PostScript
March 2, 2012 § Leave a comment
Yesterday I wanted to capture a promise to my son and take ownership of a challenge. I try to teach my children that with each difficulty we make a choice as to whether we will be victims or victors.
This morning is cool and rainy; the sky is gray, but my heart is full of sunshine. My children are home today while their teachers work in empty classrooms. I am nesting to the sounds of my children playing, their company and running commentary a wonderful reminder of what matters most.
to our son
March 1, 2012 § Leave a comment
Yesterday a parent shared with me their child’s stories of peers’ cruel behavior towards you. My heart sank with the realization that you had kept these recent wounds private from me. When I asked about these unkindnesses your words I’m used to it weighted me in sadness.
Know this: you are worth fighting for. I am sorry for the days you bore the weight of this alone in silence. Your father and I will be your voice and speak your truth until you find your voice.
There is no excuse for unkindness, no explanation that dismisses bullies of accountability for their behavior. Your story will not be written over by others’ words. Do not wait for others to validate your harm, your father and I are your witnesses. This is the beginning of a new day.
Love,
Mom and Dad
A’s of education
February 28, 2012 § 2 Comments
The early weeks of this school year my son flourished in his new middle school setting. Elementary school struggles with anxiety stemming from poor peer relations typical of a child with social challenges born of special needs seemingly faded into a new beginning and I celebrated my son’s eagerness to attend school, explore new social activities, and make friends. Then unkind words and actions robbed my son of the easy smile and effervescent personality that are his hallmarks; he withdrew in sadness and frustration from peers and academics.
Those first months it felt as though we were all treading water; my son, the school, and our family making little progress despite our frenzied efforts to create a successful school experience. My husband and I spoke directly with teachers and support staff trying to identify social and academic challenges. I reached out to specialists in an effort to approach each day proactively. Still, my son was drowning.
Phone calls and letters became school meetings. Social challenges breed anxiety which exacerbated executive functioning areas like transitioning, organization, and emotional control. At our son’s Individualized Education Plan meeting we faced uncertainty with a new strategy for success. Having consulted with an advocate that specialized in assisting families of children with special needs we began to structure a plan of action to help my son. I requested tests that were new to my vocabulary; quickly learning what I did not know and becoming more confident asking for help. My requests created a lengthy period of detailed testing, the results of which began to inform my son’s teachers and therapists of hidden strengths as well as burdensome challenges.
Looking ahead, there are no easy answers or quick solutions. We begin with the A’s of education:
Assess. When in doubt never assume, always assess. Presumptions resulted in mismeasured assistance. Greater information and increased interaction with my son produced answers that were a product of experience. Old supports and new supports were adjusted in accordance with my son’s current needs. Coping strategies such as sensory based occupational therapies and the introduction of an aide created immediate success; calmer my son ceased unproductive behaviors based in anxiety.
Assign. Teachers and support staff each have unique roles. Once there is a plan each member of the team works in conjunction with the other members creating a machine in which success is based on collaborative efforts between school and home. I share an open line of communication between all members of my son’s team in which I understand the role of each individual and how I may facilitate assistance at home creating a cohesive strategy for success.
Assist. As soon as my son began failing, we reached out for assistance. An aide joined our team and became my son’s shadow. This individual provides him safe haven from unkindnesses as well as the structured academic supports he needs. The greater lesson for all of us is knowing when to seek help for struggles outside our expertise.
Accountability. When a child fails, parents and teachers are accountable. Within our team we all shoulder a responsibility to foster a safe and successful school experience. My son turned to all of the adults at home and school when he felt overwhelmed by social and academic challenges. Similarly, when my son struggled with various executive functioning skills I identified each area of concern as an opportunity for us to increase my son’s capabilities. Accountability means addressing concerns openly with intent to create improvement through a combination of greater consciousness and a plan of action.
Awareness. Rather than dismiss instances of bullying with apologies of ignorance or to expect my son to limit himself to a generic definition and expectations of “normalcy” we have begun to educate peers about special needs making children accountable for their words and actions. No longer is it acceptable to name call or bully a child for their differences. We need to educate children in a way that fosters compassion for diverse needs and celebrates individuality.
I don’t have all the answers. Each day we utilize a structure of support based in assessing challenges, assigning assistance, fostering accountability, and raising awareness to gift my son opportunities for independence and interpersonal success. We adapt.
on bended knee
February 25, 2012 § Leave a comment
Tomorrow is my wedding anniversary, today I am remembering the day I became friends with the man I married. My husband and I crossed paths accidentally at an off-campus St. Patrick’s Day party two years after having met in a college English class. I was dating his friend.
I had conceded to setting aside my studies that evening just long enough to experience the festive consumption of tinted beer with strangers camouflaged in waves of green; my perfunctory attendance a compromise between my boyfriend’s plans for the evening and my disinterest. Biding my time for a discrete exit, I watched with amusement as the boy I was dating engaged the crowded apartment with his infectious good humor and easy laugh.
