eeny meeny
February 1, 2012 § Leave a comment
I am compulsively indecisive. Nursery rhymes help, sometimes. I often resort to itemizing Pros and Cons to weigh a big decision. Even then, with facts lined up neatly like statistics, I indubitably rearrange my thoughts, double-check my emotions, look around me at my options. It is a small irritation that I am determined I will not pass to my children, least they run off into the world scattered and indecisive. There are three things I do in an effort to nurture my children’s confidence in their choices.
- Whenever possible I create an opportunity to gift my children a choice. I do this intentionally. From food to clothing, book titles to movie genres I try to foster an anxiety free moment of empowerment with two simple words: you choose. I do not react to their decisions with terms of judgment like: good or bad.
- What do you think? I want my children to feel comfortable giving voice to the quiet instinctive voices that guide them. It gives me an opportunity to learn something new, but more importantly it allows my children to feel comfortable with their opinions. It has also taught them to ask other’s to share different perspectives, modeling a balance between speaking and listening.
- Take your time so that you make a choice you feel good about. Notice I didn’t say happy. There’s a difference to me. I don’t like to be pushed into something uncomfortable and I like to feel I made a good choice for myself. One day my children are going to be asked to do something they may not feel comfortable with and I want them to remember this lesson.
Small acts. Gentle words. Practical practice at thinking for themselves. Little things I hope help them to move confidently along their own paths.
funny pages
January 20, 2012 § Leave a comment
There are four years between my children, library shelves heavy with written words could measure the space between them. My son reads with a natural ease; ingesting volumes of literature like air filling immeasurable depths inside his small, lithe frame. My daughter extracts words from the pages of books more intentionally, she leans into a book exquisitely extracting each word with the steadfast care of an anthropologist; examining each meaning, attributing value.
In life my daughter walks ahead, aware of the world around her. She is fluid in unspoken social exchanges, communicating efficiently and appropriately. My son walks in the world like a traveler in a new land, his knowledge of unspoken social language broken and based in clumsily memorized academic examples.
There is a place my children meet as equals, a playground of social and literary; life sketched in clean lines and thoughts condensed into neatly outlined bubbles. Words and images spill loosely, thoughts mapped on the pages of comic books.
Garfield’s sarcasm and Odie’s boundless joy; Calvin and Hobbes friendship, innocence, and imagination; the clever contest of Spy vs. Spy; the contemporary commentary of the Simpsons. My children align themselves side by side as they shuffle through stacks of comic books. On these pages my son more capably navigates social humor; images capture emotional context with clarity. My daughter feels less overwhelmed in this space where images create clues that lend comprehension to new words.
More importantly, for those minutes shared between pages riddled with humor my children are friends sharing smiles and laughter over a book. Late at night and on lazy weekends these books freckle the path between their rooms. I find them scattered near chairs, among Legos, beside the computer. One picks up where another walks away; it has become a dance they perform together and apart to a silent unending song.
old habits
January 15, 2012 § 2 Comments
Little things and comfortable routines, bookstores and baked goods. When my son was little I would take him, swaddled in a stroller to our local bookstore where I could browse heavy hardcovers for myself. Once home I would nestle him in my arms are read aloud to share my first love with my tiny new love.
As my son grew older and more independent he would gather near the bookshelves quietly captivated by the images that danced among the pages of picture books. The hands of time stopped marking minutes while we browsed shelves for hidden treasures. Later we gathered my daughter into our adventures. Once our books were purchased we would celebrate with a small treat, stretching an errand into an event.
Trips to the bookstore were something we took for granted. Nearby and diverse in their offerings we filled rainy days, snow days, summer days and quiet days in familiar chairs. Employees were friends and the colorful walls of books landmarks by which we could find favorite stories and recall old memories. Our local stores now closed, we have found new stores for old habits.
Last night we made our way to our new bookstore, each child quickly found their places and curled into stories. Sitting among rows of colorful book displays and small children bent over books my heart was full for the easy friendship among readers; the shared solitude and community of dreamers.
We celebrated our findings over a simple meal at a nearby bakery; my son hiding his new books on his lap beneath the table unable to leave them unattended and my daughter eagerly reaching for and hovering over her brother’s selection desperate to share. The books were closed only to eat. The car ride home was quiet as each child held open books in their arms stealing a moment in the glow of a dome light. A flurry of footsteps marked our return home as both children scurried upstairs to their rooms eager to finish new books and joyful with old habits.
for joy
January 13, 2012 § 2 Comments
I was very young when I declared to my parents and a family friend that I wanted to be a teacher when I grew up. My step mother was an elementary school teacher and this afforded me the gift of visiting a school in the quiet months of summer. I have a deep affinity for the space of classrooms, knowledge resting among the walls and tucked in reference books for the finding. My childhood declaration was met with doubt and adult reminders that prioritized monetary gain over dreams. I did what children do, I hid my wish keeping it safe from judgment until it was forgotten.
