good, bad luck
November 8, 2014 § 2 Comments
A week ago I felt saddled by an inconvenient accumulation of, presumed, bad luck. My husband was distraught over an intentional harm that informed fissures in a familial and professional relationship that could no longer be bridged by hope. My son was struggling with the space of independence in his school day, creating new anxiety. My daughter was showing signs she had returned too soon to the frivolous busyness of her routines after a brief bout of strep only to succumb to a new bug that would sweep the coming week’s schedule into messy disarray.
For a moment, caught in the chaos of those I care for, my perspective was tinted in self. A common denominator to each individual, I wrestled with a responsibility to heal each harm; good intentions clouding my judgement with an assumption of “I”. Even my best efforts to heal were hollow as I hurried from victim to champion, saving everyone from an experience of growth in a reckless misappropriation of care.
It was only when my daughter’s unexceptionally, average virus demanded stillness that I could see the goodness in each uncomfortable experience. When my days were stripped of distractions and routine, instead bound by more immediate, simple acts of care, my gauge for need and measure of strength were informed by a different expectation of well-being. While my daughter healed in quiet restfulness, my efforts to tend to others were bound by practical limitations; anchoring hope in something outside the span of my control.
My husband’s hand had been forced to commit to change, but the decisions he faced were longstanding. The new trajectory of his days created greater availability for possibilities that had otherwise been detained in a dateless, someday soon. Our calendar for change had become tangible, dreams more attainable. The unpleasant circumstances that had been an uncomfortable catalyst simultaneously allowed us to look more honestly at those who had created the harm allowing us to create a guard against further injury through a more genuine scope of honesty; seeing those we love with a balance of truth.
As my husband navigated personal and professional change, I looked more closely at markers of concern for my son’s ability. When we, parents and educators, aligned need and effort, support and independence, it became clear the places we had overlooked room for care and undervalued ability. In speaking directly to my son’s teachers I was overwhelmed with the positive words that eclipsed the generic language of numbers. The same numbers that might have been cause for concern became reason to believe. Moving more independently in a new space and without specific support, I saw a child treading water successfully with confidence in self and care for others.
Misfortune was too easily defined by expectations and assumptions crafted by projected measurements of success and contentment. In reality, my daughter is healing with an exercise in care, my husband is growing into a new identity of self that challenges old roles, and my son is learning to thrive more independently. I am honoring my family’s individual measures of growth by mapping a new space of self that informs a quieter message of confidence and care for those I love. Embracing new challenges and redefining luck.
inherent loss
November 2, 2014 § 8 Comments
Some days I wonder at the legacy of loss that clusters against the sunshine of my children’s memories. Toxic family tendencies, cycles of unkindness that have caused my husband and I to build boundaries around our children’s experiences. Gone are the holidays of make-believe where we would shuffle frayed emotions beneath the gloss of traditions, suspending disbelief long enough to pretend we were something other.
Addiction and illness, patterns of abuse with narcissistic undertones and violent mood swings have broken the fragile facade we struggled to build for our children. For years we guarded family secrets with the same committed silence that informed other mythological hallmarks of holidays past. No longer.
As our children mature into relationships of their own we have begun to identify markers of self-respect and unconditional love with an unapologetic expectation of self-worth; hoping to inform a balance of self and other so that our children continue to love with measures of acceptance and forgiveness that do not assume a debt of harm.
We inherited a measure of heartache we cannot will our children, with this knowledge comes a new grief and a wealth of peace as we approach a season of thanksgiving.
love lessons
August 15, 2014 § 2 Comments
The day began a product of disrupted sleep. Our daughter struggled to collapse into rest, my husband’s sleep interrupted, my own dreams traded between places of need as I attempted to comfort my daughter conscious of my husband and son’s peace.
It is an impossible balance, inevitably as one falls asleep another wakes in a restless pattern of exhaustion. By dawn nerves are frayed, emotions tender, and we begin from a place of insensitivity and intolerance; each exchange heavy with misunderstanding. Defensiveness and aggressiveness cling like sleep to the corners of our eyes tempting conflict and challenging kindness with a bitter perspective.
The gentle words and compassion each so needs misplaced in the morning routine. Tired emptiness filled with frustration, no one’s fault and everyone’s burden. It is a sleepless walk of the weary, a moment that can stitch us closer together or tear at invisible intimacies. We share the deficit with a wealth of responsibility or divide hurt feelings with blame.
One day this challenge will have passed, but our actions and words will have created assumptions of self and family. Who do we trust with our worst and who inspires our best? Where do we find comfort when peace escapes us and where do we hide our struggles?
