calendar days
January 22, 2012 § Leave a comment
January sweeps away the old year with a gust of cool air. Snow flurries cover the ground and the world feels new, a year of calendar days unmarked like untouched snow. I have turned my attention to our home peeking inside drawers and behind cabinet doors, looking for ways to sweep away clutter making room for days to come.
Hidden beneath my children’s carefully printed stories and classroom artwork were a decade’s worth of old calendars piled together haphazardly. The years were out-of-order, some marked in datebooks and others stretched between folded wall calendars. Empty days and holidays, milestones and monotonous moments touching. Carefully printed plans, generously embellished celebrations, hurriedly scribbled notes and coded reminders. Different shades of ink blurring into abstract impressions over time.
I gathered my first moments as a wife and mother and began saving old dates for my children. Sentiment was my companion as I revisited the past. I could neither save the calendars nor list every moment. The practical side of me wanted to let go of old paper; nostalgia tugged at my heartstrings and I attempted to draw my past into notes to keep them present.
I am simplifying and organizing days that unfolded mindless of order, finding distractions in moments forgotten. Recycling faded paper to make room for new mementos, saving pieces of the past for the future. Holding tight and letting go.
funny pages
January 20, 2012 § Leave a comment
There are four years between my children, library shelves heavy with written words could measure the space between them. My son reads with a natural ease; ingesting volumes of literature like air filling immeasurable depths inside his small, lithe frame. My daughter extracts words from the pages of books more intentionally, she leans into a book exquisitely extracting each word with the steadfast care of an anthropologist; examining each meaning, attributing value.
In life my daughter walks ahead, aware of the world around her. She is fluid in unspoken social exchanges, communicating efficiently and appropriately. My son walks in the world like a traveler in a new land, his knowledge of unspoken social language broken and based in clumsily memorized academic examples.
There is a place my children meet as equals, a playground of social and literary; life sketched in clean lines and thoughts condensed into neatly outlined bubbles. Words and images spill loosely, thoughts mapped on the pages of comic books.
Garfield’s sarcasm and Odie’s boundless joy; Calvin and Hobbes friendship, innocence, and imagination; the clever contest of Spy vs. Spy; the contemporary commentary of the Simpsons. My children align themselves side by side as they shuffle through stacks of comic books. On these pages my son more capably navigates social humor; images capture emotional context with clarity. My daughter feels less overwhelmed in this space where images create clues that lend comprehension to new words.
More importantly, for those minutes shared between pages riddled with humor my children are friends sharing smiles and laughter over a book. Late at night and on lazy weekends these books freckle the path between their rooms. I find them scattered near chairs, among Legos, beside the computer. One picks up where another walks away; it has become a dance they perform together and apart to a silent unending song.
patience & persistence
January 17, 2012 § 1 Comment
If I could, I would write these two words in ribbon and tie them to my day, a beautiful reminder in moments of doubt and uncertainty that I must move mindfully forward with patience and persistence as I wade through preliminary procedures for my son’s Individual Education Plan. For those that do not know, my son is diagnosed with Pervasive Developmental Disorder-Not Otherwise Specified an Autism Spectrum Disorder and Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. This year my son started Middle School and as his peers settled into the routine of this new milestone, my son unraveled. Months later my husband and I are still searching for answers and guidance.
I have requested a battery of tests to identify my son’s abilities and challenges in an effort to insure he receives the education he deserves. My son has grown tired of tests, my husband and I still have little information to inform our decisions. Like the proverbial needle in the haystack we keep striking blindly into our days reaching out in search of answers, hoping to grasp the yet unattainable.
While we wait on test results, I brainstorm; I read and research various sources looking for pieces of my son in text books to help me understand the simple truths that complicate his days. Interpreting social situations is painfully frustrating. Dividing tasks into manageable steps that can be systematically followed in a timely fashion to complete an assignment requires assistance. My son struggles to stay on task, his mind cluttered with ideas that tug at his attention; light, sound, textures invite him to hide or alternately explore. These truths are ever present and often unacknowledged.
