alphabet soup
October 20, 2011 § Leave a comment
Motherhood has familiarized me with the flavor of over-served meals. I have eaten my own words, nose pinched, on multiple occasions. The mere suggestion of an emphatic statement and I anticipate the word du jour. Yesterday’s word was never.
At the beginning of the school year, in a grand proclamation, I stated I would never race back to school to gather my son’s misplaced homework. He would simply face the natural consequences of forgetting, thereby helping him remember in the future. Last night I ran back to school for my son’s school book. (This is where I would insert a footnote, dense with a beautifully constructed over-worded explanation to rationalize my decision.) Rather than offer excuses, I kick myself a little for talking out loud.
Today I am embracing silence.
accountability and humility
October 19, 2011 § Leave a comment
Recently I wrote about my son’s experience with a peer. In said instance my son was treated poorly by the peer at school, we addressed the incident with the school directly, and the school was both supportive and efficient in their efforts to control the situation. I was impressed, but quietly ill at ease. A part of me could not let go, feelings of discontent lingered. I questioned how the other child’s behavior was addressed and challenged his telling of the events with sarcastic disbelief in unspoken sentiments. To my son, I spoke only words of reassurance. I weighed my thoughts falsely projecting fairness, keeping my own negative emotions tucked away. The contradictory undercurrent left me feeling unkind and judgmental.
I forced myself to commit to repeating a mantra of positive posturing until the negative chorus was a quiet murmur. Over and over I said to myself: the other child made a mistake, mistakes are part of childhood, my son will endure this and learn from this moment. Be strong, but be forgiving. I was almost serene when my son came home and created a new ripple on calm waters.
My son made his own mistake. He did not harm another child, but he took something from a classroom. As the teacher’s telling unfolded, I felt my son’s mistake and stepped aside to make room for him to exercise accountability while I absorbed a moment of humility. My son moved beyond words and embraced accountability with action, owning his error and demonstrating remorse. A new thread of concern wrapped itself around my thoughts. Would others struggle to move past his error as I had struggled to let go of another child’s error?
I quickly realized these are moments in my son’s experiences outside of my control. Opportunities for him to grow, find his way, build character, and create new choices. As I was learning lessons in humility, accepting my son as imperfect and fallible; he was learning accountability in a safe and nurturing setting to be recalled at later moments in his life. I can no more undo his error than I can forge others’ opinions. The shoe on the other foot, we walked forward aware of the choices behind us and mindfully stepping into the future.
unedited endeavor
October 18, 2011 § Leave a comment
I love writing; the quiet, uninterrupted act of reflection that accompanies each self-indulgent moment with my thoughts centers me. Compliments and kind words for my efforts on paper are met with shame. With each sharing I am mindful of my own inadequacy. Despite my love of writing, I am an incompetent editor.
I use self-depreciating humor to deflect my insecurities, but the truth settles between the lines of my thoughts. I let go humbly knowing the flaws invite criticism, even here where my audience is limited to those I trust with my feelings and strangers.
I often wonder if others share this experience. If the errors belie the effort or if they make the sharing more human for the imperfections. This is not a confession so much as a curiosity; a verbalization of insecurities otherwise silent companions to my words.
separately together
October 16, 2011 § Leave a comment
On a day unmarked on a calendar, sometime during my second pregnancy, my husband and I pledged to each spend time separately with our children. We wanted to carve out opportunities in a future yet unknown to gift each child individual time and attention. It is a promise we have kept and cherished.
This weekend my husband and daughter set off on a fall camping trip. The house is quiet without their laughter; mischievous and fun-loving they bring spontaneity and adventure to my days. Spending the weekend with my son, the quiet was reminiscent of days long past.
My earliest days of motherhood were spent neglecting countless household responsibilities, while marveling at the wonder of my tiny companion. I would read aloud from books beyond my son’s years or gather him near for a nap. This weekend, I am grateful that my son still finds his way to my side. Laughing at a movie, indulging in a ridiculous menu of favorite foods, and chatting about nothing in particular we have set aside our responsibilities for each other’s company.
