accomplishing everything
March 7, 2012 § 1 Comment
Today began with a list, a quick itemized account of tasks and errands that needed to be done. In the early minutes of my morning I gathered my thoughts for the day ahead, scribbling items onto scratch paper. Then, distracted by the business of waking sleepy children and herding them through the motions of breakfast, I became distracted. Sitting at the table with my children I stopped thinking of what came next and enjoyed the spectacularly common experience of beginning our day together.
Driving my daughter to school she filled the brief trip with a stream of unrelated banter. Just before popping out of the car and waving a spirited goodbye she declared a little boy in class keeps making a handsome face to try to make her fall in love with him. I was in love with my daughter’s voice sharing a story from her adventures in Second Grade.
Late morning my phone registered a missed call. Checking my messages I was surprised to hear the sound of my son’s voice. He had called from school to request my permission to apply for a Presidential grant in hopes he would be given a job that might help fund his research. Before the message cut off he assured me we could talk about it after school and then ended with I love you. I love the dreams of my eleven-year-old son.
At noon I invited my husband out to lunch. A neighbor had given us a gift certificate to a popular restaurant and I seized the opportunity as an excuse to escape our chores and play. Indulging in a savory entrée and decadent dessert in the middle of the day for no special occasion we sat still and talked about everything and nothing at all.
My laundry waits in mountainous piles, but the people I love most shared pieces of their day with me. I have accomplished nothing and everything all at once.
self truth
February 15, 2012 § Leave a comment
I welcome moments of insight that foster greater consciousness. In theory. Philosophy and practice are sometimes divided by truth despite the best of intentions. I speak of truth in this context as a tool rather than a measurement of honesty; a conscious acceptance of specific characteristics that require awareness to live mindfully. This lesson is ongoing and often humbling.
Recently my husband accused me of being inconsistent. My mind audibly slammed shut and I began mounting my defense. Arms crossed and feelings hurt every inch of my body screamed I am not! while something deep within whispered Yes, you are. Despite indignation and wounded pride, I felt the familiar discomfort of a personal truth. This feeling of unrest alone was enough for me to be still and center myself in the problem, looking for the uncomfortable truth behind my husband’s words.
Some of my greatest revelations have been cloaked in moments of denial. The more forcibly I push away a thought, dissociating myself from an unflattering quality, the greater the truth. Marriage is a safe place for difficult truths. My relationship with my husband is built on an expectation that we accept challenges as opportunities to live better.
Eyes wide open I began to see moments of inconsistency. Shame or guilt lent me excuses, but truth offered me an opportunity to create calm from chaos. Inconsistencies linger, but awareness and accountability inspire me to consciously try my best to speak and act with intent.
Just as I was celebrating this personal truth I found myself noisily fighting a larger truth. Inconsistency was symptomatic of a greater illness. Old insecurities cause me to gather defensive measures close until I can neither see nor hear over the wall in the middle of my relationships. I am reacting from a place of defensiveness rather than welcoming perspectives that conflict with my vision.
In fairness to my family and the life we share I am standing firmly and accountably in these moments of consciousness. I am mapping the places where I am inconsistent to create more mindful routines that foster calmness. I am trying to take down walls, opening myself up to vulnerability to better hear those I love. I am penning my thoughts to hold myself accountable, welcoming humility, and endeavoring to accept these truths that I might live my best life.
living in love
February 11, 2012 § 2 Comments
Twelve years ago my husband and I were preparing to join our lives with a new life; marriage and family beautifully intertwined by the anticipation of our first child. Mindfully we leapt from a couple into a family and our decisions were centered in an awareness that our wedding was smaller than our marriage. Similarly, romantic holidays were happy excuses to celebrate the everyday rather than an occasion to remember.
On the Valentine’s Day prior to our wedding my husband and I stood patiently waiting in a quiet office for our marriage license; the date on our application our gift to one another. Practical and sentimental this act created an expectation for our life together. We pledged to make time for romance with small gestures and celebrate our life together not only on holidays, but on overlooked everyday occasions.
I often think that the birth of our first child blessed the early days of our marriage with conscious acts of love and a genuine appreciation for simple gestures of affection. Small details of our wedding day were overshadowed by the greater miracle of a new life. When our son was born early challenges drew my husband and I closer. More than newlyweds, we were friends in love with one another and grateful for daily miracles.
Romantic holidays and anniversaries are balanced against everyday acts of love, kindness, generosity. Roses or jewelry would feel wilted and tarnished without the hours of patience, humor, and care-taking that are hallmarks of a life shared. Arguments where opinions are honored and challenges met with honest endeavors to live our best life create a sense of gratitude that cannot be contained in lines of sentiment on beautiful stationery.
