planning & presence
May 19, 2016 § 4 Comments
We are an unusual family in our casual attentiveness to planning ahead. There is little talk in our home of college and career, even less of accomplishment. My son’s sophomore year of high school is almost over, but he’s no closer to knowing what comes next and there’s grace in the absence of certainty.
We aren’t practicing for big tests or stressing over academics. Our son is only newly exploring who he is outside the suffocating influence of family we no longer see.
For years our son lived under the toxic barrage of great expectations projected by my In-Laws. Suffocating under the ideals he might change the world with exhausting messages of genius. It’s an unfair label for any child to carry and leaves little room for either dreams or error.
He was their Autistic grandson with Asperger’s who was “better than” everyone else. Only, he’s always only ever been a boy with Autism who is sometimes heartbreakingly average in the wake of distorted misconceptions. I wish that they had met the little boy drowning beneath their disillusions.
This past year, moving further from the influence of such unhappy demands, our son has blossomed without so many questions of college and career. Gone are holidays and birthday’s tainted by endless critiques of accomplishment. Without the yardstick of failure looming largely over his hopes, he’s dreaming his own future in a language that speaks more to character than qualifications.
Right now he’s figuring out high school, worried more about making friends than making the grade. Choosing classes instead of career paths. Someday will come soon enough, but today is already here.
sick day
April 27, 2016 § 4 Comments
The morning unfurled itself around the unexpected, a sick child who only hours previously had shuffled sleepily through her routines without the slightest clue something was amiss.
My husband and I had procrastinated our breakfast as I curled over my thoughts, head bowed over busy keystrokes of curious rambling. The day was settling into the loosely choreographed comfort of modest efficiency when our phones interrupted our efforts and reprioritized our attention.
Gathering our daughter from school we traded tasks, moving busily through the mechanics of washing away the early morning stories with empathetic giggles and gentle encouragements. Tending in generous swaths of presence.
It was only after toilets had been scrubbed, school clothes washed, and shared areas sanitized that I turned the corner on my daughter’s room to find her face partially hidden beneath her sick bowl; not in misery, but good humor.
Balanced atop her head, as if it were the most unexceptional accessory, was the silver bowl meant for emergencies repurposed for entertainment.
Pridefully impulsive costuming that turned everything upside right and back to normal.
These are my favorites. Remarkable moments of personality that dress up the predictable childhood experiences with indulgent individuality; shorthand of self in a universal language of play.
to my daughter
April 1, 2016 § 3 Comments
Lately there’s a single name that freckles our conversations with frustration over manipulations and mood swings, insincerity and gossip. I would love to tell you that this experience is a temporary discomfort, an unfortunate stage of puberty.
Poor behavior isn’t a hallmark of a common experience or a right of passage, it’s a noisy mistake in want of attention. Sometimes unkindness is taught and other times it’s a messy error. Its hard, in the moment, to tell why someone might speak unkindly. Its trickier still to breathe patience in place of hurt and inform a different standard of respect.
I’m sorry someone has made you uncomfortable in your space, but I’m impressed by your character. You’ve held your ground and offered second chances, owned your emotions and held other’s to their choices. You’ve stayed open where others might have closed doors while refusing to pretend away difficult experiences for an easier fiction.
When another child came to you with assumptions you thanked them first for having the integrity to ask you a question rather than spreading rumors. Then, you shared the facts, copping to your own unflattering behavior.
You can’t know yet what a gift you are, that your normal might be uncommonly exceptional. I hope you never cease to see the world with such innocent acceptance and generous understanding.
Love, Mom
to my children
March 31, 2014 § 2 Comments
I cannot recall with precise certainty the number of times we frequented the familiar paths of our favorite zoo. Instead my memories are measured by the echos of gentle encouragements and firm directives, sticky fingers and indirect wanderings. I hear silent refrains of impassioned pleas for overpriced, inexpensive keepsakes and the resistance of sleepy limbs contradicting curious delight.