By the time I left for college, my future was mapped with others’ shoulds: You should be an attorney. I studied in preparation for law school; choosing classes dense with reading and writing, subjects that were diverse and demanded critical thought. I was hiding among subjects that I loved; my spirit whispering over others’ shouts. I was immersed in books that inspired me, sharing thoughts among peers and professors that lit fires in the quiet corners of my mind.
Then, before committing to a career, I became a mother. Each day I wake to life lessons and opportunities to guide my children. I gather them on adventures into books that push at the boundaries of their world. My tiny students with unique needs perpetually lead me to structure spontaneous lessons to help them understand their world. I am inspired and challenged on a path where I am neither teacher nor lawyer, ironically spending my days teaching and advocating for my children as I navigate school work and legal rights in an effort to provide for my children’s needs. My childhood dream found direction in motherhood.
As my children share their dreams, I try consciously to celebrate their statements of self. I want them to listen carefully to the whispers that come from within and to chart their lives with choices that resonate and bring them joy. I try to do this with words married with action, here. I am teaching my children to make room for joy in their lives, while creating moments of joy for myself.
For as long as I can remember I have written letters. Quick notes passed in classrooms, summer letters to school friends, love letters tied with heartstrings, and dreams scribbled in the margins of my days. I write for clarity and for joy. My children know that I do this and that writing is an expression that brings me happiness and comfort in the way building with LEGOs and creating artwork bring them pleasure and peace.
Slowly, I have invited my words to become a larger piece of my life. I do this cautiously, carrying with me an uncertainty born of those early statements of self among family and friends. I began here, where few could connect my words to myself, sheltering my feelings of joy from judgment. I still hear others’ shoulds. Throughout my life others have said: You should write. Should seems to shadow my joy, expectations suffocating pleasure. I have begun to internalize others’ opinions of how, what, when, why I write as measurements against which I gauge my ability and validate my efforts.
Then something special happened. My husband discovered pieces of me he didn’t know between the lines of my posts. My son serendipitously discovered a post and kept reading, celebrating my words with a hug. My daughter exclaimed proudly to a friend, my mother writes. People I love began to identify me by something I love to do.
I know my husband wishes this act of writing could evolve into a larger piece of our life, that someone would happily stumble into my words and open a door to something else. I know these are logical wishes and that his faith in me is a source of love. I am still growing, learning and dreaming; uncertain how to define why, how, when, and what. I am happy for a place to store my thoughts, for my children, for some day, for me. I write to invite joy and dreams into my day.
notable quotables
January 11, 2012 § Leave a comment
Wise and witty my children lend me humor and perspective in voices blessed with naivety and knowledge. I thought I would gather a few of my favorites to share.
If I am right, you must be wrong. My daughter has natural comedic timing. This discovery unfolded in her voice and eyes as she organized her thoughts out loud. Clearly, we are never too young to enjoy being right.
I wish there was a way to recycle wasted time. My son has revisited the subject of time desperately trying to make sense of its value. I cherish his realization that time is a resource we must not squander.
Adults over think possibility. I could not be more grateful that my son is already conscious of this truth. I am saving these words for him least he lose this awareness one day and limit himself.
You don’t have to have a man to be happy. I wish my daughter a life rich in healthy, fulfilling relationships and joy that comes from within.
My son to my daughter: You have a tendency to be very peculiar, which I find fascinating. May they both uncover the unique differences in those around them and celebrate diversity.
Next, I may sift through old notes for a few tongue twisters; early childhood sharings that come out mispronounced and rich in innuendo.
school & home
January 10, 2012 § Leave a comment
The other day I had a profound moment of uncertain, certainty. I carried my thoughts carefully tucked away in my mind, weighing if I should give them a voice. At day’s end, the house quiet, I told my husband I needed him to listen without questioning my sanity or nudging me into action.
With a deep breath and full heart, I said: I want to teach our son from home. Maybe. My husband, whatever his initial thoughts, honored my wish and kept silent. I unraveled my concerns and hopes measuring them each against possibility. The core truth: I’m not sure a traditional school setting is right for our son.
Earlier the same evening I had sifted through old pictures of both children with my daughter, noting the happy dimpled little boy of days gone by. In each picture my son was peaceful, whole. There were no worried lines on his face, no sadness in his eyes. Most school days I cannot see his smile and his spirit feels buried beneath sadness and anger. An eternally curious child he used to beg to attend school, eager to learn and make friends. Now he hides behind individual interests, his footsteps heavy with resistance as he finds his way to school. I paused in sorrow wondering, are we suffocating the joy from learning?
I still do not have an answer. I have new questions. Would I be facilitating my son’s escape from a traditional school setting that might better prepare him for life? Am I capable of providing a balanced, structured education that would prepare my son for a limitless future? Do I then keep my daughter home? Does she have the same option as her brother? Where do I begin and how do I know if it is the right fit for our family? What if I become ill, we move, the Earth slips off its axis; what then? What next?
