normal needs
April 25, 2011 § Leave a comment
When my son was seven, he gifted me a moment of insight that guides me as his mother. With wisdom and self-awareness beyond his years, he said to me: I know that I’m different and I like who I am, but I don’t like it when other people make me feel different. This moment wakes with me each day.
His sharing came during a difficult time. A year into a diagnosis that had begun to help my husband and I better understand our son’s various behaviors and needs, we were finding our footing while our son was struggling to find his. Social challenges made school days difficult, our son navigated the expectations of his teachers as mindfully as he absorbed the weight of unkind jests by his peers. Our son was looking for belonging and acceptance without conformity.
In moments of adversity I frequently return to a personal truth, special needs are extraordinarily normal. Virtues like patience, kindness, and tolerance should not be reserved for special conditions or occasions, they should be the standard by which we live every day. From this place we are all equal and anything is possible, our differences as normal as our needs.
lemonade
April 23, 2011 § Leave a comment
Cold symptoms and grey, rainy days cast a shadow across Easter weekend; Spring felt misplaced. Determined to embrace the extra time and celebrate childhood traditions, I gathered my lemons and made lemonade.
Outdoor egg hunts and time with friends canceled, my family refocused our energy indoors on quiet, creative endeavors. An Easter diorama, a project inspired by a neighborhood gathering with friends, became a happy distraction. Construction paper and confectionary figures wove fictional story lines within the confines of a child size shoebox. Later, vinegar scented cups of egg dye captured our imaginations as we absorbed the task of filling in the space of nature’s blank canvas.
Tomorrow my children will wake eager to discover baskets with simple treats before we settle around a table for brunch. I cherish the new moments as they cross paths with old memories in the footsteps of tradition.
tenants
April 22, 2011 § 1 Comment
On the eve of a quiet day, we forgo our bedtime routines and lease our family room to tiny tenants to the tune of gleeful exclamations. Each child nestled in a makeshift bed, they camp out by the light of a late night movie, armed with an assortment of snacks and extra time. The evening blurs into morning; tides of giggles wash up the stairs as they feign sleep with muffled chatter. For the moment my children are friends.
just add water
April 21, 2011 § 1 Comment
Two pair of hands, palms touching, fingers intertwined between mischievous smiles. One, two, three! The girls sounded off in high-pitched tones as they synchronized their dives. I watched their pony tails plunge beneath the water’s surface followed by a riotous burst of giggles as they reappeared, eyes bulging behind swim goggles. My daughter’s spontaneous friendship born of convenience and nurtured in play.
The girls shared conspiratorial smiles as they paced themselves in the pool; eager to catch one another’s attention while escaping the watchful gaze of the instructors. I hid my amusement behind the pages of a magazine, lost to the unintentional performance. Another child sat on the periphery gauging her classmates’ antics. I noted the child’s progress from tears to triumph and wished her a place in my daughter’s game. Sure enough, all three girls were soon a tangle of limbs as they splashed side by side.
With a full heart I sent my daughter a smile and nod, sharing a moment of gratitude that she gathers others in kindness and friendship.
change
April 20, 2011 § Leave a comment
Yesterday I noted a small change to my family’s morning routine in an understated post. The subject was simple, but something lingered unsaid. I felt compelled to preserve the moment while I looked for what lay hidden between the lines of the passage, a lump in my throat I could not name. Slowly, the words came in my son’s voice.
I began to replay the morning’s exchange with my son, listening with my heart until I could acknowledge the word tugging at my emotions. Baby. In the shuffle of birthday celebrations, middle school registration forms, and laundry outgrown and set aside for donations I recognized a milestone. My son’s footsteps have begun to fall further from my side.
No longer a little boy and not quite a young man, he is on the cusp of something new. My breath held and my heart full of hope, I am mindful that I can no longer brush away injuries with Band-Aids or stand present for every challenge. I am trusting he will still reach out, but waiting quietly in faith. The word baby seemed to be reminding me of the time.
lens
April 19, 2011 § Leave a comment
Like broad sweeping brushstrokes, I try to conjure images with words, sharing my lens. Still, I am mindful these are not my stories alone. I hope I am both kind and true in my telling as I share thoughts and memories with a heart full of love. With each moment I revisit and each editorial adjustment, however small, I am trying to preserve pieces of the past and present for a day yet to come.
routine
April 19, 2011 § Leave a comment
There was a time my children woke each day, promptly at 7 o’clock, despite the day or season. Our morning routines evolved naturally and I embraced the opportunity to spend a carefree moment with both children before they were swept into the structured schedule of their school day. Lately, my early birds have nestled more deeply beneath their blankets and their footsteps have become weighted with resistance; smiles hidden behind yawns.
In a decision as uncomplicated as waking up, I let go of our routine and traded playtime for sleep. It was a simple adjustment, evolving as naturally as the routine it replaced. This morning my son paused in the kitchen to thank me for letting him sleep. As he washed his breakfast dishes, a formality often overlooked as he sleepwalked through the morning, he opened up saying he felt grateful that I didn’t “baby” him. I hadn’t considered such a simple adjustment could foster a greater sense of independence. I let go of an hour and gained an unexpected moment of insight.
wireless
April 17, 2011 § Leave a comment
I carry my cell phone like a lifeline to the outside world; calls, texts, e-mails, my calendar, and To-Do list on standby at the touch of a button. This week, when my phone stopped working properly, I performed a force quit. I logged off my phone and connected to the moment, awareness consuming me like a virus. I set down the dish towel and sat down between my children to watch a movie. I forgot about checking in with my phone and remembered the projects on hold. Instead of listing what needed to be done, I did things that were undone. I went wireless and connected.
perfectly happy
April 16, 2011 § 1 Comment
This week I challenged myself to embrace the happy occasion of my husband and son’s birthdays with small gestures of kindness and love. I consciously let go details, but found myself perpetually distracted by unwritten checklists. Truth: (despite my last post) I wanted everything to be perfect and I wanted everyone to be happy. Impossible wishes.
My husband’s day began with handmade cards and homemade sweet bread. We parted for school and work, meeting up in the afternoon to watch our daughter’s swim lesson and indulge in a special meal. The kids misbehaved at dinner, I was irritable, and my husband became ill. His cake sat untouched at evening’s end. Perfect and Happy seemed to mock me.
My son made no requests, other than time with two close friends. Until the day before his birthday. In a moment of spontaneous decisiveness, he wished for items he will not receive. Here I paused and decided to create a checklist for my own sanity.
- Accept inevitable moments of impossibility.
- Joy comes from people, not things.
- Perfect is an inevitable impossibility.
As the celebrations come to a close, I am perfectly happy with imperfect.
one day
April 11, 2011 § Leave a comment
This week I will celebrate both my husband and son’s birthdays. Today I baked the first cake and began the last-minute errands for final touches; everything felt organized on paper. In reality, items weren’t on store shelves, businesses were closed, and I felt overwhelmed. Nothing felt right. My happy celebratory spirit was quickly fading when I stumbled across my sanity in a quiet moment with a close friend.
I wonder how often we all run ourselves ragged trying to create a beautiful moment rather than standing still and experiencing a moment of beauty. Enjoying a quiet moment of friendship over lunch I started to simplify the week ahead. I don’t expect everything will be perfect, but I hope both birthday boys feel loved and appreciated.
No gift will match the generous blessings they bring to my life. No cake will be sweeter than the time that we share together. One day is simply not enough time to give thanks.
