girl next door
June 19, 2013 § Leave a comment
We moved into my husband’s childhood home the summer before our son began first grade, when our daughter was still a toddler. The sidewalk that runs past our home carries memories of footsteps shared between my husband and neighborhood friends. Over the past seven years my children have collected memories and chased friendships along the same concrete squares.
Yesterday my daughter filled an entire day with a girl from just down the street and around the corner. Our backyards practically hold hands but the girls have only played together occasionally, until yesterday. On a beautiful summer day they hid from the sunshine and interfering company of our household in my daughter’s room, occasionally scampering to our deck sharing a meal and giggling soundlessly behind the glass doors only to scurry back to play.
This day of friendship, exploring the corners of imaginary play until the moon pushed the sun from the sky with sad good-byes and tired eyes, was a happy reminder of our good fortune in purchasing a house that was familiar as a home, inheriting a stretch of sidewalk that leads to friendship in every direction.
trading places
June 18, 2013 § 4 Comments
Peeking in my daughter’s doorway at bedtime I found her form curled over a heavy volume of poetry, her fingers drawing an invisible line as her eyes searched the dense table of contents for titles. Next door her brother was playing a game. I paused in the tiny space between both worlds marveling at the unpredictable experience of my children trading places. Stacks of books still litter my son’s bedroom floor and pockets of cluttered play spill across my daughter’s room, but the child whose face was always tucked within a book was otherwise distracted and the child who struggled to find her way into reading was caught in the pages of a book.
I was immediately reminded of a time long past, a memory of a day under the sun as my children navigated a park. My son’s small form racing ahead towards a new discovery, my daughter toddling unsteady at a different pace in a separate direction. With one hand I reach to draw one child back while guiding the other forward. Standing outside my children’s rooms I could feel my daughter racing forward, stories and poetry drawing her into discoveries. Letting her chase words onto a new path I turned to my son silently promising to guide him toward new stories, reaching one hand back while ever mindful of the path ahead.
return to routine
April 1, 2013 § 2 Comments
This morning I begrudgingly answered the determined prodding of my alarm. Coffee in hand and sunlight streaming from the windows I fought the urge to tumble back to bed beneath covers still warm from sleep. In the quiet minutes before nudging my children from their own cocoons of tangled sheets I cast a silent wish into the morning light for one more day of everything and nothing, togetherness outside the normal and necessary obligations of routine expectations. Then, I shuffled my sleepwalking dreamers blindly through familiar tasks allowing them space for unspoken resistance without ceremony or humor; missing them long before saying goodbye.
holiday leftovers
February 24, 2013 § Leave a comment
I am always surprised by the extraneous ornament or forgotten keepsake that escapes my efforts to contain holiday trappings before welcoming in the New Year. Perhaps my haste makes this inevitable, still the sight of these items stings with an irritation that contradicts the sentiment that accompanies their unpacking. I am similarly unforgiving of holiday songs and movies that sneak uninvited into January, trespassers leaving footprints on an otherwise pristine calendar.
Last Thursday, my daughter invited Christmas to breakfast in the form of a question:
Mom, remember before Christmas when you would remind us to be good because Santa only comes for good boys and girls? Well, I was just thinking that we really aren’t that good and maybe that means that Santa isn’t real.
There. Smack in the middle of February I was stranded in December, grasping for traces of magic to ward of doubt all the while distracted by my own recognition of my daughter’s awareness. Thankfully her big brother was quick to lend reassurance giving me a moment to absorb the simple reality that both children are maturing into the very perimeter of childhood faith in fantasy, making me relax my guard against lingering holiday leftovers.
snow day
February 2, 2013 § 2 Comments
This morning the snow is falling gently, soundlessly, into elegant curves hiding the dark lines of earth below. The trees proudly hold their arms high, nestling the new fallen snow into their boughs. The world is beautiful and unmarred, hope and possibility framed on a blank canvas in want of children’s imaginations. My heart feels just a little lighter anticipating the delight this discovery will inspire when my children wake to play.
old habits
January 7, 2013 § Leave a comment
After two weeks of school vacation, days stretched and misshapen from leisurely exploits, today’s morning routine felt snug and foreign. I stumbled through remnants of a schedule marveling at how clumsy and unprepared my efforts felt. The moods of my companions chaffed against my enthusiasm like a cartoon cloud hovering singularly to spite clear skies. Groggy with sleep and movements heavy with resistance the breakfast table was dressed with melancholy. Watching each child slip into their backpacks, I too felt the uncomfortable weight of familiar expectations infringing on last night’s dreams. One foot begrudgingly in front of the other, seeking the footprint of old habits.
