heart wish
July 25, 2012 § 2 Comments
On a warm Fall day in the company of an eclectic collection of preschool mothers relaxing into lazy conversations while our children settled into their first day of school, a friend placed her newborn daughter in my arms. Already the mother of a little boy who filled every space of my heart with joy I suddenly found my heart wishing for a little girl.
I returned home that day filled with a quiet hope and cautious curiosity, eager to share my heart’s wish for our little family with my husband. After years of committing ourselves to exploring our days with our son, entirely content to dote on our smiling, curious tiny companion my husband and I agreed we were both ready to begin a new chapter in our lives. And so our minds and hearts began gathering dreams of someone new and yet unknown.
Like most pregnant mothers my greatest wish was for a healthy child. I set aside little girl daydreams and embraced the experience indulging in rest, random cravings, and dwindling days of Mommy & Me adventures with my son.
Then, on an August morning, my husband and I welcomed our daughter. Holding her gently against my chest I marveled at the realization of a wish come true. She fit into the quiet places of our hearts as naturally as the rhythm of our days.
Eight years later I can barely count the blessings of her presence. I dreamed of a little girl who would climb trees in princess dresses, but her life is greater than my dreams. She is familiar and foreign, a fascinating contradiction of predictable chaos. She walks with one foot off the path, testing her boundaries and creating a new experience.
I nurtured lessons in compassion and kindness, but my daughter’s strength humbles me. She is the first to out a wrong, will stand confidently in a place of discomfort, lend a voice when another will not speak in their own defense. She does all this alongside vulnerable moments of insecurity. She struggles in traditional areas of academia, but excels in the unwritten lessons of life. I marvel at her wisdom and wonder at her doubts.
The little girl who began as a wish fills our days with bigger dreams; she is a blessing that multiplies joy and lessons sorrow with her smile.
girl power
July 23, 2012 § Leave a comment
A little girl perched on the side of the pool said to her friends gathered around her, “We’re supposed to be playing a mermaid game with THAT girl, but we’re just pretending. We aren’t really going to play with her.” That Girl was my daughter. Waiting eagerly at the side of the pool where she had been instructed to swim to by her new friends my daughter watched just out of earshot for the giggling girls to turn into mermaids and swim into the game.
With my heart in my throat I made my way to the other girls. Bending to meet them at their level and speaking gently I said, “You don’t have to play with That Girl, but rather than pretend to play you should just be honest and tell her you don’t want to play. I’m sure you are nice girls, but the way you chose to act was unkind.”
My daughter could not hear the exchange and her form bobbed anxiously in the pool as I made my way to her side. Eyes pinning me to my place she asked in hopeful tones, “What did they say?” I wanted so much to tuck the truth safely out of harms way, but instead I repeated the girls’ words. Fat, silent tears slid over my daughter’s cheeks falling into the pool. Then without a word she slipped beneath the water swimming toward the girls.
My daughter met the moment’s harm with hope, inviting the girls to a second chance at friendship. The tiny Queen Bee that had made false promises to play swam away. Another girl distinguished herself from the group giving my daughter a playmate and a reason to see the best in everyone. I was reminded there is power in kindness and possibility in second chances.
sack lunch
June 26, 2012 § Leave a comment
This afternoon I was eager to capture my daughter’s new camp experience. Embracing a quiet moment to gather my thoughts I was distracted by a nagging awareness I couldn’t quite name. I began looking around the house wondering what was amiss. Looking to the calendar I quickly realized I had misread the camp itinerary for today, confusing it with tomorrow. This morning I packed my daughter’s mess kit for her group’s food preparation activity scheduled for tomorrow. Slowly, my error caught up with me. I had not sent today’s sack lunch.
My realization came moments before I needed to leave and collect my daughter from the bus stop. Negative thoughts chased through my mind. How could I make such an error? I am a horrible mother. What must my daughter have thought? What must the camp counselors think? Then, something unexpected happened.
My daughter’s missing lunch became another adventure woven into her day. She laughed at the “horrible peanut butter and jelly sandwich that wasn’t actually that bad.” The counselors reassured me the oversight was not uncommon, lending me humor and dismissing my guilt. Everything was okay despite my error.
Behind my mistake was a lovely lesson in imperfection. My daughter didn’t feel less loved. The counselors didn’t reprimand me for failure. Instead, my daughter and the counselors helped me to accept my own fallibility. Small moment, big lesson.
happy camper
June 26, 2012 § Leave a comment
In each lifetime there are moments we jump into and moments we dance around uncertainly. This week my daughter faced a new experience and as she worked through her emotions, I held my breath bearing the weight of my own uncertainty.
I like predictable rhythms marking the passage of my days. Despite a well guarded wish for easy spontaneity I often struggle at the crest of a new experience anxious for the comfort of familiarity. When my daughter vehemently protested participating in a day camp with tears and passionate declarations of resistance punctuated by quiet pleas for dismissal from our commitment,I wavered tempted to release her from discomfort. My maternal instinct, the piece of my heart that whispers reassurance in moments of hesitation, nudged me forward into the discomfort conscious of the potential joy hidden within the experience.
