goodnight, home
December 13, 2015 § 2 Comments
The day is done, it is already tomorrow. Rain drums heavily against the darkness in the early minutes of a new day. Our dog is curled into her corner, sleeping peacefully to the quiet hum of the dishwasher. My husband and children are already lost to dreams, limbs heavy with contentment.
As our home settles into sleep, I admire the confetti of chaos that illuminates an evening of happy distractions. Leftover dishes and the lingering smell of delicious indulgences. A minefield of Legos and remnants of construction paper creations; discarded toys unfinished storylines of play.
For every guest we clean our home in a gesture of care; sweeping the floors and counters, tidying the restrooms and storing away evidence of our mess. We do this to tend to comfort, but it is a cozier home with imperfect corners of shared time.
The footpath of daily life creates a gentler expression of home. I forget this each time until goodbyes, when I look to dirty dishes that speak of full bellies and the scattering of toys that hint at creative curiosities.
As I wish our home goodnight, I promise to leave the mess for new memories.
almost & never
July 20, 2015 § Leave a comment
This weekend has been a race between almost and never; a contest of wills as we tackle last minute projects with frenzied attentiveness despite sleepy heads and heavy limbs. Every effort is informed by a fierce optimism, every uncertainty tempered by evidence of our ability. We’ve made remarkable progress and we’re near the end of our preparations, but these last 24 hours will not wait on our readiness.
New stairs and finished doors, tidy trim and patched paint, boxes stored and shelves emptied. We’ve uncovered wood floors and borrowed art, shuffled furniture and scavenged treasures for elements of interest. We’ve taken the shape of a home that fit our comforts and created room for someone else’s hopes with old-fashioned hard work.
In a month we will not remember the sore muscles and cluttered counter tops, the grit of our floor between projects and the smell of fresh paint, but we will not soon forget the community of kindness that made the impossible attainable these past two days. Friends who distracted our daughter with time away from home; others who supplied meals while we were too busy to plan and too hurried to cook; another, still, who sacrificed family time to set the stage for our sale.
We’re almost finished, but we could never have done this alone. Thank you.
guarding joy
July 12, 2015 § Leave a comment
During these early days we have held our news cautiously among only a few close family and friends. My mother, our children, family friends who are unofficial grandparents to our children, and old friends from before we became a family. When I look back on this time, I want to remember the outpouring of love and positive words that marked this transition. The generosity of this kindness has made our work a happier endeavor and for that I will be ever grateful.
As more friends return from summer vacations and calendar dates invite occasions to share our news, I am hopeful we can sustain this space of positivity for our children as we celebrating this new chapter of our story.
Both children will be navigating complicated conversations cluttered with difficult emotions. I cannot control the impossibility of unanticipated goodbyes any more than I can predict the uncertainty of our welcome into a new neighborhood of strangers; both invaluable lessons in navigating the unpredictable. For now I am encouraging both children to lead with a smile and listen with tenderness, to guard their joy in a way that creates an expectation of enthusiasm that allows others to follow their example.
consuming joy
August 12, 2014 § Leave a comment
Yesterday I overcooked. An unexceptional Monday, so often overlooked for celebration by the cumbersome burden of interrupting weekend distractions with the responsibility of weekday obligations, became an unlikely excuse to invite a spirit of festivity. With friends more akin to family and recipes that could be traced to the warmth of loved ones’ kitchen tables, we filled the air with the scents of comfort and the sounds of cheer.
The servings that fortified my body were proportionate to the joy that fed my soul. I woke today more peaceful, a distracted contentment weighing my movements in a spiritual sunshine that buoyed me against gray skies and a cool drizzle. Rather than hide beneath an umbrella, casting off the darkness, I moved into the dampness carrying my light within.
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.
it takes a village
October 8, 2011 § Leave a comment
My son is having peer problems at school. It began with a group taunting him with an inappropriate rhyme. Then, someone was unkind during gym class. Most recently a peer was disrespectful while waiting for the school bus. When my son came home in gym clothes because his school clothes disappeared from his locker my strength wavered. I reached out to a friend and to my son’s school for support, reassurance, and guidance. It takes a village to raise a child.
We build confidence and self-esteem at home. Then, in moments of difficulty we nurture our strength with numbers. When peers, parents, and teachers stand behind a child the weight of a challenge becomes bearable. The message of compassion and value dispels toxic notions of unworthiness.
It is important to note I do not allow my son to play victim. I try to give him a new script and recast supporting roles as needed. Each unfortunate experience begins with, you do not deserve to be treated that way. Then I try to open up a dialogue that allows my son to look at the problem, generate possible solutions, and reinforce self-worth. We have a similar conversation when he is unkind.
My conversations with teachers are centered in creating awareness and a sense of safety in the space of a school day. I try to fight against labeling children bad. Rather I look towards the problem causing children to act badly, trying to determine how best to help my son navigate his day with both compassion and self-respect.
