to my husband
April 22, 2016 § 1 Comment
While you were gone I picked up your birthday present. I know it’s late and that we don’t dwell on gifts, but this time the object is less material and more an investment in time spent together.
I was passively procrastinating purchasing your gift when my good intentions and last minute plans were rerouted for an unscheduled trip to urgent care the morning of your birthday. I rallied that day just long enough to honor our family birthday traditions, all the while simultaneously relieved and remorseful that I had failed to follow through on an old promise.
I almost let myself off the hook, noting the obvious intervention of Fate, when the store closest to home sold out of their inventory. Three days later we celebrated our son’s milestone birthday and it felt as if the moment to revisit your birthday had passed.
Except, this past Christmas, when I told you exactly what I wanted in a rare and specific request – you made that happen. Even when our daughter spoiled the surprise, discovering my gift hidden in an unusual place, I was no less grateful that you listened.
This week, when a small window of time presented itself, I rerouted my attention and traced down your gift. Two stores and almost ten days later, I bought a bike. For me. For you.
We’ve been married long enough that we can laugh at my (lack of) balance on wheels with the same honesty I curse your fantasy of family bike rides. But what is marriage if not a compromise of dreams and imperfect performances of balance?
I’ve been listening.
Love, Me
to my daughter
March 21, 2015 § 4 Comments
I wish I could capture the texture of a moment in type, to preserve what my mind will revisit in dreams and my camera could not contain. My fingers have been twitching with the words constricting the fullness of my joy, my mouth eager to whisper your news.
You can fly.
I’m not certain how we will convince your father you are earth bound. I keep imagining he will see the air that tugs at your feet or the windswept hair that hints at adventure, rosy cheeks and distracted smiles cautioning a secret. It seems impossible he will not read the difference in your gait or pride in your stance.
Today you road a bike. Pushing off of old fears no longer propped up by stubborn refusal, you swept across the cracked cul-de-sac of your friend’s front yard; eyes bright with certainty and your body leaning determinedly into each effort.
You are saving this revelation for your father’s birthday, gifting him something he has wanted for you longer than you wanted it for yourself; accidentally discovering pleasure along the way. Already, an hour later, I can see the temptation to try again in your restlessness.
You did this without me, my hope was too noisy. Now my joy feels too big, like I cannot possibly keep my happy still long enough to surprise your father.
I can hardly wait to watch him see you fly.
Love, Mom
two wheels
April 2, 2011 § Leave a comment
Each summer my son faced his bike like a comic strip superhero disdainfully surveying an arch nemesis, his gleaming unmarred bike mocking him from the shadows of our garage. My confident, resourceful son was rendered powerless on two wheels. With each failed lesson he would slowly spiral into anger, frustration, insecurity and fear; tears and temper sabotaging his efforts, he evaded the childhood milestone of riding a bike.
Today, on a beautiful Spring day, he found his way on two wheels in the company of a friend. I marveled at this child’s ability to direct and encourage, acknowledge and accept my son’s progress with quiet compassion. I struggled to remain silent wanting to be present at the moment of accomplishment having so long been a companion on the journey. Together we stood in strength and my heart burst in soundless applause as my son faced his fear on two wheels.
scribblechic 