weeding flowers

April 2, 2012 § Leave a comment

Dandelions are popping up inside my home, generous bouquets bundled with love.

First my son appeared at our door having collected two handfuls between the bus stop and home. He eagerly extended one yellow bundle for me before asking if he might deliver the other to a friend. He preserved mine proudly in a small glass container at the center of my kitchen island, but not before he created a video documentary of one particularly beautiful dandelion on film.

Less than an hour later my daughter lamented our tragic landscape, void of the lovely yellow blossoms so generously sprinkled across our neighbors’ lawns. She embarked on a passionate journey to collect stems of sunshine to accent my store-bought, cut flowers indoors.

My daughter found an absence of sunshine in a sea of green and my son uncovered something extraordinary in a bouquet of sameness. I am weeding my definition of beauty and giving thanks for the blessing of a dandelion.

note to self

March 28, 2012 § Leave a comment

Seven days. The withdrawal and quick clicks from a smart phone to check in on my life on-line revealed a hard truth. I wasn’t missing much. My mail was steady, but impersonal. My friends on Facebook didn’t send for a search party. My blog is a journal.

In the time it takes me to keep up on-line, I caught up in real-time with my husband, children, and parents. Every morning my husband and I slipped out for a long walk to savor a quiet cup of coffee. Our days were filled with movement in the sunshine. Evenings were spent huddled together over leisurely meals and movies. It was indulgently unglamorous and in the harsh light of day my on-line distractions were reminiscent of childhood toys fraught with the distinction of loved, unused amusements. Like a pull toy that followed me rattling for attention, I rested old habits in the corner of my mind.

Our vacation is over, but I hope to hold tightly to this small moment of consciousness as I settle back into the routine of home.

hands free

March 20, 2012 § 2 Comments

Family vacation, time away from daily routines and the distractions of technology for simpler joys.

Our hands will be free for: holding a book, holding a pencil, holding hands.

Our time will be marked by: restful stillness, curious exploration, unhurried conversations.

We will slip outside the predictable routines of: homework, paperwork, housework.

I am logging off, shutting down and reconnecting with my family. Grasping the moment tightly with both hands.

home

March 18, 2012 § 3 Comments

A place within and in between, constant and ever changing; more solid than beams and bricks and yet at once intangible. My mind and heart are wrapped around the word home today. This week I have been preparing to visit my mother while taking care of my little girl, a quiet week with pockets of business and gentle reminders that home is a moment of understanding and recognition between two people of something shared but unspoken.

The past few weeks I have watched my vivacious seven-year old side kick fight off a variety of irritating cold and flu symptoms. Yesterday a fever robbed my little girl of her smile and she drifted into a deep sleep; I was restless without the playful antics and dramatic declarations that punctuate my daughter’s days. Today, as she tugs joyfully at my patience with stubborn independence our house feels more like home.

Like mother, like daughter. My mother and I tug tirelessly at one another’s patience with the same predictability. We are as similar as we are different, stubborn certainties mingled with unspoken insecurities clutter the space between hugs and harmony. I have learned to appreciate the complications between my mother and I as both universal and unique; sore subjects and shared respect hallmarks of our journey as daughters and mothers in a sisterhood of womanhood.

This week as I prepare to share time with my family in the infinite space of home that ties us together with heartstrings, I am folding clothes into suitcases and unfolding old memories. Celebrating and giving thanks for my daughter and my mother.

unwritten

March 15, 2012 § 3 Comments

Stuck inside my thoughts, dwelling in distraction, I came across a quote that inspired me to set aside the act of writing for an exercise in living.

How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live.
Henry David Thoreau

This blank space that so peacefully accepts my thoughts without judgment created a place of solitude where I could pause on the periphery of my life lost in thought. In my youth I tucked myself quietly between the pages of countless books seeking the reassuring security of a story. Writing has gifted me the same peaceful reprieve from expectations and uncertainty.