Then my husband took a knee. We had been classmates and the familiarity of his face was a happy surprise. Reintroducing ourselves my husband settled by my side grounding me in a comfortable conversation. In the coming weeks he would continue to appear on my dates keeping me company. The school year ended as did my relationship and we all parted ways in the early days of summer.
I celebrated a newfound independence making room for myself between work and studies, relishing solitary endeavors. I sent a note to my future husband from a place of independent contentment and so we began a conversation that covered miles between us and created a new journey in friendship.
Long phone calls and handwritten letters documented our beginning, but I always return to the simple gesture of pausing on bended knee. When my daughter sings the timeless refrain of How do you know? I share my husbands willingness to meet me patiently, resting beside me in friendship. This is how I know.
written wishes
February 23, 2012 § Leave a comment
This week my daughter’s school celebrated the multicultural diversity of our community with an evening dedicated to honoring the customs of our school’s families. A photojournalist shared his extensive travels; eclectic collections of music were performed and traditional dances demonstrated; art activities and game stations provided an occasion to learn through play; the library was littered with fairy tales from across the world. Around each corner the building was bustling with curiosity and acceptance.
Making my way among the displays shared by families from our school I found myself drawn to a cardboard wall sprinkled with tiny pieces of paper and messages scribbled in the whimsical penmanship of children. A dear friend had contrived a mock Wishing Wall engaging student’s curiosity for her culture by encouraging them to write a wish for the world and then placing it on the wall.
A wish.
My heart swelled and something resonated in the quiet unconscious corners of my mind. In the chaos of a school function I felt myself emotionally drawn to more than an endearing exercise that shared a custom from a different culture. The gift of giving voice to a wish weighted me serenely in a place centered in the written word. The feeling of peace followed me home after a joyful evening of learning and sharing.
The next day my heart full of wishes I came across another sharing. An author I respect and admire shared an article about creating and using a God Box, a safe vessel to store written prayers. I found this lesson on letting go of hopes and fears with faith on Facebook. Much like the space of a crowded gymnasium, I was amused to uncover a moment of spiritual insight outside a traditional place of worship, but acknowledged the relevance of a timely chorus giving voice to a personal moment of growth rippling the surface of my consciousness.
I have come to believe life, God, the universe speaks to us in moments of uncertainty lending us the wisdom of the wind. Truths that fill the air around us and as old as time itself. In these moments my heart swells and I pause to center my spirit, acknowledging the power of listening to silence around me. In these moments of awakening I try to uncover the value of an unexpected lesson.
My heart has been heavy recently with concerns outside of my control. My spirit centered peacefully welcoming the suggestion of giving voice to my deepest hopes and fears in the simple act of writing them and letting go in faith. I won’t name these private hopes and fears, rather I want to acknowledge the beauty of lessons woven intricately into the fabric of our daily activities with a wish for each of you: Be still. Listen. Be present that you hear your own lessons whispered to your heart. Know when to give voice to that which you cannot control and let go in faith.
the gourd next door
February 22, 2012 § 2 Comments
I feel a little like a pumpkin wishing for a magic spell to transform me into something phenomenal. Change as a vehicle to confidence. I am lacking inspiration.
Gone are the days of spontaneous self-indulgent shopping. Shoes no longer spin daydreams of stepping out past the stroke of midnight. I no longer feel confident in clothes that hug stray curves. Hiding pieces of myself behind clothes, I feel lost in a nondescript cloak of invisibility. Worse, sometimes I fear my invisibility is quite visible.
Lately I catch myself wishing for something else, a quick pulled together style that reflects the woman I am on the inside. Looking at basic pieces in my closet or window shopping on sunny days, I am struck with the realization that I do not remember where to begin. I try to begin with basics, but get lost in simple addition. Combining pieces result in mismeasured mixtures of shape and style.
Is there a chic cheat sheet for creating a timeless, elegant image? Something mature and spirited, playful and appropriate. A look that balances my role as mother and partner.
I have exercised the option of personal shopper to the unfortunate exhaustion of the patient young woman who endeavored to play fairy godmother. Her magic cast an image that fell short of Me. Apologetic and uninspired I retreated to familiar creature comforts. As my trusty wardrobe of denim and t-shirts softens with signs of wear, I am ready for something new and hopelessly lost among the racks and shelves of options.
This gourd wants to feel like a girl, feminine and confident in her own skin.
sleepwalking on a tightrope
February 22, 2012 § Leave a comment
Want to know a personal secret? I have a tiny quirk that lends me as much peace as it gifts others comic relief. When the going gets tough, I fall asleep. Despite the laugh lines that mark my journey into adulthood, I slip into a solitary bubble of tranquility in moments of stress that rival fairy tale slumbers of beloved childhood characters.
College deadlines for lengthy thesis papers would send me shuffling to sleep. Setting my alarm for a promised power nap I would consistently snooze only to wake at the proverbial last minute; typing enthusiastically in the frenzied moments just shy of my deadline, completing projects with a clarity that sharply contrasted the haze of my dreams.
In labor with my first child I slipped into deep sleep, snoring between contractions moments before delivering our son. My husband shares this story with genuine amusement; his telling consistently met with polite smiles and disbelief. I cannot protest, I was sleeping when it happened.