If you were to meet my son, you would probably find him endearingly quirky. He works to make eye contact and contort his face into appropriate responses. At times he will stand in another’s personal space, speak excitedly in run on sentences about subjects beyond his age, punctuating his thoughts with misplaced humor. In those moments you may wonder at his maturity or quietly question if there is something else informing his behavior. My son works daily to navigate unspoken social cues and to meet countless external expectations. I hope a day will come when others will meet him halfway; attempting to understand and appreciate his hidden gifts. Loyal, determined, kind, and curious he is a source of immeasurable joy and inspiration. A new day is on the horizon and I am filled with hope for his future.
My son’s school is organizing an event to educate students about invisible handicaps. My son has offered to lend his voice to the day in hopes of raising consciousness for and appreciation of differences. It will be his first formal act of advocacy for himself and others like him. As he gathers his thoughts, I wonder at the words he will share and how they will be received.
It is a year of growing pains, trying to adapt to change while challenging others’ expectations daily; creating friendships and partnerships in a new school setting. Patiently and persistently we move forward towards answers and acceptance.
harmony
January 16, 2012 § Leave a comment
Recently, my little girl was invited to a sleepover birthday party for a friend. My heart stuttered over the word sleepover in much the same way it has each milestone; an emotional hiccup as I accept new acts of independence. This was to be my daughter’s first evening away from family and for all my maternal fussing, I knew that she would do well; confidant and adventurous there was no doubt enthusiasm would guide her through the experience.
Upon arrival the girls gathered close for a picture and I paused to note something greater than my daughter’s milestone. Nestled hip to hip the little girls were a rainbow of diversity. My daughter stood amidst new friends completely unconcerned by their differences and equally comfortable in her sense of self.
A beautiful moment of harmony; friends at peace with and accepting of one another, joined in celebration and play. I could not have dreamed a more perfect experience for my daughter’s first evening away from home and family. A microcosm of her world infused with friendship and kindness, diversity and acceptance.
old habits
January 15, 2012 § 2 Comments
Little things and comfortable routines, bookstores and baked goods. When my son was little I would take him, swaddled in a stroller to our local bookstore where I could browse heavy hardcovers for myself. Once home I would nestle him in my arms are read aloud to share my first love with my tiny new love.
As my son grew older and more independent he would gather near the bookshelves quietly captivated by the images that danced among the pages of picture books. The hands of time stopped marking minutes while we browsed shelves for hidden treasures. Later we gathered my daughter into our adventures. Once our books were purchased we would celebrate with a small treat, stretching an errand into an event.
Trips to the bookstore were something we took for granted. Nearby and diverse in their offerings we filled rainy days, snow days, summer days and quiet days in familiar chairs. Employees were friends and the colorful walls of books landmarks by which we could find favorite stories and recall old memories. Our local stores now closed, we have found new stores for old habits.
Last night we made our way to our new bookstore, each child quickly found their places and curled into stories. Sitting among rows of colorful book displays and small children bent over books my heart was full for the easy friendship among readers; the shared solitude and community of dreamers.
We celebrated our findings over a simple meal at a nearby bakery; my son hiding his new books on his lap beneath the table unable to leave them unattended and my daughter eagerly reaching for and hovering over her brother’s selection desperate to share. The books were closed only to eat. The car ride home was quiet as each child held open books in their arms stealing a moment in the glow of a dome light. A flurry of footsteps marked our return home as both children scurried upstairs to their rooms eager to finish new books and joyful with old habits.
color & style
January 14, 2012 § 1 Comment
Last week I introduced the subject of design as I began working with a patient and talented woman to create a more personal style for my blog. Behind each design choice I found occasion to learn something new about myself. I thought I would pause to note these moments of insight layered between lines of messages exchanged over color and style.
Communication is cluttered with assumptions, largely my own. Working with a stranger and attempting to define myself with broad statements of color preferences created unique inferences with color. Initially I wanted to create a serene space centered in neutrals that conjured calming colors of a quiet, isolated beach. I avoided this description as it felt cliché. Instead, I inferred with statements of color. I listed gray, brown, green, blue without naming the warm sands or tranquil waters in my mind’s eye. Lost in translation, I referenced a site dedicated to inspiring palettes and found myself drawn to combinations outside my assumed favorites, but amusingly familiar to elements in my everyday life.
