marginally successful
October 2, 2011 § Leave a comment
My children reside in the academic margins of test scores, their success defined just outside the traditional framework. Both of my children have been gifted challenges that require a unique approach to traditional classroom expectations.
This year has been a transition year as my son moved from elementary to middle school. Early on there were signs he was struggling with otherwise simple tasks. Specifically, note taking and classroom activities. Up until last year there was an aide in his classrooms available to support my son when his attention wandered. This year, he is independently accountable for the little things that collectively make a big difference.
In the company of my son’s middle school teachers, a special education coordinator asked: What are your goals for your son? My husband and I had come to the meeting with a unique goal in mind. To set aside grades and test scores and chart our son’s ability to self-monitor as he learns to rely on himself for redirection. It was a goal that may have made other teachers uncomfortable, but his teachers respected this honest request. In a system where students and teachers are rated by scores, lesson plans structured to prepare students for tests and test scores used to measure success, our son’s teachers set aside those expectations and honored our wish.
Simultaneously, my daughter is struggling in elementary school. Reading and math skills loom in front of her like giant trees blocking the road to success. Slowly, we are all pushing against the weight of the block, moving forward together. Her teacher sees the seeds of greatness hidden behind test scores and nurtures my daughter’s strengths while challenging her to grow.
The unique needs that have created poor test scores have gifted my children space in the margins to blossom. Rather than focus on what they know, we are guiding them through the experiences of their mistakes. Perceived failure is often just a lesson in strength; success a personal achievement.
these boots were made for talkin’
October 1, 2011 § Leave a comment
For years my daughter favored an inexpensive pair of black mary jane dress shoes. So well-loved were her shoes that she would fill in scratches with a black permanent marker until we were forced to replace them in a new size. Recently, my daughter has outgrown old favorites, creating a new experience.
Not one for shopping, I appealed to my daughter’s love of playing dress-up and we set out to try on new favorites. I met my match in creative opposition over a pair of shiny, black knee-high boots that seemed to scream “not old enough.” I am sure my daughter heard my doubts clamoring noisily in my head.
Stubborn, she stuffed her feet and baggy pants into the boots and paraded around the display tables. Eyes sparkling, she gauged my reaction, clearly anticipating a no. Instead, I countered and caught her off-balance. I said yes.
Once home, I embraced her new exercise in independence by outlining appropriate clothing choices for her new look. Together we felt around blindly at new boundaries. We broadened our choices from color and size to embrace self-respect and self-expression. The following day, dressed in her boots and an outfit I approved of, my daughter’s feet barely touched the ground as she walked to school.
Hand in hand, my little girl thanked me for her boots. She said they made her feel respected. I listened, entranced as my daughter opened up. My yes was really a validation of my daughter’s independent spirit, and an exercise in trust. She knows I am listening and I know she hears me.
petite picassos
September 23, 2011 § Leave a comment
Clean unmarked paper and boxes of unused crayons waited wrapped in anticipation of tiny hands transcribing daydreams into art; whimsical manifestations of unlimited imagination. I facilitate an art based fundraiser at my daughter’s elementary school and this year I am broadening our fundraiser to extend to the Kindergarten students.
This week I sat beside my new Kindergarten friends in awe of the grace of childhood. With each introduction, I was greeted with kindness and curiosity. My aspirations to bring art into the students’ school day experience was eclipsed by the beauty of the students’ eagerness to create something new.
I gave each child a blank piece of paper, wooden shapes, and a sharpened pencil with the following instructions: Today you are going to draw an image using shapes. You may trace them or create them, combine them or overlap them. There is no wrong answer only what you see. The next time I visit, we will add color.
Heads bowed over their paper, they each gathered curves and lines into a thought. They spun stories between shapes. Each name drawn cautiously and proudly at the top of their paper became the face of the unique personality with whom I shared a moment of inspiration. Endearing stories, curious questions, and spontaneous exclamations filled hours of my day with wonder.
My goodbye was met with a gleeful cheer that bubbled effervescently from large hearts tucked inside tiny vessels. I can hardly wait to go back to school with my rainbow of crayons and watch them fill their thoughts with color.
my girl
September 22, 2011 § Leave a comment
I have been toying with the idea that there is a complex mathematical equation that when applied explains the phenomenon of my daughter’s fluctuating maturity. The variables are uncomplicated and the product inconsistent. So far I have determined:
Age + Experience x Weather ÷ Mood = Today’s Lucky Number
Wise beyond her years and sweetly naive, my daughter is a complex contradiction in simple truths. She is dominant with her brother who is largely submissive; passive with peers that are aggressively dominant. She is angry when I am generous, grasping hungrily at excess; generously apologetic and genuinely remorseful when I am angry. She basks in her role as the baby and fights to be taken seriously as a big kid. She entertains us with comedy and crumbles if someone laughs at her. She works tirelessly to accomplish a task, but bemoans high expectations. She is predictably unpredictable and perpetually certain.
I am fascinated, bewildered, entertained, and inspired by this tiny powerhouse of fragility I proudly and lovingly call My Girl.
comfortably unsettled
September 20, 2011 § Leave a comment
Sometimes a little discomfort creates moments of greatness. Sitting among parents and educators gathered together to listen to a speaker on the subject of resilience, I quietly encountered emotions unexpressed that had lain dormant without a voice and hidden behind good intentions. Fear, doubt, uncertainty, hope. Am I parenting properly? In teaching resilience, mistakes are mandatory.
Education is a subject of importance to each parent invested in their child’s future. I have found myself frequently looking outside the box for ways to facilitate my children’s educational experience in the hope that they will gather the tools and life skills to create their own future. The greater lessons are taught outside of class, unprinted in text books.