Today I am thinking of the little girl who cannot sleep. She is the one most tender to other’s emotions and most eager to carry the burden of another’s troubles. In this one act of sacrifice, accepting the discomfort of evenings broken in wakefulness, we offer our daughter what we may some day ask for ourselves. This, above all the easy blessings of family, an act of love and a lesson on loving.
the learning place
March 4, 2014 § 2 Comments
The space of learning is a constant source of my distraction. My thoughts on my children’s identity and accomplishment, confidence and curiosity are entangled in the environment of their education. My husband and I map the physical space of our children’s academics with the same attention we note the emotional and psychological space of their days as independent learners navigating unique needs in a traditional environment.
Most days I am as tempted to reject the boundaries of familiar classroom settings as I am to embrace its potential. Between rows of identical chairs there is a community of diversity that gifts difficult lessons in sharing space with children and adults whose expectations and values compliment and challenge our assumptions. Simultaneously there is a homogenization that too often undermines the individuality of the child who does not move so easily within the current of curriculum.
Over the past couple years I have watched my children slowly assimilate into a blind acceptance of the unspoken rules of classroom performance. With less curiosity for their world and a greater awareness of each error, I have begun to worry that the current they once resisted has worn away the sharp edges of their perseverance making them more passive students.
In my greatest moments of doubt I am reminded of one certainty: Uncertainties are the elixir to complacency. Resignation fosters stagnancy that decays the spirit of learning. With this in mind I am more consciously questioning my children’s days, looking for indications of acquiescence. I am mapping my worries with question marks, reminding my children (and myself) that learning begins within the intangible space of unanswered questions in search of information that challenges our comfort and sparks awareness for our environment; extending the classroom to every corner of our day and transforming our measurement of success to one of independent accountability in the pursuit of knowledge without fear of failure.
adding together
February 23, 2014 § 10 Comments
This week, in the midst of ordinary school day and work day routines, my husband and I will celebrate our anniversary with a stolen moment of togetherness. A calendar day made exceptional for the collection of days past. In much the same way our wedding was overshadowed in consciousness by the concept of marriage; our anniversaries are greater than a celebration of a singular day, they are a culmination of little moments across a year of beautiful challenges that nurture our promise to one another.
Our commitment began with an expectation of family, my husband and I joined our lives mindful of an experience greater than either one of us balanced by the independent value of each of us. From the beginning we were planning for a sum greater than two, but weighted in a sense of self and appreciation for the differences between us. I dwelled over these details as I drafted our vows.
In gathering words into promises I was as determined to map our future with partnership as I was to honor the individuality that first drew us to fill the spaces between us. My husband’s easy humor and certainty complimented my reservations and seriousness. We pushed one another as firmly as we pulled, creating a balance of understanding and curiosity that informed the way we approached the challenges we could not have predicted; premature children, special needs, and professional goals that required a comfortable familiarity with discomfort.
Whatever my expectations, the earliest days of our experiences as a married couple were centered in a selflessness and a practicality as young parents that grounded romantic gestures in gratitude rather than fantasy. Romance was redefined early with small acts of appreciation. Our needs were simpler than exotic getaways or glamorous gifts. A romantic holiday was made sweeter for our homecoming; beautiful jewelry no more valuable than acts of kindness or patience on the most difficult days.
It seems impossible some days to separate my experience in marriage from those of family. In my children I remember my husband and in my husband I am reminded of my children; ours and us often interchangeable. No less myself and yet greater still for my role was wife and mother I curl into quiet moments of self, reflective and uncertain, even as I reach a hand toward my husband for balance or draw my children close marveling at the passage of time; mine and theirs simultaneously.
For all the complexity of our experiences there is a simple math to our experience of marriage; we add together. Each new experience is a product of a series of choices; from the mundane to the momentous we move in a path together that allows for change and growth. We confront conflict, lend patience, borrow strength; subtracting self without sacrificing self.
I am certain there are equally beautiful love stories without children and whose path is built more intimately for two, but as I look back over the years I am thankful for the landscape of mine; ours.
musical chairs
September 18, 2013 § 10 Comments
Last night I sat beside my son navigating assignments and redirecting his attention as I watched my husband and daughter move with well rehearsed choreography around the perimeter of the dining room table, careful not to disrupt our efforts while lonely for their place in our company. By evening’s end we traded time for tasks, shuffling our needs for responsibilities; the music gave way to silence leaving each of us lonely for a chance to trade places.
My son moved from school work to bed, restless and resigned to the loss of leisure that balances academics and replenishes his spirit. Envious of his sister’s more carefree evening, she coveted my company from the corner of my eye. When at last I moved between children to find a place beside my daughter I traded play for conversation, borrowing minutes from sleep before dreams absorbed her thoughts. Standing alone my husband gave me room to mother, needing a companion to share the burdens of his day but giving up his chair.
