wishes and wants
September 3, 2011 § 1 Comment
I have simple wishes. On my birthday I wish for the company of my husband and children, the anticipation of cake, and handmade cards from my children. Predictably, each year my husband asks what I want for my birthday. I want my wishes to come true.
I love a happy surprise wrapped in a bow, but tokens of affection have little value if unaccompanied by sentiment. I want to wake up to cuddles from my children and to share an easy day of togetherness without arguments or anxiety. I want to spend each meal distracted by a sugary confection tucked away for later. Despite my love of beautiful stationery, I want to read my children’s wishes woven around art that fills the blank spaces of homemade cards.
Friends sometimes fill the day with treats, my preference is time. I have no need for gifts, I rather share a meal or conversation. Time is an indulgence, most of us too busy to sit still, but it is my favorite gift: the company of people I love and the sound of their laughter.
Inevitably someone will ask how old I am. There are those that antagonize over a number: age, weight, IQ, income. I prefer undefined anonymity. I scatter my numbers to the wind, happy to let go of such boundaries and definitions. On my birthday I am no different, I think less of the progression of time and more of sentiment. I cherish birthdays past and stay present, uhurried as I look to the future.
In the days following, someone will ask if I had a nice day or if I received everything I wanted. The answer is: most days my wishes come true, I am rich in the blessings of family and friends.
coffee clutch
September 2, 2011 § Leave a comment
I carry it like a well admired handbag. My coffee has become an expensive, temporary, disposable clutch that accompanies me through my day. Like a small, over-priced handbag with a designer label, my signature cup whispers you deserve this indulgence.
Some days I pretend it isn’t a treat, it is functional. The coffee induced energy boost helps me get more done. Other days, I use medicinal claims; it eases a headache. Sure, I rocket through errands and house cleaning propelled by caffeine and, most of the time, coffee dulls my headaches. I know, it is something more.
I am in a love affair with an experience. I like the familiarity of my coffee shop, the playful banter with my barista, the rich flavor of my treat, and the signature cup that I wear like a clutch.
remembrance
September 1, 2011 § 2 Comments
Each of us have personal holidays, dates that seem to resonate within us. These days are typically mapped on our hearts, unmarked on calendars. Each year, on this day, I indulge in a moment of remembrance for the man I called my Bumpa. A silly name for a strong, quiet man who lived with grace, generosity, and wisdom. If I close my eyes, I see him walking tall ahead of me as I shadowed him through his day waiting for an opportunity to sit together in silence underneath a tree, an easy company in the absence of words. Humble and humorous, I miss his smile today.
a lesson in labels
August 31, 2011 § 1 Comment
At an early age my son was diagnosed with PDD-NOS and ADHD, a jumbled mess of letters, their meaning uncomfortable and overwhelming. Pervasive Developmental Disorder – Not Otherwise Specified, an Autism Spectrum Disorder, and Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder.
I remember the moment of my son’s diagnoses with physical clarity. My body struggled to draw air while images of my son’s past and future flashed before my eyes; a conscious drowning. My heart heavy with fear for the future, my mind desperate for facts, my body achy with unexpressed grief; physically, mentally, and emotionally I wanted to reject the diagnoses. I worried doctors, teachers, family, friends, and strangers would compartmentalized my son’s spirit and unique mannerisms to fit in the confines of sterile, medical labels.
That day my husband and I promised one another to use our son’s diagnoses as tools for understanding him better and helping him live a full life. We endeavored to discuss our son’s needs honestly, without apology or shame. The first year of his diagnoses was focused on facilitating our son’s emotional, social, physical, and academic needs. Throughout that year we maintained a sense of privacy concerning our son’s diagnoses as we educated ourselves and made difficult decisions. It was important to us that we share correct information and make decisions free of others’ expectations and opinions. We had a small, close-knit support group consisting of physicians, psychiatrists, therapists, educators, family, and a handful of friends.
One year after the diagnoses we shared our news in the lines of a letter as we raised money to support Autism Speaks. Our son tallied the donations and read the letters of support that poured in, aware only of love and kindness from the multitude of faces that were a part of his life. It is with this experience that our son, at the age of 6, first told people he was Artistic. He understood part of his diagnoses meant he had a collection of characteristics typical of children on the Autism Spectrum, but speech delays created an endearing proclamation of Artistic. He would smile brightly at the revelation and continue on his way, unaffected and proud.
With the development of homework, we began to understand new challenges stemming from ADHD. We talked directly to our son and teachers, but less openly to others. Too often I found myself in the company of passionate debates concerning diet and medication. I honor others’ choices for themselves and their children, but wanted our family’s decisions to remain uninfluenced by popular opinions. It was the diagnosis we didn’t talk about.
Standing in line during my son’s Middle School visitation, a woman asked us for medical forms. My son, loudly and abruptly, declared to the woman collecting forms that he has ADHD and takes medication. I flinched at the stark revelation and instinctively looked around to gauge the reaction of those around us. I was still processing my son’s statement when a young girl behind us in a full voice announced she has Asperger’s and takes medication. Just like that, I felt eccentrically normal.
Years of tucking parts of our life into safe pockets of friendship and suddenly it felt okay to let go. My son likes who he is even if he doesn’t like his challenges. There was a lesson there in a moment shared with strangers. For all my efforts to see my son completely, it was my son that showed me he is whole.
to my son
August 30, 2011 § Leave a comment
Last night, before going to bed, you paused on the landing of the stairs and said you made a new friend at school. Enumerating on your new friend’s intelligence and kindness, you said you felt lucky. I feel lucky too.
