living in love
February 11, 2012 § 2 Comments
Twelve years ago my husband and I were preparing to join our lives with a new life; marriage and family beautifully intertwined by the anticipation of our first child. Mindfully we leapt from a couple into a family and our decisions were centered in an awareness that our wedding was smaller than our marriage. Similarly, romantic holidays were happy excuses to celebrate the everyday rather than an occasion to remember.
On the Valentine’s Day prior to our wedding my husband and I stood patiently waiting in a quiet office for our marriage license; the date on our application our gift to one another. Practical and sentimental this act created an expectation for our life together. We pledged to make time for romance with small gestures and celebrate our life together not only on holidays, but on overlooked everyday occasions.
I often think that the birth of our first child blessed the early days of our marriage with conscious acts of love and a genuine appreciation for simple gestures of affection. Small details of our wedding day were overshadowed by the greater miracle of a new life. When our son was born early challenges drew my husband and I closer. More than newlyweds, we were friends in love with one another and grateful for daily miracles.
Romantic holidays and anniversaries are balanced against everyday acts of love, kindness, generosity. Roses or jewelry would feel wilted and tarnished without the hours of patience, humor, and care-taking that are hallmarks of a life shared. Arguments where opinions are honored and challenges met with honest endeavors to live our best life create a sense of gratitude that cannot be contained in lines of sentiment on beautiful stationery.
As Valentine’s Day and our anniversary draw near I am remembering little gifts, large blessings, and giving thanks for years of living in love.
changing sameness
February 5, 2012 § Leave a comment
The more things change, the more they stay the same. I like to think the truth that breathes contradiction into this statement of changing sameness is our ability to stay constant in simple principles while gathering life lessons into our consciousness. Without this truth there is an assumption of a stagnant lack of growth.
Recently I celebrated change with an indulgent experiment in web design. This was my second effort to embrace a new design and I was inspired by the little lessons I encountered along the way; opportunities to identify myself with concepts centered in design required a connection to self and choices that resonated as authentically me. As I neared the end of my experience working with a talented and patient designer something happened that I had not foreseen; an uncharted crossroad. One mistake that would require an unanticipated change.
I needed to take a large step away from the familiar comforts of my site and explore a self hosted space. I was immediately anxious. Uncomfortable. Overwhelmed. I wasn’t ready to let go of the familiar. I set aside the expectation of change to consider the decision without the weight of anxiety. The peace that accompanied the absence of change directed me to my answer.
For now, I am grateful for the insight the experience lent me and content to share my thoughts here, in a place of familiar comfort. Despite the lack of change, I celebrate moments of growth and my sense of self; little truths that remain constant inspired and challenged by new awareness and possibilities left to explore when the time is right. Amid the sameness, I am changed and in the space of change I remain authentic to myself.
holding a moonbeam
February 4, 2012 § Leave a comment
My daughter sings an Off-Off-Broadway interpretation of “Do-Re-Mi” intoning Julie Andrews timeless and beloved character Maria while playing independently in her room. I in turn hum a cheerfully content “How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria,” the lyrical phrases capturing pieces of my daughter’s spirit in a lovely melody.
She climbs a tree and scrapes her knee. Her dress has got a tear. I have watched my little girl grow from pleading to be hoisted onto a safe tree branch with toddler grunts arms reaching toward the sky to balancing herself in rain boots and princess costumes, tearing her gown while smiling proudly from her perch in our climbing tree. She embraces adventure as eagerly as she slips into costumes; moving with intention and grace all the while unhindered by dirt or scrapes.
She’d out pester any pest. Drive a hornet from its nest. I can imagine her poking a beehive with the same spirited curiosity that inspired willful tugging on puppy dog ears; mischievously and fearlessly testing boundaries. Still, her penitence is real. For all my daughter’s headstrong antics it must be said she does not take any joy from causing harm and her errors are met with genuine tears of remorse. Her heart is as immeasurable as her imagination.
She’s always late for everything. Happily distracted with her own pursuits she is often lost to the boundaries of time, stretching play to capture every drop of sunshine from her day. I can easily imagine her dancing on a hilltop mindless of the passing hours while scavenging for fun and celebrating every miracle of nature.