Hours from now we will all be together again, but this morning I am reflecting on the promise my husband and I have kept. It is a joy to share our children’s company. It is an even greater blessing that they seek ours.
advocating strength
October 14, 2011 § Leave a comment
My son, head bowed, told me he was bullied… again. I ran through my initial emergency parenting protocol asking: Are you okay? Did you tell an adult? What happened? My heart in my throat I went through the motions of my end of school day routine while my son’s words replayed in my mind.
There is a small window of time between greeting my son at the end of his school day and collecting my daughter from hers. As I walked toward my daughter’s school my mind was riddled with questions. What now? Do I need more details? Who do I call? Do I wait for Monday?
The voice that makes me uncomfortable and holds me accountable was loud, casting away doubt and hesitation. I gathered my daughter from school, settled her at home with my husband, and then drove my son back to school.
Today is Friday and I had little hope that the school staff would greet me an hour after school had dismissed for the weekend, but they did. More importantly, they listened. I stood present as a witness for my son. I try to be my children’s advocate, but today I was humbled by my son’s fortitude.
Leaving the school my son tossed an arm around me and the same voice that screams when something is wrong, whispered that we will be alright. I write this to mark our family’s journey and to acknowledge my son’s strength.
good enough
October 14, 2011 § Leave a comment
The other day, as I faced my fear of confrontation, I watched another mother face fears of judgment. Her child had done something unkind, it was a singular mistake I felt needed to be addressed. The other mother apologized then added, he’s a good kid.
I would expect most of us have wanted to explain away poor behavior, defend our child, extol their virtues. Something deeper resonated within me; a fear of not being good enough.
I wish we could dismantle labels. The weight of carrying them everywhere is exhausting. Good wife, good mother, good housekeeper, good cook. Good grief! I wonder if the burden of similar labels suffocates our children from taking chances and risking failure to experience joy. What lessons do our children escape when they lose the opportunity to learn from mistakes? At what price must our children be good?
None of this is an excuse for unkind behavior. Just a series of thoughts that have accompanied me through the day. My heart rests on this thought,I wonder if sometimes it is enough to embrace the day and risk imperfection for the richness of experience. What is the defining difference between good and good enough?
walking the talk
October 13, 2011 § 2 Comments
I tell my children to stand up for themselves, but stood quietly in the background when uncomfortable with the idea of confrontation. Trusted friends nudged me out of my comfort zone. Sometimes the measure of a true friend is their willingness to tell you what you need to hear rather than what gives you comfort.
Recently both of my children have experienced a moment of unkindness with a peer that was presumably a friend. In each instance I told my children they deserved to be treated with respect, but did not model for them how we ask for respect with words and actions. I was all talk. Confiding in a friend, I was challenged to speak up and walk the talk.
I have since approached each parent of said children with wobbling knees and a pounding heart. Despite rehearsing in my mind what I would say, in each instance the script was forgotten in the moment. I held tightly to one message: this behavior is not acceptable.
It was uncomfortable; impossible as it was necessary. I was torn between my own hurt feelings and the other parents’ feelings. I imagined how I might feel if the roles were reversed. Mistakes are a part of growing up. Still, how do we help our children if their mistakes are sheltered and lessons lost? I hope my efforts help both my children and their peers learn and grow.
My children are unaware of my conversations, but I stand a little taller knowing I did more than talk the talk, I walked the talk.
no good, horrible, very bad
October 12, 2011 § Leave a comment
Day. We all have them. I often marvel at my own inability to stop in the midst of unfavorable odds and quarantine myself to the serene sanctity of my home. Stubbornly, I push against misshapen moments, determined to forcibly extract the silver lining from the gray cloud following me around. The entire spectacle is amusing, even to me.
