labor of love
May 26, 2016 § 2 Comments
I think there is a great fiction to marriage, one that informs false expectations and unrealistic standards. How is that two imperfect people could possibly perform a perfect union?
Of all our friends, I have yet to meet the image of my ideal that I held as my standard so many years past.
I’ve known dear friends who toss playful banter with barbs that wound. Others whose actions contradict the sincerity of their words. Few who are genuine in their brokenness.
Sometimes I wonder if we aren’t all propagating a greater harm in projecting elaborate performances of happily ever after. I like to think happy is a choice and responsibility.
My favorite couples are those who let the mask slip and reach for one another when it is easier to pull apart. Their anniversaries are more than a tally of years, but milestones that mark choices.
Our children understand the work of marriage with messy gestures of empathy and patience; our friends are not mislead by framed photographs of choreographed smiles.
My husband and I have been visible in both anger, sadness, and disappointment with the same honesty we share our joy and comfort.
On the difficult days I try to remember the man who held our children at their most fragile moments of life. On the easy days I lean into the familiarity of his playful disposition. Every day I try to give thanks for the home we build with our choices.
I want our children to understand that beyond the exhilaration of falling in love, there is a labor of love in the work of building a life.
Today, for just a moment, I want to celebrate the beautiful mess of marriage. For better or worse.
seasons
May 25, 2016 § 8 Comments
This stretch of time between school and summer, days that feel like weeks for the weight of backpacks burdened with distracted longing for sleepy mornings and frivolous afternoons; it is a season to itself.
Even in our new home, where the expectations are uncertain for the unfamiliar terrain of potential distractions, the days feel like an echo of seasons past; the shape of our resistance to routine a performance of muscle memory.
Just two more sleeps, three full school days. One band lesson and three final exams. We can count our anticipation in endless combinations of responsibilities.
The next few days are predetermined, a tidy accounting of borrowed books and final assignments; classroom celebrations and yearbook exchanges. It is the days to come that pull our attention toward something else.
Unclaimed minutes to wander new sidewalks and explore new trails. Ice cream flavors to temper warm days and stargazing on cloudless evenings. Friendships that form poolside and sleepy afternoons lost to pages of a new book.
It is something more still, it is an ageless season of common ground. A time to remember our youth even as we savor the experience of our children’s childhood. Remember whens wrapped around new memories as they unfold.
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.
same dog, new tricks
May 12, 2016 § 7 Comments
Our pup stopped taking the stairs during that awkward, otherwise unmentionable time, just after she was spayed. Still growing into her paws and too small for the cumbersome cone she proudly hefted around her neck, we dutifully childproofed our stairs to protect against pulled stitches or a herniated abdomen.
When her body had healed and the gates were removed, we settled into an amused irritation at our pup’s stubborn refusal to take the stairs; letting her in and out alternate floors of our home so that she could chase the difference in height through our old backyard. It was a small concession for her comfort.
Then, we moved.
Much like our old home, the second floor bedrooms were left to chaos. Our son’s desk and floor are often littered with books and incomplete tinkering; our daughter’s room, a confetti of small figurines and haphazard art supplies. Both children are champion hoarders with colorful treasures that hint at curiosities and distraction.
With the exception of bath time, I thankfully accepted our pup’s convenient disinterest in our children’s space. Less dog hair and no muddy paws, no hazardous pieces that might be ingested or unpleasant inconveniences.
One morning last week, while making breakfast, I playfully asked our pup to wake up the kids. A frivolous command, served over unfinished coffee with a hefty suggestion of sarcasm. I might have just as easily asked her to set the table.
With an ease and familiarity the belied her normal behavior, she strolled upstairs and jumped into first one child’s and then the other’s bed. Sitting over them and nudging them awake until they tumbled, still wrinkled with sleep, to the table. That first morning we watched our pup with unchecked fascination, measuring the possibility and cautious least we break the spell.
It never occurred to us she had changed her mind.
Over the past few days, she has added bedtime to her responsibilities; sitting on my son’s computer and stretching across my daughter’s books, curling against their legs or pacing between bedrooms.