Many a thing you know you’d like tell her. Many a thing she ought to understand. But how do you make her stay and listen to all you say? Looking into my daughter’s eyes I catch fleeting moments of undivided attention only to have it swept away with the impossibleness of keeping a wave upon the sand. Keeping her still is like trying to catch a cloud and pin it down.
When I’m with her I’m confused. Out of focus and bemused and I never know exactly where I am. Unpredictable as weather, she’s as flighty as a feather.She is gentle, she is wild, she’s a riddle, she’s a child.
My little girl is the heart song that fills my day and I am grateful for the sound of her music; notes of independence and curiosity, creativity and make believe. She’s a problem I do not wish to solve; a moonbeam that shines too brightly to hold within my hand.
eeny meeny
February 1, 2012 § Leave a comment
I am compulsively indecisive. Nursery rhymes help, sometimes. I often resort to itemizing Pros and Cons to weigh a big decision. Even then, with facts lined up neatly like statistics, I indubitably rearrange my thoughts, double-check my emotions, look around me at my options. It is a small irritation that I am determined I will not pass to my children, least they run off into the world scattered and indecisive. There are three things I do in an effort to nurture my children’s confidence in their choices.
- Whenever possible I create an opportunity to gift my children a choice. I do this intentionally. From food to clothing, book titles to movie genres I try to foster an anxiety free moment of empowerment with two simple words: you choose. I do not react to their decisions with terms of judgment like: good or bad.
- What do you think? I want my children to feel comfortable giving voice to the quiet instinctive voices that guide them. It gives me an opportunity to learn something new, but more importantly it allows my children to feel comfortable with their opinions. It has also taught them to ask other’s to share different perspectives, modeling a balance between speaking and listening.
- Take your time so that you make a choice you feel good about. Notice I didn’t say happy. There’s a difference to me. I don’t like to be pushed into something uncomfortable and I like to feel I made a good choice for myself. One day my children are going to be asked to do something they may not feel comfortable with and I want them to remember this lesson.
Small acts. Gentle words. Practical practice at thinking for themselves. Little things I hope help them to move confidently along their own paths.
finders keepers
January 31, 2012 § 3 Comments
If my son has a singular object that best captures his quiet innocence, then my daughter has an eclectic collection of tiny treasures that capture her whimsical and creative spirit. She finds immeasurable joy in tiny pieces; keeping them in small containers, stuffed in corners, stowed away in drawers, and carried from here to there.
As a toddler, my daughter wobbled through the house clutching small figurines tightly for safekeeping. Later she began packing them into bags and boxes, toting them everywhere; doll accessories, pendants from necklaces, Lego pieces, art supplies, family photographs, and miscellaneous objects scavenged on everyday expeditions for treasure. She creates with them, gifts them, unravels stories with them, and ties memories to them.
There are moments I believe she leaves behind as much as she gathers, sprinkling her chaos with charm and cheer. I look upon my little girl’s company of clutter with an acceptance of her fun loving appreciation for little things in much the same way I marvel at her big brother’s innocent affection for a childhood toy. I find little pieces of their personalities keeping them centered with individual expressions of self. Finding their way and keeping true to themselves.
inanimate friendships
January 30, 2012 § Leave a comment
A beige, floppy eared, terry cloth bunny arrived shortly after my son’s birth wrapped in ribbon and celebratory well wishes from a family friend. I do not remember when my son first reached for the gift and I cannot recall a day without the treasured companion. My son’s shadow slumbers each evening in the folds of his bed covers beneath long limbs scattered in sleep.
The bunny is worn, the nose rubbed flat with toddler kisses. Tiny black eyes peer unblinking, a witness to our everyday lives. I wonder how many confidences his long, clumsy ears have been entrusted with and how many tears are tucked inside his stuffing. I can only imagine the stories the carefully stitched lips could share.
Often I find the limp limbs have traveled into my daughter’s room; she hides the tiny form, mischievously pleased by her big brother’s anxious endeavor to find the borrowed friend. In a world filled with change simple constants reassure him.