As Valentine’s Day and our anniversary draw near I am remembering little gifts, large blessings, and giving thanks for years of living in love.
call waiting
January 5, 2012 § Leave a comment
There was a time (high school) when I couldn’t put our house phone down. In fact, for a while I believe it counted as an appendage. Twenty years later, I don’t want to pick it up.
It isn’t malicious or lazy, I just don’t connect as clearly over the phone. Perhaps it is the awkward pause that sometimes occurs with my cell phone or the absence of expression. It could be the telemarketers and political calls that come to our house phone or the phone itself’s poor clarity. Instead, I have become a compulsive messenger. I make plans in e-mail messages and text messages to gather with friends where I can see their expressions and focus on the conversation without the distractions of my home.
There are three exceptions, my husband and two children. No matter where I am or what I am doing, if I hear my phone I look up to see if they need me. My own emergency red phone, a direct connection to three individuals whose well-being is directly reflective of my own. When we are together, I dismiss myself from a sense of obligation to my phone and center my attention on those same special souls. It isn’t that I don’t love my friends, on occasion I will collect a call when my house is restful and my family otherwise occupied.
Now then, as long as we are on the subject of phone use, I have a few personal no call zones. I try not to talk in my car, in a store, at a restaurant, in a school, doctor’s office; in a public space. I have crossed this boundary on a few occasions for my husband, son or daughter; on a rare occasion, for a friend.
When did I stop depending on my phone to connect and when did it become okay to carry conversations that are personal outside our home? I wonder this largely when I become witness to a conversation of which I am not a participant in the course of my day. This isn’t a new thought. My boundaries are not unique. In fact, I hope this is a conversation we all have at home.
To those friends for whom the phone does not ring, I hope you know that your worth cannot be measured in cell phone minutes. Leave me a message, I’m listening and I will call back.
capturing pieces
December 28, 2011 § Leave a comment
For Christmas I gave my husband a wooden chess set. It was a game he played in his youth, that our children have begun to demonstrate an interest in. The gift was an occasion to embrace my husbands sentimental nature; incorporating a piece of his childhood into our children’s. With one gift I gathered the past into the present with plans to stretch timeless games and relaxed conversation across quiet evenings in our future.
On Christmas Day, we scattered around the house after opening gifts. The chess board sat patiently, pieces guarding neatly mapped squares in patient anticipation of play. I waited for the newness of other items to fade under my children’s thorough exploration, curious to see which child would first come to the board on their own. It was my daughter.
She initially traded the crafted wooden forms for colorful Playmobil figures. Tiny, plastic, primary colored people stood sentry in perfect rows. She had staked a claim over the board, marking the space with her signature colorful, clutter. She returned later with her brother’s robotic arm and a look of determination. We moved the board and its proper pieces to the family table and began the first game. With stoic focus she juggled the rules while manipulating pieces robotically. At game’s end the board was shifted back to a side table closer to the tree to be rediscovered soon.
My husband and I, trying to carve out a quiet moment in the busyness of the day in the company of family, met across the chess board. We began casually moving pieces only to quickly engage in concentrated efforts to capture one another’s pieces. My memory of the game was crowded with cobwebs, quickly displaced by laughter. Routine conversations about school, work, health, family were traded for playful banter over the board.
The rules and boundaries of the game reminded me of unchallenged routines of everyday life. So often we lose ourselves to mindless movement, here a small change in our day created new smiles and simple shifts in conversation. Conscious intent challenging assumptions. The concentrated stillness a reprieve from thoughtless tasks. The gift of a game secondary to the gift of something shared. Capturing pieces of time.
seasons & sentiments
December 21, 2011 § Leave a comment
Christmas Eve I will not sleep, eagerly anticipating the first sleepy footsteps of my children tumbling from their beds into the hallway. For now, I want to postpone the unraveling of ribbon and wrapping paper. Let the surprises linger a little longer. I’m not ready. Not yet. I want to rest suspended in anticipation and make-believe.
I know each gift by shape. I worked without lists trying to select items that would find a home in the hands of the right person. Now, I can only wait and wonder if the gift will fit their wishes. If the recipient will feel that sense of joy that comes from feeling appreciated and understood. The silent sound on rounded lips that fills their eyes with glee.
This year, I want to pack away our ornaments, but leave the spirit of the season scattered like pine needles in the corners of our home. To wake each day in celebration of small blessings and with faith in possibility. I want love and kindness to echo like remnants of carols and candlelight to reflect the magic of twinkling lights. This year, I am not ready to undo the tidings of the season.
Dear Santa, stop here last.
before we say goodbye
December 15, 2011 § 1 Comment
My husband and I try to honor a handful of well-intentioned rules we made as newlyweds. Among them is a simple promise to say something nice before we say goodbye. Some days it is a rote I love you. and other days it is an intentional sharing. On days we disagree or accidentally hurt one another’s feelings we are more conscious in our efforts. The gesture is forced by an unspoken awareness that each time we part we may not see one another again.