The floors need vacuuming and the bedding is wrinkled and dirty, but it’s a small inconvenience for the smiles in between floors.
counting down & saving up
May 3, 2016 § 6 Comments
Yesterday my son bemoaned Monday with the comfortable familiarity of routine irritation. I commiserated with an empathetic encouragement: Only three more Mondays to go until summer vacation!
Immediately I reveled in the tiny number that seemingly shrunk the weeks ahead to days until I could almost see past the month ahead. We can endure the necessary demands of the day; an end is in sight. Early mornings of monotonous predictability and days toiled at tasks of someone else’s choosing.
Except, if we’re lucky, there are a lifetime of Mondays to come and that mindset doesn’t account for the sweet spontaneity of pleasure each day offers.
I don’t want to save up my joy, to dwell so completely in something uncertain, that I miss the moment standing before me. If each week is divided by labor and love, then I want to create patterns in my day that inspire pleasure without procrastination. Monday should get to dress up in Friday’s eagerness and borrow a little of Sunday’s grace. I want my children to look for possibility alongside responsibility, play and work in the same day.
For me, part of that joy is counting down tomorrows; childhood paper chains we trim to mark the days and whimsical X’s to strike a path of pleasure across paper squares of time. It is an act of faith in goodness to come that overflows into today; anticipation that creates a spark of delight.
This morning my thoughts and smiles are snagged on how I live anticipation, in the present. Where I save up happiness for another day and where opportunities present occasions to make this moment count.
to my husband
April 22, 2016 § 1 Comment
While you were gone I picked up your birthday present. I know it’s late and that we don’t dwell on gifts, but this time the object is less material and more an investment in time spent together.
I was passively procrastinating purchasing your gift when my good intentions and last minute plans were rerouted for an unscheduled trip to urgent care the morning of your birthday. I rallied that day just long enough to honor our family birthday traditions, all the while simultaneously relieved and remorseful that I had failed to follow through on an old promise.
I almost let myself off the hook, noting the obvious intervention of Fate, when the store closest to home sold out of their inventory. Three days later we celebrated our son’s milestone birthday and it felt as if the moment to revisit your birthday had passed.
Except, this past Christmas, when I told you exactly what I wanted in a rare and specific request – you made that happen. Even when our daughter spoiled the surprise, discovering my gift hidden in an unusual place, I was no less grateful that you listened.
This week, when a small window of time presented itself, I rerouted my attention and traced down your gift. Two stores and almost ten days later, I bought a bike. For me. For you.
We’ve been married long enough that we can laugh at my (lack of) balance on wheels with the same honesty I curse your fantasy of family bike rides. But what is marriage if not a compromise of dreams and imperfect performances of balance?
I’ve been listening.
Love, Me
space between
April 21, 2016 § 4 Comments
At the beginning of this last semester of the school year, I bridged a complicated discussion with my son. We had just met with his advisor and despite my intentions, I was suddenly letting my fears for his future drive the language I used.
Less than inspiring, I was passively critical. I judged his effort and dictated what my expectations looked like. Then, my son, after patiently allowing me to rant, asked: What if that’s not what my trying looks like?
That’s it.
There was no impassioned speech or angry barb, no defensive posturing or rebellion. Just a question that created space between us to really listen. I wrote his question down and have returned to it often.
This is what I’ve come to realize. There is a space between the stories we tell ourselves and our truths, the uncomfortable gap in assumptions and perceptions that can muddle our peace of mind. Fears that whisper to our insecurities and feed doubt, undermining our relationships with ourselves and others.
I don’t want to clutter these last years of high school living for an uncertain future with a manic mindset that fosters panic over presence. I think there’s a tendency towards fear of missing out that discounts simpler certainties.
Whatever the future holds for my son, right now he’s sharing his fears and hopes, connected to his family and invested in others’ well-being. He’s a good guy with a great sense of humor and an easy gratitude for less.
Equally important, my daughter is listening and framing her understanding of how we talk about what trying looks like.