Rather than reflecting, I have begun to seek. Where I rested in uncertainty, I have created movement inspired by curiosity. I am balancing my words with exercises in living. The pauses between sharings filled with life.

constructive criticism

March 8, 2012 § 2 Comments

Teachers and specialists have assured me it is quite normal for a sibling of a child with special needs to become a miniature caregiver. In this respect my daughter is exceptionally normal. From the time she was born I would follow behind my son trying to help facilitate social experiences. I would watch to note his strengths and identify areas of concern that we might later role play or work through; uncomfortable dialogue and mannerisms that created conflict among peers. My daughter grew naturally from a witness to these exchanges into a tiny tutor in the subject of  social behavior; actively identifying and demonstrating proper behavior in different settings.

Some days my daughter will guide her big brother with one hand on the small of his back, speaking quietly just behind him. She cues expectations naturally, predicting and translating his environment. She does this with love and frustration. At times she wishes him her equal and resents the imbalance her older brother’s needs create. Other times she is his greatest champion, defending him against unkindness and following in his shadow marveling at his interests.

My daughter has her own needs that have gifted her unique experiences outside the norm among peers. Sensitive and aware she aligns herself in the company of children sometimes marginalized and stands true in her beliefs in the face of other’s opinions. Recently she lent me constructive criticism for my own social behavior.

It began when another parent initiated a conversation outside my daughter’s school. I could not wriggle free of the exchange and found myself taking hurried steps toward the back of the building where my daughter meets me daily. I was late and she was angry. Frustrated by the distraction my daughter offered me a social script. She instructed me that in moments when I cannot be rude and I have a commitment to say: I’m sorry but my daughter is waiting for me. I need to go. She offered me the solution so naturally I had to remind myself to answer. Quickly I acknowledged the polite and appropriate language as well as the gentle reminder that she rightfully wants to be my first priority at the end of her school day. Then I pulled my daughter into a hug and celebrated her ability to recognize a problem, offer a solution, and share her feelings confidently. Internally I marveled at how quickly I had become her student.

It was a small moment on the outside, but my daughter’s ability to help others navigate the unspoken social rules that complicate simple exchanges is extraordinary. I pause here to admire the way  in which she guides us all with a gentle heart and a quiet certainty, kindness and conviction.

accomplishing everything

March 7, 2012 § 1 Comment

Today began with a list, a quick itemized account of tasks and errands that needed to be done. In the early minutes of my morning I gathered my thoughts for the day ahead, scribbling items onto scratch paper. Then, distracted by the business of waking sleepy children and herding them through the motions of breakfast, I became distracted. Sitting at the table with my children I stopped thinking of what came next and enjoyed the spectacularly common experience of beginning our day together.

Driving my daughter to school she filled the brief trip with a stream of unrelated banter. Just before popping out of the car and waving a spirited goodbye she declared a little boy in class keeps making a handsome face to try to make her fall in love with him. I was in love with my daughter’s voice sharing a story from her adventures in Second Grade.

Late morning my phone registered a missed call. Checking my messages I was surprised to hear the sound of my son’s voice. He had called from school to request my permission to apply for a Presidential grant in hopes he would be given a job that might help fund his research. Before the message cut off he assured me we could talk about it after school and then ended with I love you. I love the dreams of my eleven-year-old son.

At noon I invited my husband out to lunch. A neighbor had given us a gift certificate to a popular restaurant and I seized the opportunity as an excuse to escape our chores and play. Indulging in a savory entrée and decadent dessert in the middle of the day for no special occasion we sat still and talked about everything and nothing at all.

My laundry waits in mountainous piles, but the people I love most shared pieces of their day with me. I have accomplished nothing and everything all at once.

change begins with me

March 6, 2012 § Leave a comment

Yesterday I wrote about bullying in my son’s school. Frustrated, sad, and angry I vented my emotions between keystrokes. I was angry with the children that victimized my son, sad that children witnessing the unkindnesses did not feel empowered to speak up on my son’s behalf, angry with the bus driver under whose watch the transgressions occurred, frustrated with the school whose hands seem tied with red tape. Then, I accepted my anger towards myself.