Today, it began with an errand. Rather than double-check store hours before leaving home, I reassured myself I needn’t bother. Closed storefronts sent me directionless, chasing after items on my to-do list out of order. Rearranging my errands I decided to drop off a prescription at my local pharmacy and then spontaneously elected, due to a non-existent line, to get a flu shot. I was silently applauding my own stroke of multitasking genius when I looked over my shoulder to see the pharmacist swamped by a mysterious rush of customers. Still preening over my accidental accomplishment I determined I would make the most of my unhurried moment and used the time to schedule an appointment. Just as I ended my call the pharmacist appeared and administered my shot. Then, unceremoniously, my arm fell asleep. I am already less than graceful, this led to experiments in physical ability. Flopping my arm I must have looked half mad as I made my way to the next stop attempting to shake sense into my lazy limb.
The sought after store still closed, I detoured to a nail salon and decided to wait with productive patience and indulge in an unscheduled manicure and pedicure. The same clumsiness that leads me to trip up stairs also leads to chipped nail polish, I should have skipped the manicure. Situated serendipitously beside a friend of a friend who naturally exudes style and grace, I endeavored to have a conversation but tripped over my thoughts. In an effort to escape my own awkward attempts at casual banter I retreated to my car, prematurely, and mussed my manicure.
This would have been an ideal time to return home and settle in with a book while waiting on a load of laundry, but I was not yet done. The one item on my list mandatory to retiring my to-do list for the day was collecting materials from a school district office. Note I said “a”. I realized the assumption of “my” school district office was in error after smiling and waiting patiently at my school district office, twice. I was never one to read directions, clearly the particulars of an e-mail were also subjective. Once I located the appropriate office, happy to have found the materials I needed, I joked jovially about my error to the receptionist just before stepping around the open door to force open the closed door. It was that kind of day.
Of course no good, horrible, and very bad seem excessively negative. I am certain tomorrow will be better. No need to move to Australia*.
*I reference one of my childhood favorites Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by Judith Viorst.
class notes
October 10, 2011 § Leave a comment
My earliest writing memories are of class notes scribbled during school hours. In most classes my teachers’ lectures were monotonous monologues on the mundane. I would fill the spaces of my distraction with my own thoughts in the lines of letters to friends.
My children scribble thoughts and doodle with the same restless, creative energy that accompanied my classroom memories. My daughter draws her letters with flamboyant swirls and sketches whimsical images on the back of her school work. My son draws diagrams, makes lists, drafts petitions. Their school work is always completed, but with an effort lacking enthusiasm.
Where some parents have saved school papers cataloguing progress and academic effort from years past, I save the class work unrelated to assignments. These creative pen strokes are my glimpse into each child’s interests, friends, and dreams; in the margins of their work are beautiful examples of rich, unfiltered individuality.
it takes a village
October 8, 2011 § Leave a comment
My son is having peer problems at school. It began with a group taunting him with an inappropriate rhyme. Then, someone was unkind during gym class. Most recently a peer was disrespectful while waiting for the school bus. When my son came home in gym clothes because his school clothes disappeared from his locker my strength wavered. I reached out to a friend and to my son’s school for support, reassurance, and guidance. It takes a village to raise a child.
We build confidence and self-esteem at home. Then, in moments of difficulty we nurture our strength with numbers. When peers, parents, and teachers stand behind a child the weight of a challenge becomes bearable. The message of compassion and value dispels toxic notions of unworthiness.
It is important to note I do not allow my son to play victim. I try to give him a new script and recast supporting roles as needed. Each unfortunate experience begins with, you do not deserve to be treated that way. Then I try to open up a dialogue that allows my son to look at the problem, generate possible solutions, and reinforce self-worth. We have a similar conversation when he is unkind.
My conversations with teachers are centered in creating awareness and a sense of safety in the space of a school day. I try to fight against labeling children bad. Rather I look towards the problem causing children to act badly, trying to determine how best to help my son navigate his day with both compassion and self-respect.
I turn to my friends for wisdom. As a mother I am continually finding my way and looking to other strong women for guidance. Some days, they are my sounding board, other times they are fantastic listeners, but more often they are a fresh perspective that lends balance to a moment mired in my own concerns.
Throughout our misadventures in 6th grade, I have had the strength of a village. May every child know a community of compassion and concern that celebrates and reinforces a strength of character empowering a future of possibility.