In our home, I want there to always be space between us to question honestly and talk openly.
Murphy’s Law
April 19, 2016 § 5 Comments
It is an infallible inevitability that whenever my husband must travel for work, something will go wrong. In fact, I plan accordingly for chaos; I fold it into my expectations the way my husband neatly packs his bags. Sometimes I wonder if a cartoon cloud has been assigned my schedule or if I am responsible for inviting rain with the force of my thoughts.
Less a pessimist and more a planner, I persistently endeavor to ready myself for worst case scenarios. The truth is we are never truly prepared; we rise to challenges by choice.
Here is what a spontaneous hour at the veterinarian reminded me:
- We create space in our lives for risk. Dogs, like children, do not defer to convenience and our commitment to them demands we detour as necessary.
- Children are more capable than we assume, they thrive with responsibility because it validates their unique strengths and reinforces messages of ability over need.
I’m not in a hurry to do yesterday over, but I’m pretty proud of myself and my children. We were present for one another and accountable for ourselves. Our pup is on the mend and we’ve added a new story for when my husband returns home.
Murphy’s Law might dictate anything that could go wrong will, but I like to think everything worked out just fine.
spring break
March 18, 2016 § 2 Comments
This past week my family relaxed into time off, at home. From the onset of our week together I wanted desperately to create what we could not escape to; setting our expectations to those we retrieve for travel.
On vacation we plan for patience, anticipate unpredictable disruptions, and tolerate moderate discomfort for the indulgence of extravagant presence. We bring our most comfortable selves and unpack reserves of kindness. It is the thing we save for in anticipation of joy, but it is a destination we too generally dismiss as unattainable in the fast paced demands of work and school days.
Vacation is an idea we too often save for special occasions; a mindset that threatens a belief in scarcity that drives fear over faith.
As we return to routine from the freedom of unstructured demands, I’m holding tightly to a greater awareness of how I divide my attention; where I am gentle with myself and generous with my family. I’m planning more consciously for those relationships that nurture my spirit and those activities that breathe balance into my schedule.
I want to remember how in moments of unexpected frustration we can choose to lean into the temporary discomfort of inconvenience with a perspective that anticipates pleasure. To order my time in a way that I am better able to tend to priorities and to prioritize indulgences of care. I want to expect joy and assume a wealth of opportunity.
family culture
March 3, 2016 § 5 Comments
It began with a sixth grade social studies assignment; innocent questions intended to create an intimate classroom discussion on culture. An exercise familiar across generations for the interpersonal research – facts shaped by stories. A heritage of self in family interviews.
Faith that infers belief, foods that speak to nationalities, traditions that honor sentiment. Easy questions tugged at difficult subjects. Not all family traditions are kind, some truths are more telling.
When I met my husband I imagined our children would inherit his family’s traditions. My childhood holidays were only consistent in their predictable inconsistencies. My mother was poor and my father was unburdened by an obligation to nurture superficial normalcies.
I was honored to accommodate my husband’s experiences; advent chocolates and Saint Nicholas day, an eccentric Easter tradition and a few family recipes. It was a more uncomfortable truth my children remember from the years before we found peace.
For my children there are only hints of heritage in holiday customs or hand-me-down stories. It was a history of substance abuse and greed that were written into the space of traditions. These are the markers that inform my children’s understanding of an entire ancestry of instability.
They are not the answers a teacher would expect and so this week I helped my daughter research a culture she never knew for a more predictable character of diversity. Learning pieces of a past that were impersonal for their irrelevance to our experiences.
Still, I am grateful for the innocent honesty of children. There is no shame to truth-telling; we are not bound to the choices of others. The geography of our experience is not a culture mapped by lines of latitude or longitude.
As a family I hope our faith is one of kindness; there is no denomination that informs the intentions behind our actions. Our food speaks less of heritage and more of health and community around the table. Our traditions are small, artifacts of a culture of playfulness and mindfulness – my favorite the intentional hugs at each goodbye.
These are the answers I hope echo in stories untold years from now when my children’s children fill in the spaces of self.
A legacy of love.
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