My nature lover would have the benefit of a new outdoor setting to explore, plants and animals to discover. My social butterfly would find friendship flittering between crafts and play. The little girl who wants so much to be considered big would be permitted room to exercise her independence and accept responsibility. I tucked my daughter into bed on the eve of her camp tallying these opportunities for reassurance.
My camper woke slowly, her smiles reserved as she watched the clock and noted the rising sun the following morning. Between bites of chocolate chip waffles the quiet was sprinkled with curious questions that seemed to suggest a cautious enthusiasm. Waiting for the bus my daughter stood just outside the cluster of girls, observing. I noted her eyes eagerly measuring her surroundings for clues. Last to fall into line I followed the shadow of my daughter’s form as she made her way slowly down the bus aisle looking for a place to sit. She settled in a seat alone and the outline of her profile remained unmoving as the other girls swirled around her. A friend from school appeared just as the bus prepared to depart, finding her way to my daughter’s side and lending them both the reassuring company of a familiar face. As the bus pulled away I set aside uncertainty for faith.
Letting my daughter find her way through frustration, fear, and uncertainty forced me to navigate my doubts. I do not need to shield my daughter from challenges or allow my own experiences to inform her expectations. At day’s end the morning’s hesitance was replaced with a calm confidence; uncertainty overshadowed by pride. In the space of a day we both grew a little more comfortable with the uncomfortable feelings that accompany a new experience; more secure in our ability to leap into a new moment.
gift of sight
May 23, 2012 § Leave a comment
This morning my husband and I sat with a group of teachers, therapists, and administrators listening to individual reports measuring my daughter’s abilities and weighing resources to best facilitate her academic needs. Throughout the meeting I felt my daughter’s toothless smile peeking between the endless pages of documentation.
As I make peace with uncomfortable labels I keep returning to the image of my daughter quietly asking me to look beyond the words and read this moment truthfully, wholeheartedly embracing her story authentically. To do this I must acknowledge my own truths. In a personal note to a close friend I shared dark words of shame: There is a part of me that wants to block this piece out, pretend it away.
The question is which part of my daughter would I wish away? There is no singular gift that is not, in part, tied to her challenges. Her sense of compassion for others fostered in an appreciation for challenges; her patience born of tolerance for differences; her creativity a lovely substitute for more conventional forms of expression. Which beautiful piece of her spirit would I trade for a simpler path?
Would I trade her ability to hear birds sing or see the sunset for the ability to memorize math facts? Could I trade the sight of her chasing fireflies or painting a daydream for a mastery of sight words? I cannot separate pieces of my daughter and still see her completely.
These challenges are part of her story and I am her witness. At the end of this journey I will know how difficult her path was and the effort it took to reach her goals. Instead of wishing away this moment, I am trying to honor my daughter.
hope & help
May 22, 2012 § Leave a comment
I have been here before; the emotional landscape familiar. Uncertain, hopeful, nervous. This week I will gather with the same team of teachers, therapists, and administrators that accompanied me on my son’s journey through elementary school to address nagging uncertainties concerning my daughter’s challenges in the classroom setting.
Where some rush to label needs, I have cautiously tiptoed the terrain silently evaluating my daughter’s strengths and difficulties in an effort to measure need. Bright and compassionate, resilient and determined I celebrate her character and growth. Young for her class and a little sister to an older sibling with special needs I gauged maturity and environment against my concerns.
As time has passed my daughter’s frustration has begun to rob her of her easy smile and confidence. Where I measure her growth against independent efforts, she has begun measuring her failure against others’ success. Once eager to line up among friends and begin the day, my daughter has begun to hide beneath her blanket and drag her feet preparing for school. This is where I cannot fail.
As a student of life I cannot bear the thought that my daughter could resist an opportunity to learn or that school has become a place marred by failure rather than a safe haven for ideas and curiosity. This moment of self-doubt must evolve into a new lesson in resilience. Tomorrow I will bring this hope into action: that we partner between home and school to create a place of possibility and nurture the spirit of education that my daughter will once again reach for the stars without first measuring the impossible distance from a place grounded in doubt.
our happy
April 23, 2012 § Leave a comment
It began with a line from the movie “We Bought a Zoo”. Their happy is too loud. The little girl in the movie identified the noisy sounds of a neighbor’s party as a loud happy. A week later, between the bedtime routines of bath and books, my daughter assured me it is okay for my happy to be noisy.
My happy is quiet and content. For me, happy is a noun. My daughter’s happy is a verb; she moves with joy and passion, those closest to her cannot escape the emotion that flows between everything she does. From painting to swinging beneath a brilliant sky, her company carries an exuberance that tugs at your smile and dares you to keep from giggling.