The bunny’s name has evolved into an endearment. The familiar figure represents over a decade of bedtime stories and goodnight kisses; memories gathered for safekeeping in a child’s toy.
editing our story
January 29, 2012 § 2 Comments
Writing allows me to capture snapshots of my life filtered through a uniquely intimate perspective. I endeavor to share my stories with genuineness and honesty, without remorse or regret. Occasionally I will retrieve a thought, tucking it tenderly aside for my eyes only; keeping my words rather than erasing an experience. This morning, feelings of gratitude for a successful school week mocked undercurrents of frustration with my son’s education in a recent post.
This past week has been a more joyful adventure in learning. My son has come out of his shell, the hallmarks of anger and sadness replaced with an easy smile and willingness to learn. His teachers are experiencing similar success during the school day. Gone is the chasm between my son’s needs and adults’ expectations, we have bridged the void with resources. Rather than retract an expression of genuine unhappiness and concerns for my son’s educational experiences, I thought I would take a moment to reflect on my words and emotions; charting our journey, sharing our story.
Let me begin at the middle of the beginning, a page out of a chapter of my son’s educational experience. A couple of weeks ago, on a day weighted with uncertainty, I gave voice to an internal conflict over my son’s education. For several months I have struggled watching my son curl into himself, sad and angry over frustrations within the boundaries of his school day; moments of unkindness from peers and difficulties processing his world independently. Each school day I felt like we were moving against a current too powerful to overcome and I sought calmer waters. I toyed with the notion of keeping my son home and personally assuming the responsibility of providing an individualized education. There was an immediate sense of peace in this possibility. Others could not say and do hurtful things that chipped away at my son’s spirit. I could work around my son’s needs rather than forcing him to navigate other’s needs. Coulds, maybes, and possibility built a wistful expectation of something better.
Even as I embraced the utopia of my mind’s eye, I was humbly aware of potential challenges. Academically my son would require similarly structured lessons and mandatory testing to demonstrate he was receiving an education that properly prepared him for a continuing education. Personally, I would have to restructure our family experience and overcome my organizational weaknesses to provide the education my son deserves. I would also need to supplement the social and speech therapies my son requires. The question remained, how do I ensure my son receives the education he deserves?
It is in this place of frustration and uncertainty that I explored a new, old possibility. Rather than move my son from the mainstream classroom whose work he can handle into a modified classroom or keeping him home and sacrificing the social lessons of a classroom, I revisited a resource we had hoped to have outgrown, the utilization of an aide. Every council warned against an aide at the middle school level, but my son was not processing his environment independently; academics were slipping and his increased anxiety had led to exaggerated episodes of socially awkward behavior deteriorating his relationship with peers.
With doubt and hope this past week we welcomed an aide to my son’s days, someone to help my son navigate the halls of middle school until he can read the unwritten social cues that would properly prompt him to an individual understanding of other’s expectations. We are fortunate in that the aide is a teacher that is familiar with my son from another classroom setting; someone who embraces my son as is while endeavoring to teach him that which he does not know. He is a translator, lending comprehension and modeling expectations.
My son’s anxiety has leveled; he has begun to interact more appropriately with peers and perform academic exercises with greater productivity. Our goal of independence remains, but for now I am grateful for the peace of mind that comes from knowing my son is not withdrawing from his education. Rather than delete expressions of frustration or uncertainty, I am sharing my hopes and doubts; documenting our experiences rather than editing our lives. Holding myself accountable to my son’s education by evaluating challenges with the same enthusiasm I celebrate moments of success.
busy stillness
January 26, 2012 § 2 Comments
I am learning to set aside distractions and create stillness from restlessness with action; repetitive and mindless movements that free my mind while centering my body. Yesterday, as apprehension marked the minutes of my morning, I drew myself into activities that required solitude and movement to better gather my thoughts with clarity.
Unable to sit still and unfocused, I set my car keys aside and switched off the coffee maker. I wanted to run towards distractions and away from home to keep concerns at bay, instead I ran intentionally into distraction. I shed my tension on a treadmill, allowing my body to move with the same endless repetition as my thoughts circling familiar fears. Forward I pushed, gaining strength and sweating uncertainty. I wish I had found this path earlier in life, the physical, mental, and emotional calm that comes when I exercise my demons rather than hiding behind unproductive business.