This is what I know. Both of my children are fortunate to have teachers who are passionate about teaching and compassionate when faced with challenges, who see my children as individuals and communicate openly with me. Of course, we also live in a competitive environment where our children are measured endlessly against themselves, classmates, and nameless others. Teachers are forced to teach in preparation for tests and not all subjects are weighted equally. Our school days are short and our school years fragmented with oddly spaced vacations. There are gaps in my children’s education that I as their mother am obligated to fill; pockets of potential, natural resources overlooked.
I wonder if there is a way to draft a lifelong education plan that truly inspires independent learners. Is there a way to nurture learning and educate from home in celebration of the joy of learning while preparing our children to become contributing members of society? Do I continue to work with the school, outlining my son’s unique needs and partnering with his teachers to navigate this experience together? If my daughter is happy, is contentment acceptable or do I insist she be inspired?
I cast my worries to the wind and wonder what answers I might find.
relative lessons
January 2, 2012 § Leave a comment
The first day of the New Year was quiet, our children too tired to gather the energy required to antagonize one another. Until bedtime. In a moment of simple sibling dispute over territory, the day ended in sleepy tears. My husband and I stoically maintained a straight face and a stern presence despite our daughter’s precocious spirit and our son’s persistence.
Our son held tightly to his identity as a victim of longstanding torture at the hands of his little sister. He skirted his contributions to the exchange while our daughter willingly confessed to her crimes, passionately defending herself with a character portrait of her brother that left little room for innocence. My husband and I slowly unraveled the truth, veteran siblings ourselves, while hiding our humor behind carefully placed lessons.
The moments after our good nights were marked by appreciation and laughter for our children’s personalities. I like that our children argue because it lends them an occasion to work through conflict towards respectful resolution with someone they love. Relationships exist between imperfect people making conflict unavoidable. I admire both children for planting their feet in justice on their own behalf. So often in life there are times you must stand up for yourself and home is a safe place to practice. Finally, forgiveness is something they must find for themselves, it cannot be forced by an authority figure. My children’s tearful hugs at the end of their evening lingered just long enough for me to know they were not lost to their own feelings, but mindful of one another’s.
Tiny lessons relative to life.
how many sleeps
December 13, 2011 § Leave a comment
My daughter measures time in dreams. As we near winter break and Christmas festivities the days seem to pass at an excruciatingly slow pace; refrains of How many sleeps? pepper the waking hours with unbridled eagerness. Anticipation taunts our patience with promises of lazy days unbound by the restrictions of school day routines as we slip into winter coats and begrudgingly go through the motions of our days.
Eyes cast to the calendar I am longing for leisurely mornings of cocoa and coffee, lounging languidly in pajamas. Spontaneous baking and late night movies. Gathering friends near and embarking on journeys unplanned in search of happy distractions. I am eager for the sound of my children’s laughter in the middle of the day and extra hours to enjoy their thoughts. I am ready for the gift of time.
within reach
December 12, 2011 § Leave a comment
This holiday I hung my children’s advent calendars lower on their doors, a gesture of trust and an act of faith. I heightened temptation placing tiny indulgences just within reach. I simultaneously raised the bar for good behavior.
Silly or trite, this one act is a metaphor for greater lessons. Each day I try to guide my children towards a future filled with opportunities where risk and ethics challenge them to make choices that will reward them with meaningful relationships, personal success, and emotional fulfillment. They must be able to navigate around danger mindfully, without living in fear of a mistake; secure in their own boundaries but not limited to the sidelines.
I watched bemused as my children noted the lowering of the candy and stood taller with heightened pride. The treats were always within reach, I just eliminated the need for a chair with trust.
wish lists & inspiration
December 10, 2011 § Leave a comment
Throughout the year as my children stumble across new items of interest I instruct them gently to create a wish list. To set their hopes firmly on paper so that they may return to an item and contrast it among other wishes, editing their wants with a more concrete perspective. Some items are spontaneous and fleeting, quickly forgotten and never cemented in writing. Others linger throughout seasons and inspire plans and daydreams.
As the holiday season drew near, I asked my children to consider their wish lists and share a wish with Santa and a couple wishes with family that we might all know better where their interests rest. Amusingly, lists and letters to Santa sat incomplete. My son couldn’t put a finger on a wish. My daughter shifted focus to what the rest of us might appreciate. My husband shrugged his shoulders and I could not come up with a singular suggestion for myself. We are content, as is.
With this in mind I shifted my focus from fulfilling a wish, to creating something joyful. I turned off the television and refused to allow clever advertising campaigns to cast false dreams. I began with new lists centered in recent conversations and then considered how I might inspire creativity or celebrate individual interests.
I imagined gifts that might fill Christmas day with happy surprises and activities; toys that fit into the space of my children’s days and would feel at home among old favorites; well-loved book titles and things to make rather than things already made in another’s vision. The gifts are not excessive or extravagant, but wrapping them I was filled with anticipation for my children’s reactions.
scribblechic 