inherent wisdom
January 3, 2013 § 2 Comments
There are truths we know with unspoken certainty. They echo quietly in our hearts, tugging at our conscious minds, seeking action and holding us tightly to our sense of self. This is how I welcomed this New Year; appreciative of a new beginning, carrying my dreams dressed in hope. To my children:
Dreams are visions we invite into possibility with movement, lines sketched in our sleep that we fill with color and give weight with actions. Dream well and move consciously through your days. Embrace possibility and believe in yourselves.
dear someone else’s mom
December 30, 2012 § 6 Comments
I wish I knew your name, or perhaps I wish you knew my smile. I try to greet each fellow parent with a promise of hope acknowledging a partnership among strangers that we are our children’s village, nurturing tiny souls to take over our world. I would smile at your child and forgive imperfect conduct knowing that mistakes are part of learning and growing. It is with this same sense of compassion I would ask you to peer inside my story as a mother.
When I look at my son I see a genuine smile and curious brown eyes. If you were to see my son, you might see someone acting immature for his age. I see the differences that separate my son from his peers. Still, I wouldn’t change my son to fit neatly into someone else’s image – I love him as is. I demonstrate this with words and actions, loving him and informing him, helping him navigate his world as himself.
Today, when I read your comment that children marginalized by other’s act out because there is an imbalance of love and support available from their parents I felt the ache my son feels when a child criticizes him for his differences. There have been days my son barely made it through the door without releasing his tears and at least one occasion he openly wept, unapologetically for the harm committed against him. More often than not, there were no apologies or consequences for other children’s unkindness. Instead my husband, daughter, and I endeavor to wrap his wounds with words of love and acceptance. I wonder if our love is enough to offset the imbalance.
My son comes from a loving home, a “good” home if you will. So too do many of the children who lash out towards him in ignorance pelting him with words of hate and occasionally physical acts. I wonder if you would have me hide my son behind walls to keep him safe, or cage unkind children for their cruelty. How do we punish bullies to validate the victim’s harm without creating new injuries? More importantly, how do we inform children and parents so that ignorance doesn’t breed hate or indifference?
We are all someone else’s mom, but motherhood is universal. I believe in the essential goodness in all of us, but I stand as witness to the harm of childhood unkindness. Would you stand beside me? Would your child stand beside my son? Or do we point fingers and label one another? I wish we knew one another’s smiles and I hope we can share our stories.
Sincerely,
Someone Else’s Mom
(Note: I wrote this almost a week ago after a stranger’s words triggered an emotional response. I chose not to engage in a thread of defensiveness, keeping my words to myself. I am sharing them now in keeping with my experience of writing for myself and my children. These thoughts are not a judgement of others opinions, but rather a reflection of my experiences.)
to my children
December 23, 2012 § Leave a comment
December is a flurry of expectations: gingerbread houses, letters to Santa, homemade cookies, and holiday board games set to a soundtrack of Christmas carols. When Christmas Eve finally arrives I will barely sleep for the anticipation of your footsteps in search of stockings and gasps of delight; bright eyes and unchecked eagerness. Surprise will fade to distraction as you busy yourself exploring your gifts and I will suddenly miss the longing of the day before.
Here is the secret I took too long to understand, do not be too eager to have everything because there is something invaluable about carrying a wish close to your heart. The truth that makes the secret sweeter is this: the greatest gifts are ever present. Remember that the grand moments pass quickly, but the little things hold the promise of endless joy.
Love, Mom
a book shared
December 20, 2012 § Leave a comment
Once upon a book store, there was a book I could not leave behind. I tried to imagine a home for it upon my shelves, but it seemed intended for somewhere else. Wanting to keep it close, struggling to say goodbye, I wrapped it tenderly and sent it to my daughter’s elementary school library. Today I borrowed it from the librarian’s cart, sharing it with my daughter.
Side by side tucked among rows of books we marveled over the illustrations as we unraveled poignant prose. In our quiet corner of the library we followed a young man between pages as he befriended books, gathering stories into his life while writing his own. Happily, the story does not end when main character comes to the end of his life. Rather his story captures the heart of a young girl sending her on a journey of her own, giving flight to another chapter.
Page by page I revisited my own love story beside one of my greatest loves. It was a moment borrowed and shared like so many of our quiet companions stacked neatly in want of a reader. In this spirit, I share with you a title for your own shelves:
The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore by William Joyce and Joe Bluhm.
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