wish lists & inspiration
December 10, 2011 § Leave a comment
Throughout the year as my children stumble across new items of interest I instruct them gently to create a wish list. To set their hopes firmly on paper so that they may return to an item and contrast it among other wishes, editing their wants with a more concrete perspective. Some items are spontaneous and fleeting, quickly forgotten and never cemented in writing. Others linger throughout seasons and inspire plans and daydreams.
As the holiday season drew near, I asked my children to consider their wish lists and share a wish with Santa and a couple wishes with family that we might all know better where their interests rest. Amusingly, lists and letters to Santa sat incomplete. My son couldn’t put a finger on a wish. My daughter shifted focus to what the rest of us might appreciate. My husband shrugged his shoulders and I could not come up with a singular suggestion for myself. We are content, as is.
With this in mind I shifted my focus from fulfilling a wish, to creating something joyful. I turned off the television and refused to allow clever advertising campaigns to cast false dreams. I began with new lists centered in recent conversations and then considered how I might inspire creativity or celebrate individual interests.
I imagined gifts that might fill Christmas day with happy surprises and activities; toys that fit into the space of my children’s days and would feel at home among old favorites; well-loved book titles and things to make rather than things already made in another’s vision. The gifts are not excessive or extravagant, but wrapping them I was filled with anticipation for my children’s reactions.
a gift of presence
December 9, 2011 § 2 Comments
In all the hustle and bustle of the holidays we sometimes lose sight of unwrapped gifts of presence. This year my daughter’s eager anticipation and awareness for the moment has created a sense of wonderment and awe that inspires me to be still.
One evening last week while returning to our quiet suburban subdivision my daughter lead me on a scavenger hunt for a special tree. Having seen the tree one evening with her father, she wanted to share the beauty of her discovery with me. We followed the curves of our neighborhood streets commenting on the lights until rounding a corner and arriving at the tree my daughter sought to share. Her joy lit her smile and we stopped to stretch the moment into a memory.
It would have been simple to drive home and forgo the search. To pass quickly nodding appreciatively. Instead we sat in the moment; marveling at the height of the tree and the endless strand of lights. I was reminded of my daughter’s eager toddler exclamations and spirited efforts to pull me from a task into play and I gave thanks for the tiny Christmas elf that still takes me by the hand and pulls me fully into a moment to gift me greater presence.
hug therapy
December 7, 2011 § Leave a comment
My son is navigating the social space of Middle School with a fresh perspective on dealing with unkindness. Our experiences with bullies are littered with empty words of wisdom. Let me outline a few of the well-intentioned expressions parents, teachers, and other adults use to comfort a child victimized by bullies.
Just ignore them. This doesn’t always deter the committed bully. For some it raises the bar and encourages a more determined effort to gain a reaction.
Walk away. This only works if the bully chooses not to follow. See the aforementioned determined species.
Don’t let them bother you. You are better than that. This one attempts to use flattery to over-ride unkindness. Words hurt.
Tell an adult. This assumes that the adult will listen and then address the situation in a manner that does not place the bullied in direct proximity with the bully. Often times this is where the victim becomes the Tattletale and the bully becomes Misunderstood.
Push back. This one is a little out-dated. Now it isn’t politically correct to defend yourself.
My son, discouraged by adults talking around the problem, proposed a new theory. He came to me after school yesterday joyful over his solution. He said: Mom, everyone says stay away from a bully and it never works. I have a better idea. If you hug the bully they walk away and leave you alone. I tested it and it works!
Once a child myself, I am aware within this theory there lies an assumption that the other child will not punch the hugger. Still, I had to marvel that my son, despite hateful words and physical confrontations chose an act of kindness to treat acts of hate and applauded the unique suggestion. (Then I e-mailed school staff to make certain they were on the lookout for hug therapy sessions.)
What would you tell your child to do in a similar situation?
something borrowed, something new
December 4, 2011 § Leave a comment
Our family’s first Christmas traditions were borrowed from my husband’s childhood, lending familiarity and nostalgia to our home. Years later we have begun to embrace occasions to create something new among the borrowed.