Style is a feeling. Where I inferred with color, I gave long winded references to personal preferences trying to project my sense of style. I listed elements of design in my home hoping to draw on decisions I have already made. Wood floors, stone materials, contemporary fixtures; clean lines and earth tones. I elaborated by unpacking my wardrobe trying to accessorize my personality with articles of clothing. I described my affinity for a cotton t-shirt and well-worn jeans with flip flops and my grown-up standards of pencil skirts and tailored dresses; casual and comfortable contrasting elegant and contemporary. Like pieces of my home or closet, choosing elements of design is less logical and more instinctive; a personal fit.
When in doubt, trust my gut. Underneath all of my assumptions and expectations, shades of truth were written in black and white. The things I did not like were clear with knee jerk honesty. Even elements I specifically requested did not always resonate. I was tempted to question friends for guidance, only to realize I was hiding behind others’ opinions. Of all the lessons in this exercise, this one was most humbling. When defining myself, I turned to others rather than inwards. I look outside myself for what I can only find within. This revelation lead to exercises in speaking up and being patient.
Working with a stranger on a personal project requires honesty and patience. There are days when we say nothing and days we exchange messages back and forth mucking through details. Having never met and without a relationship upon which to draw assumptions, opinions are at once uniquely intimate and impersonal. We are not friends who can hurt one another’s feelings yet each design is personal. This lovely stranger offers me beautiful options and I look among them for a reflection of self, learning a little about myself along the way.
for joy
January 13, 2012 § 2 Comments
I was very young when I declared to my parents and a family friend that I wanted to be a teacher when I grew up. My step mother was an elementary school teacher and this afforded me the gift of visiting a school in the quiet months of summer. I have a deep affinity for the space of classrooms, knowledge resting among the walls and tucked in reference books for the finding. My childhood declaration was met with doubt and adult reminders that prioritized monetary gain over dreams. I did what children do, I hid my wish keeping it safe from judgment until it was forgotten.
By the time I left for college, my future was mapped with others’ shoulds: You should be an attorney. I studied in preparation for law school; choosing classes dense with reading and writing, subjects that were diverse and demanded critical thought. I was hiding among subjects that I loved; my spirit whispering over others’ shouts. I was immersed in books that inspired me, sharing thoughts among peers and professors that lit fires in the quiet corners of my mind.
Then, before committing to a career, I became a mother. Each day I wake to life lessons and opportunities to guide my children. I gather them on adventures into books that push at the boundaries of their world. My tiny students with unique needs perpetually lead me to structure spontaneous lessons to help them understand their world. I am inspired and challenged on a path where I am neither teacher nor lawyer, ironically spending my days teaching and advocating for my children as I navigate school work and legal rights in an effort to provide for my children’s needs. My childhood dream found direction in motherhood.
As my children share their dreams, I try consciously to celebrate their statements of self. I want them to listen carefully to the whispers that come from within and to chart their lives with choices that resonate and bring them joy. I try to do this with words married with action, here. I am teaching my children to make room for joy in their lives, while creating moments of joy for myself.
For as long as I can remember I have written letters. Quick notes passed in classrooms, summer letters to school friends, love letters tied with heartstrings, and dreams scribbled in the margins of my days. I write for clarity and for joy. My children know that I do this and that writing is an expression that brings me happiness and comfort in the way building with LEGOs and creating artwork bring them pleasure and peace.
Slowly, I have invited my words to become a larger piece of my life. I do this cautiously, carrying with me an uncertainty born of those early statements of self among family and friends. I began here, where few could connect my words to myself, sheltering my feelings of joy from judgment. I still hear others’ shoulds. Throughout my life others have said: You should write. Should seems to shadow my joy, expectations suffocating pleasure. I have begun to internalize others’ opinions of how, what, when, why I write as measurements against which I gauge my ability and validate my efforts.