At first sight you each met the animals with the unguarded appreciation of infancy; later with the hurried authority of toddler enthusiasm. Today we retraced well-worn pathways with the patient familiarity and mature appreciation of overlapping memories informing new experiences.
Despite the slow march of long days, I marveled at the unexpectedly intentional choreography of our path and the thoughtful acknowledgment of our serendipitous companions; one child navigating our course by map while another lingered for strangers struggling with heavy doors against the awkward weight of oversized strollers. I noted contentedly the quiet study of each exhibit and the charitable patience for young neighbors of chance.
Tonight, sleepy with the satisfaction of today’s adventure, I am unapologetically appreciative of the present; nostalgia for days past overshadowed by thankfulness for this day.
Love, Mom
holding a moonbeam
February 4, 2012 § Leave a comment
My daughter sings an Off-Off-Broadway interpretation of “Do-Re-Mi” intoning Julie Andrews timeless and beloved character Maria while playing independently in her room. I in turn hum a cheerfully content “How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria,” the lyrical phrases capturing pieces of my daughter’s spirit in a lovely melody.
She climbs a tree and scrapes her knee. Her dress has got a tear. I have watched my little girl grow from pleading to be hoisted onto a safe tree branch with toddler grunts arms reaching toward the sky to balancing herself in rain boots and princess costumes, tearing her gown while smiling proudly from her perch in our climbing tree. She embraces adventure as eagerly as she slips into costumes; moving with intention and grace all the while unhindered by dirt or scrapes.
She’d out pester any pest. Drive a hornet from its nest. I can imagine her poking a beehive with the same spirited curiosity that inspired willful tugging on puppy dog ears; mischievously and fearlessly testing boundaries. Still, her penitence is real. For all my daughter’s headstrong antics it must be said she does not take any joy from causing harm and her errors are met with genuine tears of remorse. Her heart is as immeasurable as her imagination.
She’s always late for everything. Happily distracted with her own pursuits she is often lost to the boundaries of time, stretching play to capture every drop of sunshine from her day. I can easily imagine her dancing on a hilltop mindless of the passing hours while scavenging for fun and celebrating every miracle of nature.
Many a thing you know you’d like tell her. Many a thing she ought to understand. But how do you make her stay and listen to all you say? Looking into my daughter’s eyes I catch fleeting moments of undivided attention only to have it swept away with the impossibleness of keeping a wave upon the sand. Keeping her still is like trying to catch a cloud and pin it down.
When I’m with her I’m confused. Out of focus and bemused and I never know exactly where I am. Unpredictable as weather, she’s as flighty as a feather.She is gentle, she is wild, she’s a riddle, she’s a child.
My little girl is the heart song that fills my day and I am grateful for the sound of her music; notes of independence and curiosity, creativity and make believe. She’s a problem I do not wish to solve; a moonbeam that shines too brightly to hold within my hand.
inanimate friendships
January 30, 2012 § Leave a comment
A beige, floppy eared, terry cloth bunny arrived shortly after my son’s birth wrapped in ribbon and celebratory well wishes from a family friend. I do not remember when my son first reached for the gift and I cannot recall a day without the treasured companion. My son’s shadow slumbers each evening in the folds of his bed covers beneath long limbs scattered in sleep.
The bunny is worn, the nose rubbed flat with toddler kisses. Tiny black eyes peer unblinking, a witness to our everyday lives. I wonder how many confidences his long, clumsy ears have been entrusted with and how many tears are tucked inside his stuffing. I can only imagine the stories the carefully stitched lips could share.
Often I find the limp limbs have traveled into my daughter’s room; she hides the tiny form, mischievously pleased by her big brother’s anxious endeavor to find the borrowed friend. In a world filled with change simple constants reassure him.
The bunny’s name has evolved into an endearment. The familiar figure represents over a decade of bedtime stories and goodnight kisses; memories gathered for safekeeping in a child’s toy.
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