extra time
March 28, 2011 § 1 Comment
I regularly scramble for extra time, reaching deep into the recess of my day for moments to spend; school day routines leaving little time between Good Morning and Good Night for indulgent moments of exploration. This year, when Spring vacation emptied my days of obligations, I made plans to spend my extra time on the little things that I casually set aside for Later and often get shuffled to Never.
We are tumbling into dreams long past bedtime, waking without abrasive alarms, and eating meals unrushed with extra helpings of chatter. Our schedules are empty of Must and sprinkled with Why Not. We are vacationing from Normal and nurturing our spirits with people, places, and things that are too often lost to routines.
Instead of packing our bags for warmer weather, we are loading into our car and navigating our way to familiar favorites. A store filled with miscellaneous nonsense promises hours of backyard adventures courtesy of healthy imaginations. We are building new lands out of Legos and baking banana bread to sustain us on our journeys. We are filling journal pages, marking moments in time with words.
Today, an unexpected invitation gifted my son time with a friend and I discovered stolen moments with my daughter. Normally pulled in two directions, I let my daughter lead me from one moment to the next. We painted pottery and polished her ten tiny pigs purple. Later, when her brother returned home, they swapped stories laced with satisfied smiles, happy for distractions that deviated from the predictable pattern of their days.
I catch myself looking ahead to the rest of our week, eager to explore and happy to hold tightly to our time together.
tag along
March 27, 2011 § 1 Comment
When our son was four he eagerly anticipated the arrival of his baby sister. She was a peaceful baby, a quiet companion to her big brother’s active curiosity. She would silently accompany us in arms, carrier, or stroller through the course of her brother’s day from preschool to play. Our son would marvel at the sleeping tag along, waiting for her to wake, hopeful for the day she would play.
By the time our daughter was crawling, our son’s fascination turned to frustration as train tracks and Lego creations were in danger of demolition. Efforts to play were clumsy; our daughter noisily filling the space around her big brother. She spent her wakeful moments trying to find her place beside him.
At four years old our daughter would push between the older children, blocking her brother from harm. Like a beloved stuffed animal, she followed him everywhere unaware of danger, completely content to belong. Our son, aware of a shadow, could not remember a time before the sun fell on him casting a permanent companion.
This week at our daughter’s class play, our son slipped between our daughter’s friends and wrapped his little sister in a hug. He tagged along, finding his way soundly to his sister’s side. She looked at him, marveling in a moment of belonging, and held him tightly.
pieces
March 26, 2011 § 1 Comment
I peek around life’s corners, anticipating the future while reaching behind me holding on to pieces of the past. I do this mostly with people, bringing old friends into my present like a child holding a flashlight to better see down a dark hallway. Often what I am holding on to is a piece of myself, the connection to another allowing me to appreciate a moment of strength and to weave scattered moments into my consciousness.
In one such moment I reached out to an old friend, a fleeting connection amid a myriad of college friendships, gathering to me a spirited younger self. Amongst the sentimental reminiscing and sharing my friend gifted an accidental moment of grace. It was a serendipitous sentiment that has resonated with me.
We are all broken.
Such a tiny thought, so filled with love and acceptance. Between the broken pieces of a life lies permission to be imperfect and to share a simple truth with loved one’s and strangers alike. Hidden heartaches and private struggles, unifying us with kindness and empathy.
I reached out to a friend drawing to me a moment of strength and found something beautiful among imperfect pieces.
dirty secret
March 22, 2011 § Leave a comment
I schedule daily domestic duties for Tomorrow so that every morning I gain an extra day of procrastination, sweeping my deadline under the proverbial rug. When company becomes unavoidable I panic and throw myself, miserably, into a frantic effort to create the image of the life I plan to lead one day soon.
Today was Tomorrow. I flew through my home powered by caffeine and the threat my imperfect housekeeping habits would be revealed. The vacuum purred, the toilets sparkled, and I became a sweaty, nervous bundle of good intentions. By the time my company arrived my home felt eerily unlived in.
Moments after returning home from school my children created a ripple of clutter in the wake of my cleaning that seemed to balance the cleanliness with comfort. The misplaced shoe and trail of crayons seemed to scribble to anyone looking: Welcome, please be careful, Mom just cleaned.
retail therapy
March 21, 2011 § Leave a comment
My children host philosophical debates concerning the necessity of a new item. It began when my son was old enough to string thoughts into wishes, I would require he provide me three good reasons why the item in question was needed. I was trying to engage my son in practical exercises in logic, but often I found myself lost in a web of creative thinking. Bemused customers would sometimes follow us, smiling at the lengthy logic that would ensue.
This is where value rests, somewhere between wishes and needs. I have said for as long as my children would listen: If you have everything, there is nothing to wish for. Often I find wishing a greater indulgence than the luxury of having. Wishes are boundless.