Then something special happened. My husband discovered pieces of me he didn’t know between the lines of my posts. My son serendipitously discovered a post and kept reading, celebrating my words with a hug. My daughter exclaimed proudly to a friend, my mother writes. People I love began to identify me by something I love to do.
I know my husband wishes this act of writing could evolve into a larger piece of our life, that someone would happily stumble into my words and open a door to something else. I know these are logical wishes and that his faith in me is a source of love. I am still growing, learning and dreaming; uncertain how to define why, how, when, and what. I am happy for a place to store my thoughts, for my children, for some day, for me. I write to invite joy and dreams into my day.
pardon the way that I stare
January 12, 2012 § 1 Comment
My girl. My daughter. Sometimes when I watch you I sing quietly to myself. You do this, inspire music. From your earliest days, I would gather you near and sing softly Can’t Take My Eyes Off You. I still catch my breath trying to find words for my joy, and then I hear music.
I often follow behind you, trying to imagine what you are thinking; intrigued and curious. You extract adventure from thin air and happy celebrations without cause. Unpredictable moments of passionate anger or sadness leave me bewildered as easily as spontaneous hugs and wise declarations make me humble. You are an enchanting riddle that I am certain will forever challenge my expectations. Some days I want to be more like you and so I marvel when you want to be like me.
Last night I watched you sit with your homework, casually guiding your big brother with his. You have learned naturally to redirect his attention, to draw him into consciousness, to lead him. Your love is unconditional even when your patience is limited. I love you for this and I cannot say it enough, you have a heart that inspires us all to do our best.
As much as you shadow me and guide your brother, you are your daddy’s girl too. You play as easily as you laugh, you love as deeply as you hurt; these are gifts you share with your father. I cannot claim these pieces of you, so I cherish you for possessing them.
You are mine as much as you are your own. My little girl that creates music and smiles, laughter and love.
notable quotables
January 11, 2012 § Leave a comment
Wise and witty my children lend me humor and perspective in voices blessed with naivety and knowledge. I thought I would gather a few of my favorites to share.
If I am right, you must be wrong. My daughter has natural comedic timing. This discovery unfolded in her voice and eyes as she organized her thoughts out loud. Clearly, we are never too young to enjoy being right.
I wish there was a way to recycle wasted time. My son has revisited the subject of time desperately trying to make sense of its value. I cherish his realization that time is a resource we must not squander.
Adults over think possibility. I could not be more grateful that my son is already conscious of this truth. I am saving these words for him least he lose this awareness one day and limit himself.
You don’t have to have a man to be happy. I wish my daughter a life rich in healthy, fulfilling relationships and joy that comes from within.
My son to my daughter: You have a tendency to be very peculiar, which I find fascinating. May they both uncover the unique differences in those around them and celebrate diversity.
Next, I may sift through old notes for a few tongue twisters; early childhood sharings that come out mispronounced and rich in innuendo.
misplaced minutes
January 11, 2012 § 2 Comments
Despite good intentions I find myself frequently squandering time on bad habits. The air around me charged with inspiration and heightened consciousness born of resolutions, I am revisiting an old nemesis: distraction.
Last year I passed a sign promoting a time management class. My first thought was, I wonder if I have time for that? Hesitation is a distraction that keeps me from moving forward, uncertainty replacing action. This year I will add momentum to intent.
Insecurity also keeps me safely on the sidelines. Destructive messages like I’ll look silly. I’ll make a mistake. I’ll fail. keep me mired in presumed inability. When the moment passes inevitably my greatest regret is that I lost an opportunity to try. I will not be distracted by negativity, I will be open to possibility. After all, What if I succeeded?
Perspective can be paralyzing when I stand in the wrong place. Often my mountain is only a molehill too close to my lens. A couple of steps in a new direction and the path is much easier to find. How will I get through this? becomes Where should I begin? Allowing a problem to distract me from my goals places a greater value on the problem. My dreams are bigger than my doubts.
I want to gather minutes lost to distraction and invest it in possibility despite uncertainty, try something new without weighing success against failure, and exercise intent that moves mountains simply by shifting perspective. This is my early morning message to myself, scribbled and shared for accountability.