Most often, my daughter is the person that makes me forget myself; I get tangled in the curious language that encompasses her wisdom and humor. Her thoughts are as genuine as they are amusing and somewhere in her delivery I applaud my good fortune that my days are sprinkled with spontaneity and smiles.
My little girl is the first person to reach for our hands, tend to our hurts, and celebrate our accomplishments. Her happy weaves itself around my contentment, the balance of her noise and my silence a lovely duet.
home
March 18, 2012 § 3 Comments
A place within and in between, constant and ever changing; more solid than beams and bricks and yet at once intangible. My mind and heart are wrapped around the word home today. This week I have been preparing to visit my mother while taking care of my little girl, a quiet week with pockets of business and gentle reminders that home is a moment of understanding and recognition between two people of something shared but unspoken.
The past few weeks I have watched my vivacious seven-year old side kick fight off a variety of irritating cold and flu symptoms. Yesterday a fever robbed my little girl of her smile and she drifted into a deep sleep; I was restless without the playful antics and dramatic declarations that punctuate my daughter’s days. Today, as she tugs joyfully at my patience with stubborn independence our house feels more like home.
Like mother, like daughter. My mother and I tug tirelessly at one another’s patience with the same predictability. We are as similar as we are different, stubborn certainties mingled with unspoken insecurities clutter the space between hugs and harmony. I have learned to appreciate the complications between my mother and I as both universal and unique; sore subjects and shared respect hallmarks of our journey as daughters and mothers in a sisterhood of womanhood.
This week as I prepare to share time with my family in the infinite space of home that ties us together with heartstrings, I am folding clothes into suitcases and unfolding old memories. Celebrating and giving thanks for my daughter and my mother.
constructive criticism
March 8, 2012 § 2 Comments
Teachers and specialists have assured me it is quite normal for a sibling of a child with special needs to become a miniature caregiver. In this respect my daughter is exceptionally normal. From the time she was born I would follow behind my son trying to help facilitate social experiences. I would watch to note his strengths and identify areas of concern that we might later role play or work through; uncomfortable dialogue and mannerisms that created conflict among peers. My daughter grew naturally from a witness to these exchanges into a tiny tutor in the subject of social behavior; actively identifying and demonstrating proper behavior in different settings.
Some days my daughter will guide her big brother with one hand on the small of his back, speaking quietly just behind him. She cues expectations naturally, predicting and translating his environment. She does this with love and frustration. At times she wishes him her equal and resents the imbalance her older brother’s needs create. Other times she is his greatest champion, defending him against unkindness and following in his shadow marveling at his interests.
My daughter has her own needs that have gifted her unique experiences outside the norm among peers. Sensitive and aware she aligns herself in the company of children sometimes marginalized and stands true in her beliefs in the face of other’s opinions. Recently she lent me constructive criticism for my own social behavior.
It began when another parent initiated a conversation outside my daughter’s school. I could not wriggle free of the exchange and found myself taking hurried steps toward the back of the building where my daughter meets me daily. I was late and she was angry. Frustrated by the distraction my daughter offered me a social script. She instructed me that in moments when I cannot be rude and I have a commitment to say: I’m sorry but my daughter is waiting for me. I need to go. She offered me the solution so naturally I had to remind myself to answer. Quickly I acknowledged the polite and appropriate language as well as the gentle reminder that she rightfully wants to be my first priority at the end of her school day. Then I pulled my daughter into a hug and celebrated her ability to recognize a problem, offer a solution, and share her feelings confidently. Internally I marveled at how quickly I had become her student.
It was a small moment on the outside, but my daughter’s ability to help others navigate the unspoken social rules that complicate simple exchanges is extraordinary. I pause here to admire the way in which she guides us all with a gentle heart and a quiet certainty, kindness and conviction.
out to lunch
March 3, 2012 § 1 Comment
Two weeks ago my daughter was ill. I kept her home for an extra day of rest before returning her to the school day routine. Her first day back was a Friday and on this particular day her father and I found our lunch hour free. Having promised my daughter a warm lunch to build her strength we invited our little girl out to lunch.
The weekend passed and my daughter’s cough lingered enough that by Monday I decided to schedule Mom & Me lunch dates for the week to make certain my daughter was eating a balanced meal and keep her out of the cool air over recess. Noon became a special treat for me; sitting in the office I would wait to see my daughter bounce around the corner. She would hold my hand as we walked the short distance to the car filling the air around us with a steady stream of information about her morning.
As her cough improved and the week drew to a close my daughter became quiet, eyes wide with uncertainty she said I am confused. On one had I don’t like begin sick, but then I am going to miss our time together. Lunch. Barely an hour out of our day had come to mean something more to each of us.
I have promised my daughter a place at our table on special days, our kitchen and my company staples. I know she will return to school lunches and recess with friends, aware of the importance of this social hour, but I am happy for the borrowed time.
scribblechic 