I turn to my friends for wisdom. As a mother I am continually finding my way and looking to other strong women for guidance. Some days, they are my sounding board, other times they are fantastic listeners, but more often they are a fresh perspective that lends balance to a moment mired in my own concerns.
Throughout our misadventures in 6th grade, I have had the strength of a village. May every child know a community of compassion and concern that celebrates and reinforces a strength of character empowering a future of possibility.
wishes and wants
September 3, 2011 § 1 Comment
I have simple wishes. On my birthday I wish for the company of my husband and children, the anticipation of cake, and handmade cards from my children. Predictably, each year my husband asks what I want for my birthday. I want my wishes to come true.
I love a happy surprise wrapped in a bow, but tokens of affection have little value if unaccompanied by sentiment. I want to wake up to cuddles from my children and to share an easy day of togetherness without arguments or anxiety. I want to spend each meal distracted by a sugary confection tucked away for later. Despite my love of beautiful stationery, I want to read my children’s wishes woven around art that fills the blank spaces of homemade cards.
Friends sometimes fill the day with treats, my preference is time. I have no need for gifts, I rather share a meal or conversation. Time is an indulgence, most of us too busy to sit still, but it is my favorite gift: the company of people I love and the sound of their laughter.
Inevitably someone will ask how old I am. There are those that antagonize over a number: age, weight, IQ, income. I prefer undefined anonymity. I scatter my numbers to the wind, happy to let go of such boundaries and definitions. On my birthday I am no different, I think less of the progression of time and more of sentiment. I cherish birthdays past and stay present, uhurried as I look to the future.
In the days following, someone will ask if I had a nice day or if I received everything I wanted. The answer is: most days my wishes come true, I am rich in the blessings of family and friends.
silent clapping
August 8, 2011 § Leave a comment
I am a noisy quiet person which is to say I may appear reserved (I smile and nod a lot), but internally I am bouncing up and down clapping. For example, when I see a friend, I am silently clapping. There was one occasion when reunited with my high school best friend that I did, in fact, bounce and clap across a parking lot almost toppling her with enthusiasm. That moment aside, I typically keep a lid on my crazy.
Ironically, I am drawn to personalities that are boisterous and outgoing. I settle into their noise and my heart is peaceful in their company. My husband is a good example. He is a natural storyteller, capable of capturing others’ attention with tones and gestures mindful to exclude the mundane and exaggerate comic gems; inciting laughter with ease. Similarly, I have friends that will spontaneously wrap me in a bear hug or alternately declare an opinion with bravado. I am fairly certain others are aware of the invisible spotlight of confidence that seems to follow these individuals casting a warm glow that draws you into their company. I love watching these people because, like my children, their hearts are limitless and their minds are brilliant, wildly entertaining, open books.
On rare occasions, quiet people make me noisy. Uncomfortable without the balance of noise, I fill the empty spaces talking incessantly. This happens most often with new people, uncertain in moments of quiet, I nervously chatter without breathing and gesture wildly with my hands. Once familiar, I tend to retreat comfortably into a quieter self. The exception was a friend’s birthday dinner where I felt so uncertain surrounded by new personalities, that I smiled and nodded my way through a five-hour meal. I am content in the background, enjoying the effervescent company of the people I love and silently clapping.
lines in the sand
July 9, 2011 § Leave a comment
Have you ever dragged a stick through the warm weight of sand; etching a line to declare a boundary in a boundless space? This is where my thoughts are today. I keep debating what I share and where. Specifically, I am struggling with the vast space of the internet.
It took me a while to join facebook. I would wander on my husband’s account seeking out familiar faces, curious but cautious. When I opened an account my friends were largely friends whose paths crossed mine consistently throughout the course of my days. I added a few family members in an effort to stay in touch and eventually sought out a few faces from the past. Somewhere between intentional additions I had also accepted acquaintances as friends. The lines between people I knew casually and those I share openly were blurred making me uncomfortably aware of each sharing. I edited my friends in an effort to control with whom I shared freely, but there exists a subtle, lingering discomfort at the ease with which we accept strangers as friends into our lives.
The more I sought boundaries within facebook, I cast my eyes to the newly formed space of my blog. Finding joy in writing I shared this piece of myself carefully with only those I trusted with my thoughts; friends and family. I have attempted to capture glimpses of my children and reflect openly on my thoughts. Now I wonder if sharing so freely in this space is appropriate?
Today I am unraveling doubts to find my way as I struggle with boundaries.
assigned seats
July 6, 2011 § 1 Comment
In Middle School there was a moment, lunch tray in hand, I had to choose a place to sit. In all the chaos of the moment I struggled with a simple preteen wish to find a place to belong. Watching others tumble casually into groups of laughter and chatter I realized my friends were scattered, eclectic in their diverse interests.
Today, my friends remain a cheerful collection of characters. They brighten difficult moments, lend strength in moments of weakness, inspire effort when goals feel slightly out of reach. Still they are scattered across the far-reaching corners of my life; a friend from high school, others from college, and mothers I have met on playgrounds and my children’s school events. I rarely see them at once, but always save them a place beside me.
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