This week, as we near an important meeting concerning our son I feel the familiar lullaby of sweet dreams calling to me like mythological sirens to sailors on troubled waters. Despite the clear skies of morning my head is fuzzy with the promise of sleep, I cup my coffee closely trying valiantly to stay awake and meet each wave of anxiety for the unknown with false bravado willing myself to keep my eyes open.
I am walking a tightrope of nerves and uncertainty, my head cloudy with sleep.
day by day
February 21, 2012 § 1 Comment
Calendar days pass in tidy, equal squares of time. Mundane moments of routine activities and spontaneous pockets of play create a rhythm of predictable tides. Some days I feel as though I am racing forward moving quickly between errands, household tasks, and miscellaneous commitments. Other days time seems to slumber and the minutes pass in aching stillness as if Father Time’s hands are mischievously holding each second greedily.
Gray skies and cold rain drops have mired today in a lengthy sigh and I catch myself daydreaming of days ahead; sunshine and the anticipation of adventure. Like a child I am counting calendar squares between this day and a days of play. In the weeks ahead my daughter will share a camping adventure with her father; my husband and I will celebrate another wedding anniversary with a quiet night to ourselves; our family will travel for a long anticipated visit to Grandma and Grandpa’s home.
Lost to anticipation my daughter’s dry cough stirred me from daydreams and I found my way to the dark, quiet room where she is resting today. Her lopsided smile beneath watery, sleepy eyes make her seem smaller and younger than her years. Her typically headstrong, playful antics are buried beneath tired limbs and propped up with piles of pillows. It is a quiet day, one whose minutes pass with the forced progress of one walking against a current.
Rather than busy myself with tasks, I am settling into the space beside my daughter. Absorbing a borrowed day from the routine of school and setting aside thoughts of tomorrow. Let the hours pass slowly today, my little girl grows all too quickly.
music of silence
February 18, 2012 § Leave a comment
In music a rest is an interval of silence. In life music rests in the quiet pauses between the business and noise of the day. Reflective moments of stillness, the quiet company of my children; togetherness void of distractions. Rest balances and centers us physically, emotionally, and mentally with restorative intervals of silence.
This past week my son’s emotions overflowed, splashing sloppily into moments of rest. So often I write these moments releasing them from my mind, examining them for pathways to comprehension and care. This week I sat present in my son’s unrest giving my son silence to match his crescendos of anxiety. I listened, questioned, witnessing his frustrations without endeavoring to preach words of wisdom, answer rhetorical questions, explain injustice, or solve perpetual problems. In the interval of silence I listened to my son’s song.
Carrying his words in the quiet space of my heart I welcomed my own silence. I set aside errands and busied my body with activities that were mindlessly repetitious in an effort to foster silence and stillness. I ran to calm my nerves and read to still my worries. I avoided writing uncertain how to capture my thoughts and content to let them settle like weightless flecks of dust momentarily caught by stray strands of sunlight as they landed soundlessly in the space of my day.
At week’s end my uncertainty clamors noisily against my peace, but I am listening to the day as it unfolds. Finding music in the silence.
self truth
February 15, 2012 § Leave a comment
I welcome moments of insight that foster greater consciousness. In theory. Philosophy and practice are sometimes divided by truth despite the best of intentions. I speak of truth in this context as a tool rather than a measurement of honesty; a conscious acceptance of specific characteristics that require awareness to live mindfully. This lesson is ongoing and often humbling.
Recently my husband accused me of being inconsistent. My mind audibly slammed shut and I began mounting my defense. Arms crossed and feelings hurt every inch of my body screamed I am not! while something deep within whispered Yes, you are. Despite indignation and wounded pride, I felt the familiar discomfort of a personal truth. This feeling of unrest alone was enough for me to be still and center myself in the problem, looking for the uncomfortable truth behind my husband’s words.
Some of my greatest revelations have been cloaked in moments of denial. The more forcibly I push away a thought, dissociating myself from an unflattering quality, the greater the truth. Marriage is a safe place for difficult truths. My relationship with my husband is built on an expectation that we accept challenges as opportunities to live better.
Eyes wide open I began to see moments of inconsistency. Shame or guilt lent me excuses, but truth offered me an opportunity to create calm from chaos. Inconsistencies linger, but awareness and accountability inspire me to consciously try my best to speak and act with intent.
Just as I was celebrating this personal truth I found myself noisily fighting a larger truth. Inconsistency was symptomatic of a greater illness. Old insecurities cause me to gather defensive measures close until I can neither see nor hear over the wall in the middle of my relationships. I am reacting from a place of defensiveness rather than welcoming perspectives that conflict with my vision.
In fairness to my family and the life we share I am standing firmly and accountably in these moments of consciousness. I am mapping the places where I am inconsistent to create more mindful routines that foster calmness. I am trying to take down walls, opening myself up to vulnerability to better hear those I love. I am penning my thoughts to hold myself accountable, welcoming humility, and endeavoring to accept these truths that I might live my best life.