This morning we found our way back to the beginning of the song, each of us circling around the table and taking our place. Moving into the melody of togetherness.
married with kids
August 11, 2013 § 50 Comments
A lecture lead to a book, which resulted in an apology that started a conversation. The lecture was given by the author of a book whose subject is parenting a teenager. The apology came from my husband and then from me. The conversation: how we parent our children with actions and words that create a subtext for love and marriage, respect and compassion. And visa versa.
This belief that parenting and marriage are connected by demonstrations of respect and love, kindness and compassion is not new. In fact, I would say that our mantra as parents is centered in an intentional commitment to Do Better; better than our parents, better than other parents, better than ourselves. We fall asleep mindful of our errors and wake conscious of our goals. Still, in action we sometimes fail with one another to model what we most believe; tired or hurt we speak defensively and act unkindly to the very person we promise to share our life with.
I speak only of my experience, from my perspective.
All of my parenting books and good intentions are balanced by my errors. Kind words unraveled by actions, values disproportionate to deeds. I am the sum of my behavior and my children mirror this truth. I teach as I learn and between knowing there are moments of brilliant ignorance. The greatest lessons in our marriage as parents have been those that come to us as we regained our footing, dusting off the sharp corners of our emotions to see where we fell. For my husband and I, most recently, we found that place in a book that highlighted how we behave in moments of frustration.
If I were to itemize our errors they are last words, criticism, and blame. We balance these with apologies, but the contradictions in our words create doubt. Knowing this, the predictable potential for harm in moments of unpredictable chaos, we can practice new expectations to lend one another the compassion and kindness we endeavor to teach. Where we lack patience we must learn to exercise silence to better hear and more consciously choose our words so as to create conversations that foster greater understanding in place of arguments that assign blame.
Where once we were two, we are four. Individuals, Partners, Parents, and Students in an experience that challenges us daily to look outside ourselves while demanding we look honestly and directly at ourselves. My husband and I are modeling for our son and daughter the partner they may become as they grow into a future of choices that reflect their experiences as our children and witnesses to our marriage. For this, I can do better.
walls
August 3, 2013 § 2 Comments
Tomorrow we’ll bundle summer clothes and unspoken hopes into our car and turn our attention towards a family weekend at my In-Law’s lake home. Once a source of directionless adventures stretched across endless summer days it has grown into a place of retirement designed around old ambitions; symbols of status have suffocated the intimacy of old walls who still whisper memories of days riddled with sand, sun, and water. Like the firmly drawn lines on blueprints of dreams structured to hold hopes closely, we have built walls between us to guard against harm and sacrificed connectivity in the maze of discontent between us.
This weekend we will move through old walls, lending our children time with grandparents while guarding ourselves from the tender places of our experiences as both parents and children; marveling at the distance between joy and sadness while standing still; trying to conjure magic from memories to gift our children joy and ourselves peace; preserving the past and building a future on the uncertain terrain of family.
road trip
June 25, 2013 § 7 Comments
These two words hold equal parts hope and dread. My husband speaks these words with reverence for an experience cast in nostalgia, togetherness and adventure on the open road. My anticipation is tainted by childhood memories of car sickness as my brother and I traded homes each summer at an insignificant point of travel from one parent’s car to another’s; suitcases of clothing and small comforts stacked with hopes and fears between hellos and goodbyes.
The decision to embrace this experience was simple. My husband’s daydreams of fatherhood and family are as important as memories of my childhood. In preparation for our upcoming trip I am making room in our suitcases for something new, settling into someone else’s perspective. It is the very theme of marriage, compromise and sharing as we appear in one another’s hopes.
I expect conflict in the confines of our car, moments of discomfort or disagreement, but I also foresee discoveries as we walk new paths and collect memories that will follow us home to the familiar place of our belonging.
extended family
June 23, 2013 § 2 Comments
This summer has been marked with friendship, my children’s and my own; the shadows of those we love filling our doorway and leaving smiles after goodbyes. Tonight we will gather friends who are family into our home. Unofficial grandparent figures who in moments of orphaned uncertainty, spontaneous celebrations, even mundane misadventures lend us the comfort of family.
These special souls are cornerstones in our children’s community, neighbors whose presence serve as silent reminders of days past. For one couple their home carries memories of my husband at our children’s ages, his stories and our children’s overlapping like seams of wallpaper. Further down the street and just around a corner lives another couple, compassionate souls who gift us acceptance despite complicated experiences. They know us in a rare and eclectic gathering of memories, one half simultaneously educator and friend. They are a home to which you find yourself knocking for a temporary distraction because there is something reassuring in their steadfast kindness.
Today while I plan for the evening ahead, I am thinking of the years of shared moments between our homes and giving thanks for family born of friendship.
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