When I could walk, run, move no more I eased into the quiet comforts of stretching my thoughts and muscles in unison. My heart and mind purged of apprehension and uncertainty, I was left only with feelings of strength and stillness. I looked around and determined I would keep busy with simple acts at home and try to maintain my sense of peace.
I made myself lunch, sitting to eat; completed minor housekeeping tasks to lighten my chores; straightened up corners of our home to make room for time together at the end of the day. When at last it was time for a mid-day meeting, I toted my patience and sense of calm to keep my company.
None of this is revolutionary. Running, meditating amid quiet movements, self-care and homemaking are simple over-looked gestures of affection, generally shaded with expectation and necessity. Prioritizing myself and my home in moments of anxiety was so wildly unassuming and indulgently satisfying that I am hoping to structure more time to set aside errands for stillness and small gestures of care.
strength & sight
January 24, 2012 § Leave a comment
On paths whose markers are sometimes blurry, rests answers to difficult days. Peace and comfort in unspoken moments wait on bended knees. I do not always find my way to the ground, but from my first moments as a mother I have whispered little prayers for strength and sight with the same ease I recite prayers of my youth; I ask for strength to walk among challenges and sight to find my way.
My earliest prayers for my son were laced with pleas for time. Holding him in the sterile setting of a Neonatal Intensive Care Unit my worries echoed loudly to the rhythm of various monitors. My heart could not speak over the sight of my child’s needs, I had to look at the strength of my son’s spirit to see his true size and allow his peaceful nature to lend me peace. Years later, I am still looking to his spirit to measure his need.
I wait for the sight of my son rounding the corner for home each afternoon to gauge his day. I review teachers’ messages littered with the day’s challenges to weigh difficulties, using each sharing as an opportunity to understand my son’s experiences. Yesterday, doubt and fear lingered between the words of one teacher’s concerns.
Underneath the weight of worry I bowed my head whispering words in search of strength to face what my son cannot hide from. I wondered at how to help and looked around me for what I could not see. Then, there came a message of hope. Someone that sees my son’s challenges, lends my son smiles, and displays an interest in his gifts will join our team of teachers. Someone new has come along to walk with us among our challenges.
With thanks I whispered words of gratitude that my son is not alone and that there is someone to help him find his way until he can walk independently with strength and sight.
nooks & crannies
January 23, 2012 § Leave a comment
This weekend I sifted through old calendars, simplifying a cluttered corner of my life. As I struggled with sentiment and logic, I recalled the words of Albert Einstein: “Out of clutter, find simplicity. From discord, find harmony. In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity.”
One project completed, I sought out other pockets of procrastination. Old photographs and a year of recipe magazines stored away for another day were unpacked and filtered by need. Photographs that stirred memories were lovingly nestled in a box with promises of permanent homes on album pages. Recipe magazines that had accumulated over the past year were scanned for old favorites and new possibilities to store in my kitchen organizer.
Inspired I grabbed a notebook and scribbled the names of my cluttered crannies, intent creating tidier nooks with action. Room by room, I sought the spaces that pull on my energy with the weight of tasks undone. Closets, drawers, and boxes unopened were filtered for need. Unused items were set aside to donate, piles of papers were cast to the recycling bin.
I had begun a genuine change, creating an expectation of simplicity and harmony for my home and family. The hidden lesson was one of opportunity. Humbly, I was reminded of something I wrote last year as I reflected on the power of a list, “..concept seems pulled from the pages of possibility into stark reality when pen meets pad.” Seeking out projects in my home, naming the places and items I store out of sight, I looked more closely at where I struggle to nurture order.
The clean lines of my counter tops are false mirrors of hidden spaces. I tuck away pieces of my days for later to lesson immediate distractions and in moments of uncertainty, creating disorder among things left undone. In this I must try not only to sift through old clutter, but to prioritize what I keep in days ahead. Sentimental keepsakes must have a home, important documents must not be buried beneath good intentions.
I am hoping my efforts to organize will foster a more peaceful home. I am sharing my moment of clarity in an effort to hold my intentions present among written promises to myself.
Note: My children are fluent in the language of clutter, their eclectic collections mock my efforts at order. I cannot deny them their childhood discoveries and mementos of special occasions, but I am hopeful my own efforts will inspire a more thoughtful manner of storing these treasures for safekeeping.