When you were little you would introduce yourself to others, children and adults, with a sweetly naive promise to be their new best friend. It was the verbalization of your toddler self waddling onto adult’s laps or holding other children’s hands; loving openly and completely.
There came a moment in Kindergarten when you began hiding from peers. Moments of disappointment or rejection among classmates caused you to guard your feelings more closely. You maintained a couple of close friends, children that would stand beside you through thick and thin, but you stopped reaching out to new children for friendship.
The more you closed yourself off, the more I missed the little boy with the open heart. I waited, sometimes beside you and other times in the background, hoping a day would come when you would open up and let down your guard.
Last night, listening to you extol the virtues of your new friend I gave thanks that your vast heart could still open up and welcome someone new. Your new friend is lucky to have you, too.
Love,
Mom
the measure of a smile
August 29, 2011 § Leave a comment
Most days the measure of my accomplishments are tallied by the volume of tasks completed: groceries purchased, house cleaned, meals planned, laundry completed. It is a simple life and, while I dread the mundane invariability of housekeeping, there is a sense of gratification in taking care of my family’s home. Today I set aside the predictable pattern of my day and squandered stolen moments.
My son woke early and we bantered across the kitchen island over breakfast. A shared sense of dry humor and a quiet moment provided an opportunity to begin the day with smiles and laughter. It was a small moment, but I carry the image of my son’s dimpled smile with me.
Good humor was contagious and I quickly lost myself to my daughter’s company. Her big brother’s school day already begun, our morning walk together was filled with stories and dramatic gifts of dandelions. Today she created a game with her sight words that held our attention until goodbye.
Our children settled at school, my husband and I played hooky from our schedules and escaped to a late breakfast. Sitting outdoors and visiting over the small indulgence of a favorite meal we stopped to smell the roses. I have accomplished nothing on my list of chores, but today my accomplishments are measured in smiles.
day of grace
August 28, 2011 § 1 Comment
Sundays in our home lack the customs and routines of church. Some weeks I miss the easy comfort of my childhood experiences; sitting among familiar faces in a moment of gratitude and celebration for the simple blessings of my life. I was exposed to three differing religions as a child: my mother’s, my father’s, and later, my stepmother’s. Their denominations are significant to them, but secondary to my story. My faith exists among the shared experiences. Values such as compassion and kindness, concepts of right and wrong, acts of prayer and thanksgiving have followed me offering comfort and strength in moments of difficulty and choruses of joy in moments of profound happiness.
My husband believes in God, but not the institution of church; comfortable in his beliefs and relationship with God outside the walls of a place of worship. I honor his belief that faith is personal and lived best by example. We attempt to guide our children in faith, offering our thoughts and providing them opportunities to experience various religions through preschool programs, summer camps, and visits to different churches. It is important to me we walk this path as a family.
Today I am thankful for quiet Sundays in the company of my family and the faith that is my own. I am remembering Sundays in a small rural church, hymns that enveloped the air and the faces of neighbors visiting over the backs of weathered pews. I hope that one day my children will know the peace of gathering in a place of worship and raising their voices in joy, finding strength in something shared, and knowing a feeling of belonging in a moment of faith.
playing house
August 27, 2011 § Leave a comment
There are friends that tie us to a younger self; the girls we women once were. In their company time stands still and the reality of marriage and motherhood feel like a grand game of make-believe. Discussing our lives after childhood, I feel like a little girl playing house.
I never envisioned this part of my life, it has been an experience of improvisation. My parents were divorced with widely differing personalities and parenting styles; they lived in different communities and without the predictable social rhythms of my close-knit neighborhood. I sometimes feel like a child’s toy misplaced; a round peg stuffed into a square space.
I am comfortable in the company of my family, but sometimes lost in the space of expectations. A little voice seems to whisper, I don’t know how to do this. I have learned to follow my gut and lead with my heart. Asking for directions and watching for answers. Still I marvel at those that seem to know with a quiet confidence, what comes next at each turn.
It is with great joy and reassurance that I perpetually find myself in the company of wise souls that share with me a vision of Happily Ever After in the space of everyday life.
out of sight, on my mind
August 25, 2011 § Leave a comment
Day 2: first full-day of my children’s new school year. This morning’s routine familiar, drawing on the experience of a successful first day, each child began their morning eager to return to school. My children are navigating their days independently and I am keeping busy with the distractions of housekeeping and errands; filling the quiet that seems to surround their absence with activity. They are out of sight, but on my mind.
in the blink of an eye
August 24, 2011 § Leave a comment
One minute I was chasing after my children as they ricocheted off the corners of their days, tirelessly propelling themselves in different directions while tossing around new ideas and testing boundaries. Then, in the blink of an eye, they were older and there was calm.
Watching my children prepare for their first day of school this morning I was overwhelmed by the stillness. The simple acts of sharing breakfast and getting ready for their day were filled with a quiet assurance. My own sentimental emotions rippled beneath my calm while my children were smiling, eager for a new beginning.
My son, making his way to the bus stop, waved a cheerful goodbye as he crossed the street without a backward glance. My daughter skipped several steps ahead of her father and I, lining up among peers, ready to file into school. I linked my hand in my husband’s and we found our way home, grateful for their readiness and mindful of their absence.
My hopes for their happiness and well-being guarded inside my heart, I wish my children the ability to approach each new beginning as an opportunity; with confidence in themselves and curiosity for a future filled with endless possibilities.