This act of love has been a part of our lives together for so long I cannot draw into consciousness its source. It could be our son’s premature birth made us mindful of the fragility of life and our blessings. It could be the experience of witnessing the tragic loss of 9/11 in the media as a young married couple with an infant child. Certainly unexpected tragedies in our friends’ lives have kept our eyes open to loss and mindful of the blessing of time. However it began, our parting words are a priority.
Last night, we learned a family in our community lost a loved one. I looked at my children and realized that in another house there were children learning they would not see a parent again. In a sudden, tragic accident another family woke up today without the opportunity to say I love you. In the face of such tragedy it is easy to say that loss makes you appreciate that which we have, but I challenge myself to identify how I express my gratitude for my blessings.
If I were not home tonight to read bedtime books and kiss my children good-night, if I couldn’t share in the events of the day with my husband, if I couldn’t call my mother to share a funny anecdote about my children… would my family know they were loved? Would my heart and mind be at peace with our last goodbye?
In place of resolutions to improve myself, I am contemplating how I might extend my goals to encompass how I love. Brainstorming new ideas, critiquing old behaviors, and lingering over impulsive acts. I don’t have a perfect answer, but I am resting in this moment and trying to consider what I say, how I act, and those I love.
full heart
November 24, 2011 § Leave a comment
Thanksgiving began with my daughter’s giggles as she snuggled deeply beneath the covers sandwiched between my husband and myself. We fought of consciousness as she warded of sleep and slowly we welcomed the day together. My son slumbers peacefully, long limbs tossed casually across his bed lost to dreams. The past couple of weeks have brought moments of sadness and joy, each felt passionately with a full heart. Today, I pause to give thanks for the everyday moments that center my days in gratitude all year-long. Even on the darkest day, I wake to the light of my family.
making a list, checking it twice
November 16, 2011 § Leave a comment
It’s that time of year, the air has turned cooler and the wind sends me scuttling inside after a forgotten scarf or gloves. Mother Nature gently reminds me that winter is around the corner and with it the festive busyness of Christmastime. In anticipation of familiar holiday routines, I have begun my list of things to do.
Christmas cards are the pre-season tradition I most look forward to. I have not taken the time to hand-write messages in years and while I miss the quiet, individual endeavor; I am content to label envelopes that will carry pictures of my children to family and friends. My life long love affair with mail is heightened over the holidays and I watch for the mailwoman eager to exchange a greeting and collect seasonal tidings of joy. This is the first sign of the season as I gather materials in the hopes of sending warm wishes soon after Thanksgiving.
Cookie making I save for winter break, an activity more enjoyable when shared with tiny hands. My island covered with flour and sprinkled with conversation makes for a delightful indoor activity on a cool winter’s day. An afternoon indulgence of warm baked goods and cocoa are a pleasant break from holiday errands and outdoor play. I am less traditional and entirely spontaneous when baking. Each year the cookies are predictably different from seasons past, old favorites and new samplings eclectically gathered like old friends and new in celebration.
Christmas gifting. I try to shop locally, happy to extend my errands to visit with friendly faces behind boutique counters and to window shop quaint storefronts appreciative of the festive decorations that twinkle against snow and lights. In an imperfect world the warm glow of lights and infectious good cheer of strangers makes neatly wrapped presents gifts secondary to kindness and good cheer.
The days between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Eve move to the soundtrack of familiar songs. I hum, accompany off-key, and twirl between activities, happy to breath in the sounds of the season. Quiet will settle only long enough for little ears to listen diligently, half asleep for the sound of stomping feet and bells on Christmas Eve.
Decking the halls and planning meals will keep my feet planted in reality while my head swims with daydreams of sugar plums. Classic holiday stories and old movies will gather my family near in restful moments of stillness balancing seasonal outings. It is a time of believing in the possibility of magic and giving thanks for the blessings of loved one’s. The greatest gifts will go unwrapped, the sweetest treats stolen moments in good company.
food for the soul
November 14, 2011 § Leave a comment
Some days, less is immeasurably more. Today began with gray skies and pregnant raindrops. My list of house chores and errands sit unwritten, vying for attention. Instead of leaping into a day of busyness, I stilled myself dwelling on a singular task; nurturing my family with a meal. After a long weekend together the house felt empty this morning making me eager for school dismissal. Retrieving my trusted crock pot from the pantry and gathering ingredients, I directed my energy into the meditative act of cooking taking an extra moment to enjoy the process of preparing fresh vegetables. As the house begins to simmer with the scents of a hearty pot roast I am looking forward to the simple joy of family togetherness and a warm meal at the end of a cool, Autumn day.
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