We begin with the old, each year gently unpacking my husband’s collection of nutcrackers. Brightly colored, wooden forms stand sentry near the tree. A wooden advent and two smokers rest among them; each item quietly acknowledging a piece of my husband’s heritage and youth.
Our once calm tree, dusted in a blanket of tranquil white lights is now a kaleidoscope of color. The brilliance and whimsy of the lights a celebration of our children’s effervescent joy. The train circling beneath the boughs something from our earliest Christmas as a family; small signs of wear from clumsy toddler fists and little scratches stirring memories of a family pet no longer with us nestle shared memories like forgotten gifts beneath the tree.
European glass ornaments rest among handmade mementos marking the passing of time. This year my daughter stood beside me gently unpacking our decorations, pausing to marvel at the beauty of each item. I filled the seconds between discoveries sharing brief stories about the origin of each ornament as we placed them on the tree.
Tomorrow evening my children will set out their boots for St. Nicholas, a tradition of their father’s childhood. Then they will wake in search of the Elf on the Shelf, a new tradition gifted from my mother sharing in our holidays across the miles. Most recently, in the hope of celebrating our blessings and to center our spirits in a place of gratitude, I shared a new book with both children while we decorated our tree. In the pages of an old story, we found a gentle reminder that our greatest gifts are free. To share in our something new, look between the pages of Ed Mehler’s lovely holiday story The Scrawny Little Tree.
Borrowed and new the season is filled with happy memories and new celebrations as we share the company of loved ones gathered by the light of the tree.
support systems
November 28, 2011 § Leave a comment
Recently I began a humbling exercise in trust, reaching out for and accepting help as I navigate new experiences parenting a child with special needs. One question remains unanswered among new discussions: Have I joined a support group?
Denial says, I don’t need help. I can do this. Our problems are manageable. We will be okay. I’m okay.
Fear whispers, What if this problem is bigger than me? What if walking inside the problem I become lost to an identity that swallows me whole and leaves less of myself.
Some of my apprehension stems from waiting room induced anxiety. The air often feels stifling, consumed with sadness or anger until I cannot breathe fresh air void of projected pain. I hesitate to give voice to my own doubts and fears, afraid they will suffocate others with their weight.
Instead, I endeavor to gift myself private moments of peace. I have returned to my treadmill; chasing answers and running from uncertainty. Writing, releasing thoughts for safekeeping when they are too burdensome to carry with me in the cramped spaces of my mind. Reading, stepping outside my thoughts and temporarily escaping into another’s. Small acts of self kindness; these are my support systems, lending me strength and serenity.
tinkering for troubles
November 26, 2011 § Leave a comment
Thanksgiving was quiet, the meal lent us substance, but our spirits were weighted. My son began to unravel, stirrings of sadness, frustration, and anger finding a voice; he stepped out of the solitary space of his thoughts and released tears of frustration. It was an exhausting exercise, to absorb his anger and sadness; sharing his pain while keeping mine bundled; demonstrating concern while processing the problem logically, looking for an opportunity to make sense and offer support.
Normally my son recedes into a game or music when he cannot calm himself. The holiday had established new boundaries that asked him to set aside individual entertainment for the company of family and friends. The effort to engage became overwhelming and the day culminated when we had to address a social faux pas. My son used a word that sounded like an inappropriate word. As I typically do, I pulled him aside for a quick teaching moment. Quickly my efforts to guide resulted in a difficult lesson. This was our exchange:
I need you to understand that using the word you used is inappropriate.
I didn’t use an inappropriate word.
Unfortunately the word you used sounds too close to another word, which is inappropriate, and you cannot use either word.
But I didn’t do anything wrong.
You aren’t in trouble, but using that words creates a problem and you will be seen as acting inappropriately.
(And this is where patience crumbled and recent injuries swelled absorbing the moment with tears and anger.)
I am not a bad kid! Why do bad kids get away with everything and I get in trouble for nothing?