I have my mother to thank for my sense of value. As a single mother juggling multiple jobs she overspent in an effort to provide my brother and I wishes fulfilled. My mother met each day with tireless endeavors to gift us sources of joy. I understood late the emptiness of things, but thankfully learned early enough to appreciate the value of my mother’s efforts. I carry my wishes like a list of reasons to dream and achieve. I remind my children that no does not always mean never, it sometimes means make a list, dream, and work hard. This is one of my greatest wishes for my children, for them to grasp their dreams and create a meaningful reality.
floss
March 20, 2011 § Leave a comment
Sometimes a complaint is a little like a spinach speckled smile, the embarrassing truth realized too late. The source of discomfort overlooked amidst a rhapsody of self-righteous indignation. It is the spinach in my teeth, the obvious truth hiding right under my nose.
I am realizing, within challenging relationships, that the situation creating distress is sometimes less painful than my own failure to step into the uncomfortable moment of conflict and stand firm, present in my own truths. Boundaries as challenging as opportunities, each requiring ownership of fears and consequences. I am working on the daily self-care of acknowledging needs and remembering to give them a voice before faulting others for not acknowledge my needs.
night owl
March 19, 2011 § Leave a comment
In the early morning hours, the persistent percussion of a cough interrupted my sleep. Adjusting my eyes to the dark, I followed the sound to my daughter’s room and prepared to trade sleep for the routine of pre-dawn adventures.
First, we took over my bedroom like pirates boarding a cargo ship. We pilfered through television shows and long forgotten movies then gathered supplies close settling in to rest in wakefulness. Crumpled kleenex and half-empty water bottles littered the floor, signs of a seasonal cold and unrest.
Sometimes this is when my children are most open, awake and restless they fill the quiet with stories and random thoughts. Through heavy eyelids I gather these moments in my children’s company remembering early mornings with them as newborns. Motherhood, unchartered adventures hidden among mundane moments, made extraordinary for my tiny companions.
a question
March 16, 2011 § Leave a comment
In an empty classroom, with only a teacher and myself as witnesses, my son approached a classmate and inquired, “Why do you treat me differently when other people are around?” There was no anger in his tone, but confusion and hurt in his large, unblinking eyes. Looking at the boys I touched my son’s shoulder and stepped just outside the room giving him a moment to receive whatever answer the boy offered; my absence inviting honesty in a neutral space.
This is a familiar heartache; my son seeking acknowledgment among his peers. I recall a moment when he was younger; smiling and eager he raced toward his Kindergarten classmates, a tangle of arms dramatically high fiving. My son reached the boys, arm raised overhead, only to be greeted by their backs. Confused, he lifted one boy’s arm high demonstrating the greeting they saved for one another, but could not share with him. The boy’s arm fell heavily to his side and my son’s smile fell from his face. As his classmates poured into the school, my son remained rooted to the sidewalk, head down. I waited beside him, until he was ready to look up. It was my son’s first rejection, a moment of childhood unkindness that could no more be explained than it could be erased.
Years later, pausing at the threshold of another classroom, I held my breath and waited perched to protect. Seconds felt like an eternity and then my son, standing tall and serene emerged. As we walked to my car, I turned to my son and asked if he wanted to share the child’s answer with me. He shrugged slightly and told me the boy said he “didn’t know why”. There was no clear explanation, but there was something more: self-respect. My son in the sub-context of a sole question sought honesty and fairness.
I stepped to the side and my son stepped forward; each of us trusting he was strong enough to embrace a challenge and accept the outcome. I offered him faith and gave me a beautiful reason to believe. We cannot make everyone like us, but we can insist others treat us with respect.
release
March 15, 2011 § 3 Comments
As we sat down to dinner, my son’s body crumpled into itself. Placing a hand on his back I felt him lean into me like the toddler that used to seek my lap. At the sound of my words, “Are you okay?” his face fell as quickly as his tears; recognition offering permission to let go. He holds so much of himself tucked away, like the treasures he gathers in his pockets. Thoughts flow more freely than feelings and I wonder often at those things left unspoken.
My daughter releases her emotions in powerful purging; words and tears, wholeheartedly, she shoves her emotions in front of her. Sometimes the storm of emotion whirling around her exhausts us both as she fights through feelings; her strength often keeping help at bay. I stand nearby, arms outstretched, trying to draw her through; offering comfort and a willingness to share the burden.
I wonder when we first begin to lock up our needs and how long each of us waits to share the burden of anger, hurt, even joy. This is a lesson I too struggle with. Joy so often feels fragile that I nestle it cautiously in my heart, terrified to grasp it firmly, fearful it might slip through my fingers. This truth came to me when my son, years ago, asked what my real laugh sounded like. It was such a pure question, laden with innocence and curiosity. He was looking for the joy I hide.
I cannot undo my mistakes any more than I can teach what I am still learning. Instead I am trying very hard to find my way as a mother, learning beside my children as we each embrace and share challenges.
misplaced time
March 15, 2011 § Leave a comment
I keep looking for my lost hour with the frustrated determination of one hovered over a square of carpeting, hands buried in loose threads of pile, feeling blindly for a missing earring. Something as simple as advancing my clock has left me feeling momentarily stranded in time; tired and disoriented. In another couple of days it will be as if nothing happened. Today I am groggily stumbling through my old routine with the grouchy belligerence of someone demanding a refund for a free meal. The irony rests patiently in the future. Come Fall I will step on the lost earring and howl in pain over the extra time, too tired to collect the free hour.