I could outline for you the schools we have chosen and the teaching styles we have explored but I think there is something to be said for my children’s raw materials. Bottom line: I am blessed with two curious children that love to explore their world, have faith that they can approach new experiences with ability, and a willingness to create with spare parts.
My children’s greatest challenge was me. I am a grown-up stereotypical “good girl” with an eagerness to please and a need to be accepted. Luckily my spunky children are comfortable with an uncomfortable mother. They are secure in their imperfections and aware of their needs and limits. I have become comfortable with imperfect grades, unfinished homework, and simpler schedules; putting my children’s needs before other people’s standards of excellence.
In our house we do our best, work hard, sleep well, relax, play and have family time. We also argue, fighting for what we believe in. We apologize for causing hurt and do not apologize for our differences.
Today I listened to someone tell me we will be okay and I felt immeasurable relief. I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath. This job of parenting is impossibly imperfect and perfectly rewarding. We do our best and fight for what we believe in. We make mistakes and carry on.
that again
September 18, 2011 § Leave a comment
Familiar seems to be my specialty, each evening I serve That Again. Perhaps my family is unfamiliar with the proper name of the recipe. In this case the substitution of a neutral, one-size-fits-all title similar to What’s Her Name can clearly be interpreted as an effort to be social and mingle over a meal. I would infer a passive aggressive complaint, but that assumption would contradict the complacent silence that follows my weekly endeavor to please plea of What would everyone like to eat? I am unquestionably the Culinary Queen of the quintessential Overdone. I would like to thank the little people in my life for making this moment possible.
measure of time
September 16, 2011 § Leave a comment
Big brown eyes brimming with wonder, my son is fascinated by the immeasurable quality of time. His first insight came over a year ago when he uttered casually: I wish there were a way to recycle wasted time. I immediately captured his words on paper and frequently re-read his sentiment marveling at the purity of his wish.
This summer, as the school year approached, he revisited the subject of time feeling overwhelmed by the dwindling days of summer vacation. Mournful and mindful of each day leading up to the first day of school, he was reflective and sensitive. He would passionately proclaim the imbalance of time’s measurement, convinced that time passes too quickly functioning outside the boundaries marked by the simple hands of man-made clocks.
Last night, he came to me long gangly legs awkwardly tumbling down the stairs, a face marked by discovery and a voice hushed with the awe of awareness and said: Mom, I figured out the true meaning of happiness in life. You can wish all you want for your birthday and Christmas, but you shouldn’t. Time will slip away through your fingers, but you won’t realize it. The true meaning of happiness is to enjoy each and every day.
Again, I felt the need to capture a singular moment in time, my fingers rushing desperately across my keyboard attempting to catch his words in proper sequence. This child that came to me as an unexpected gift, a happy surprise, has marked the passing of years with an awareness and wisdom that inspires me to embrace each moment.
habits of memory
September 15, 2011 § 2 Comments
My grandfather was my unspoken favorite, I tagged along behind him unintentionally overlooking the woman hanging laundry, standing at the kitchen counter, or placing jars of tea in the sunshine. I found my grandmother’s friendship after we lost my grandfather.
Uprooted from her home and alone, my grandmother was a sad stranger. I was lonely in my father’s home and found my way to her door. Stepping inside her living room, I always sought my grandfather’s image over her television, setting my compass to North by the warmth of his smile. I didn’t realize it was my grandmother’s company that centered me.
I accompanied my grandmother on errands, sat beside her in church, kept her company when she was unwell; there was a comfortable quiet between us. We filled endless hours with collective moments of extraordinarily simple habits. There were always baked goods cooling on a table and a book resting half finished on an armrest. I find her company still, long after our last conversation ended, in familiar everyday habits like folding laundry, baking, or sitting with a book.
The other day, I found a smile among crumpled tissues. My grandmother was forever tucking tissues into the wrist of a sleeve, her blouse, waistband, pocket, or palm; these tiny markers would tumble recklessly behind her leaving a path and creating a smile. Little things, tucked inside old habits and stirring happy memories.
just say ouch
September 14, 2011 § Leave a comment
Stubbed toe, paper cut, minor burn; in each instance we instinctively flinch, move to protect or comfort ourselves, and say ouch. It occurs to me that there are other moments when speaking our mind is coded in etiquette, covering up genuine feeling with good behavior. I can’t, I wish I could, maybe next time seem like fantastic, dramatic versions of no. Instead of speaking my truth, I often say yes and then carry the burden of my own self-induced discomfort. I am learning to say no, but the lessons along the way have left me feeling a little sore and muttering ouch.
I spent the first several years of my married life distorting my own opinions, wishes, and needs to accommodate the expectations of my mother-in-law. I was determined to please and escape the stereotypical power struggle. Instead, I created an unrealistic expectation of agreeability that has haunted me ever since. The late introduction of the word no deemed mean spirited rather than an expression of different needs.
I am equally certain I have friends that think I like particular hobbies or collectables because my polite conversation was void of any word resembling no. I am so fascinated and inspired by the diverse group of women in my life that I will nod amiably to garner their company rather than risk differentiating myself by just saying no.
Today, sitting in a room full of bright, thoughtful women, that give generously of their time to our elementary school I wondered how many of them are overextended because somewhere along the way saying no was deemed selfish. This thought distracted me throughout our noon meeting as I considered the familiar faces of the volunteers. Despite the variety of fundraisers or academic events, it seems the same names find their way onto each list. This year, I stepped back from a couple of my previous responsibilities for personal reasons; logical, valid reasons that suddenly felt selfish in the company of other mothers. I began to feel guilty for using the word no even though speaking it gave me peace.
I have no clear answer, but I cannot seem to shrug the question of how do we express ourselves genuinely without alienating people we love and while acknowledging our own unique needs?