The first time my son was bullied I addressed it at home. I treated the wound with words of love. You are a great kid! When other children get to know you better they will see that isn’t true. I created a conversation with questions: How did that make you feel? What did you say in response? What do you think you could do in the future? Who are the adults in your life that can help you? I tried to arm my son with awareness of inappropriate behavior, empowering words, and a plan to seek help. Then I let go. I should have held on.

My greatest regret at this moment is that I didn’t lead my child back to school the first time he was bullied, sit him beside me in the company of teachers and administrators, insisting on a complete intolerance for bullying. I wish I had demanded that children learn accountability for unkind words and that adults treat hateful words as acts of bullying. I wish I had verbalized there are no acceptable excuses for bullying another person. Period.

I have tried to teach tolerance and acceptance, forgiveness and patience in our home. I thought I was guiding my children, creating lessons in resilience. Looking at my son I wonder if I failed to communicate his worth.

I cannot change the past, but I can change myself. I have begun acknowledging my son’s victimization by speaking with other parents, seeking the council of resources within my community, and volunteering to partner with my son’s school to create a conversation about bullying. I am standing beside him, speaking up for him, and giving him opportunities to speak up for himself.

I do not have answers, but I know with unwavering certainty that bullying and hate are subjects that breed in silence.

zero tolerance

March 5, 2012 § 2 Comments

This phrase has been chasing through my thoughts all weekend. Like the chorus of an irritating tune the melody is chaffing at my spirit and the words have become bitter on my tongue.

Last Spring my husband and I sat among a community of fifth grade parents listening to our children’s future middle school principal discuss a Zero Tolerance policy towards bullying. The message we received was that this academic institution demanded respectful behavior, accountability for poor behavior, and consequences that reinforced these values. I remember my husband and I simultaneously nudging one another, a brief acknowledgment of a shared sense of relief that our son would be safe from the habitual teasing and unkindnesses that had haunted his elementary school experience.

In elementary school social behaviors that identified my son as “different” were often used to explain and validate other students’ unkind behavior. My son was marginalized by peers and criticized by adults for demonstrations of individuality. By the end of our son’s fifth grade year our family was eager for a fresh start, an opportunity for our son to be accepted despite differences. The message of Zero Tolerance buoyed our hopes.

Returning home the evening of our middle school orientation we pulled our son aside to share the good news that his new school would be a safe place, reassuring our son we were on the verge of a new beginning. This Fall, we carried these promises with us on our son’s first day of sixth grade.

This weekend I met with a parent after their child voiced concerns over unkindnesses they witnessed toward my son. As we spoke I became aware of events outside my son’s experience that left me frightened and angry for the culture of bullying that is being tolerated in our children’s hallways, classrooms, and bus rides. The silence of victims and witnesses speaks volumes, contradicting and hollowing out empty promises of Zero Tolerance.

The question that I am struggling to answer is this: How do we as a community begin to purge the toxic messages of hate and the abusive messages of tolerance for bullying that are being taught during our children’s’ school day with passivity?

out to lunch

March 3, 2012 § 1 Comment

Two weeks ago my daughter was ill. I kept her home for an extra day of rest before returning her to the school day routine. Her first day back was a Friday and on this particular day her father and I found our lunch hour free. Having promised my daughter a warm lunch to build her strength we invited our little girl out to lunch.

The weekend passed and my daughter’s cough lingered enough that by Monday I decided to schedule Mom & Me lunch dates for the week to make certain my daughter was eating a balanced meal and keep her out of the cool air over recess. Noon became a special treat for me; sitting in the office I would wait to see my daughter bounce around the corner. She would hold my hand as we walked the short distance to the car filling the air around us with a steady stream of information about her morning.

As her cough improved and the week drew to a close my daughter became quiet, eyes wide with uncertainty she said I am confused. On one had I don’t like begin sick, but then I am going to miss our time together. Lunch. Barely an hour out of our day had come to mean something more to each of us.

I have promised my daughter a place at our table on special days, our kitchen and my company staples. I know she will return to school lunches and recess with friends, aware of the importance of this social hour, but I am happy for the borrowed time.

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