Now we were at the heart of the harm. The greatest injuries often rest in a place of injustice. Life is full of disappointment hidden beneath good intentions. My son in his flurry of anger revealed a secondary harm, he felt the burden of discontent over life’s inconsistencies. I had become part of the imbalance of fairness. I couldn’t broaden the scope of his perspective to see that the separate events were not equal, because my son was lost to the space between hurts.
He walked away from me and found comfort in the easy company of a friend. Under the patient watch of his friend, my son folded himself into a compact crouched pose and began tinkering inside an unused oven in our hosts’ basement. In this endeavor he was peaceful. I couldn’t make sense of the transition. It was as if a switch had been flipped and the negative energy had slipped away like an ill-fitting sheath. Tinkering, my son began to relax and resume a more even-tempered spirit; eyes bright with curiosity.
I note this because I felt like one learning a secret and wondered if great inventors or adventurers felt the same sense of awe when uncovering new knowledge. I wanted to scribble against the sky:
For my son to unwind, he must engage physically and mentally in an activity transferring his energy into something mechanical.
A wave of hope washed over me. My son had revealed a source of self soothing that I can try to duplicate and facilitate in different environments. It is another path on an amazing journey that I have only begun to understand.
it’s beginning to look a lot like
November 25, 2011 § 2 Comments
Christmas. Breath held, eyes closed I tiptoe nearer to a new moment. Limitless with possibilities the unknown is filled with hope and wonder. Like a child I dance in place unable to bottle the bubbling crescendo of joy. It is officially a new season of celebration.
Last night I gifted our little family a much needed moment of silliness. Candy cane striped pajamas strung on the long gangly limbs of my children inspired spontaneous nonsense set to a soundtrack of giggles. Our laughter smoothed away wrinkles of worry.
Today I woke happy for a new day and the anticipation of joy. I am ready for white lights and wish lists, make-believe and magic.
full heart
November 24, 2011 § Leave a comment
Thanksgiving began with my daughter’s giggles as she snuggled deeply beneath the covers sandwiched between my husband and myself. We fought of consciousness as she warded of sleep and slowly we welcomed the day together. My son slumbers peacefully, long limbs tossed casually across his bed lost to dreams. The past couple of weeks have brought moments of sadness and joy, each felt passionately with a full heart. Today, I pause to give thanks for the everyday moments that center my days in gratitude all year-long. Even on the darkest day, I wake to the light of my family.
hate
November 22, 2011 § 1 Comment
It is a little word that settles between actions, intentions, innuendo, and speech. Hateful words seep into the cracks of self-doubt, insecurity, unhappiness and push forcefully against the strength of self-esteem. My husband and I build invisible walls of self-respect around our children and then watch mindfully for signs of stress, tiny cracks in the mortar.
Yesterday a group of children used hateful words, pelting them against my son’s esteem like chunks of rock against brick leaving scars against his spirit. He knew the words were false, but the harm could not be undone. My husband and I set aside our sadness and anger, meeting our son’s confusion and hurt with honesty and truth. The words were unacceptable, inappropriate, ugly, and hurtful. We named the pain and then nurtured the wound, gathering our son close and listening while he processed the harm in a place of strength. He measured his worth and named the unkindness, marking the moment as an ugliness centered in others; his self-esteem greater than the weight of another’s words.
I will not dwell on my grief, but I will acknowledge the sadness I could not shake. It followed me intimately shadowing my movements and filling up my light with darkness. I let it sit inside my voice when I called the school and spoke to teachers; sharing the burden of responsibility, gathering witnesses to that unseen, holding each of us within my son’s days accountable for this invisible scar to his spirit.
pausing & embracing
November 21, 2011 § 2 Comments
In a moment of unanticipated sadness, I slipped into a simple, natural gesture of grief; curving my body into itself, pausing to embrace a moment of frailty. I recalled the grade school comfort of bowing my head into my hands, curled over an elementary school desk in a universally accepted, quiet plea for solitude. As an adult I rarely stop and process a private sentiment amidst the busyness of the day. I have lost my smile and I have no desire to project false joy. It will pass, the moment is fleeting, but I wish we could all gift ourselves and one another the same everyday truths, honest expressions of our emotions. As my son once said: to make our faces match our hearts.
