors helped me to accept my own fallibility. Small moment, big lesson.
happy camper
June 26, 2012 § Leave a comment
In each lifetime there are moments we jump into and moments we dance around uncertainly. This week my daughter faced a new experience and as she worked through her emotions, I held my breath bearing the weight of my own uncertainty.
I like predictable rhythms marking the passage of my days. Despite a well guarded wish for easy spontaneity I often struggle at the crest of a new experience anxious for the comfort of familiarity. When my daughter vehemently protested participating in a day camp with tears and passionate declarations of resistance punctuated by quiet pleas for dismissal from our commitment,I wavered tempted to release her from discomfort. My maternal instinct, the piece of my heart that whispers reassurance in moments of hesitation, nudged me forward into the discomfort conscious of the potential joy hidden within the experience.
My nature lover would have the benefit of a new outdoor setting to explore, plants and animals to discover. My social butterfly would find friendship flittering between crafts and play. The little girl who wants so much to be considered big would be permitted room to exercise her independence and accept responsibility. I tucked my daughter into bed on the eve of her camp tallying these opportunities for reassurance.
My camper woke slowly, her smiles reserved as she watched the clock and noted the rising sun the following morning. Between bites of chocolate chip waffles the quiet was sprinkled with curious questions that seemed to suggest a cautious enthusiasm. Waiting for the bus my daughter stood just outside the cluster of girls, observing. I noted her eyes eagerly measuring her surroundings for clues. Last to fall into line I followed the shadow of my daughter’s form as she made her way slowly down the bus aisle looking for a place to sit. She settled in a seat alone and the outline of her profile remained unmoving as the other girls swirled around her. A friend from school appeared just as the bus prepared to depart, finding her way to my daughter’s side and lending them both the reassuring company of a familiar face. As the bus pulled away I set aside uncertainty for faith.
Letting my daughter find her way through frustration, fear, and uncertainty forced me to navigate my doubts. I do not need to shield my daughter from challenges or allow my own experiences to inform her expectations. At day’s end the morning’s hesitance was replaced with a calm confidence; uncertainty overshadowed by pride. In the space of a day we both grew a little more comfortable with the uncomfortable feelings that accompany a new experience; more secure in our ability to leap into a new moment.
paper shields
June 22, 2012 § 1 Comment
I gather my day into order with lists, endeavoring to control the unpredictable with logical predictions etched on paper. My days end and begin with intention, nudging me into the world where the impossibility of controlling the unpredictable teases my paper shield. In the uncomfortable spaces, chaotic and vulnerable, I must leave room for unnamed moments to better greet possibility with openness. My greatest moments of growth and consciousness occur in the margins of my anticipation.
growing up & standing still
June 21, 2012 § Leave a comment
My high school reunion is around the corner, I am navigating old memories and new doubts. Twenty years later it seems as though time stood still, slumbering insecurities have stirred new insights into pieces of my past.
Returning psychologically to a place in time littered with painful memories has highlighted old wounds. The young girl that hid from sadness behind individual endeavors, love stories, and moments of rebellion is cautious to revisit the past. The woman I have become feels compelled to face these truths with the same open mind and strength I ask my children to exercise in moments of uncertainty.
I keep returning to the uncomfortable emotions looking for direction. An emptiness and detachment from my peers’ shared experiences conflicts with deeply entangled emotions to individuals, relationships fragmented but infinitely imbedded in my life story. In contrast to my children’s experiences, I did not grow up in one neighborhood. Watching my children create friendships and gather memories I have become acutely aware of the pricelessness of old friends and the richness of shared history.
Looking ahead to the coming year and the opportunity to revisit a piece of my past I am trying to welcome doubts alongside nostalgia, permitting myself a place for growth; lending myself forgiveness and love for old mistakes and missed opportunities while standing firmly and gratefully in the present.
have children, will travel
June 14, 2012 § 2 Comments
In my earliest days as a mother I traveled lightly. I left toys and accessories behind embracing unforeseen distractions within new environments. I didn’t dwell on the decision, I made it casually.
As I prepared to visit my mother this past week I realized I had begun packing with the expectation that my children needed familiar comforts; I prepared for boredom and anticipated a need for entertainment. I am not certain when my packing patterns shifted, but conscious of this I committed myself to embracing the challenge of unpacking my assumptions. I began by removing gadgets from their travel bags, giving my children room to explore their environment in search of distractions.
Our first hurdle occurred early in the trip. At the airport gate a chorus of impatient How much longer? was interrupted by a curious toddler tugging at my children’s hands. Soon my children were peering at their surroundings from another perspective, all three children looking out the airport windows marveling at the planes and machinery, brightly colored luggage, and uniformed workers. The minutes passed in spontaneous play with a new friend; the waiting less weighted.
That same day settling in to my parent’s home I let go of needing to keep my children occupied and watched them drift to different corners of the house finding their own distractions. At twelve and seven years old they moved independently in the space safely and curiously, each child reintroducing themselves to old favorites while discovering new interests.
Our vacation days were simple, uncluttered by agendas. Rather than drive to distractions in search of something interesting we divided our days between the backyard and living room. Pool time and board games, books and blank drawing tablets captured my children’s imaginations.
Watching my children work through frustrations and seek out companionship or entertainment without my direction assured me we could vacation with less and gain more. We left behind expectations and uncovered a stronger awareness of ourselves, our surroundings, and each other.
home stretch
June 4, 2012 § Leave a comment
When we purchased my husband’s childhood home we projected our dreams with bold, eager statements of change. Loose this wall, add more light, create storage. We wanted our home to be comfortable and functional, welcoming and rejuvenating. We made room around the kitchen knowing guests gather at the heart of the home. We stretched our living space to encompass the outdoors. We created work space and play space giving everyone room for themselves and room to grow together.
We settled our children’s rooms first. Each child moving into a sanctuary from the chaos of construction around them. Our kitchen consumed the first year as we merged the divided space of our main floor, opening rooms to shared space. Our family room was stripped of dark paneling and brightened with paint, the bulky dark brick replaced with a simpler wood frame. The stained siding and weathered windows were replaced; the once overgrown backyard was tamed into an outdoor living room. The bathrooms a final time capsule of my husband’s youth.
Tomorrow the kids and I will leave for a quick visit to my parents’ home while my husband flushes our dated bathrooms. Gone is the giddy excitement for change, replaced with a peaceful expectation of completion. The hours, days, and months of distraction buried within each project will be traded for more time together.
There will be no more need to search ideas, filter options, spend finances on fixtures. As we near the end of our wishes for our house, I am drafting new wishes for our time together. Thinking more of how we live in this space we have made. Investing extra time and effort into the life we have built between these walls.
