musical chairs
July 17, 2011 § Leave a comment
Spontaneous gatherings with friends and their children have taken on a peer inspired panic reminiscent of a traditional children’s party game. We meet amidst the chaos of enthusiastic hellos only for the noise to settle into calm leaving someone without a place. Lately it is my daughter who stands alone desperate for a chair among friends.
I am reminded of early days as a married couple; the fallout of couple casualties as spouses either joined existing friendships or resisted. Similarly the days when parenthood was new and other friends, without the obligations of children and evenings cut short from exhaustion, would embark on different paths as we settled into the rhythm of family life. Now as our children each different genders, ages, and needs look for their friends’ faces among our friends’ children I find myself grateful for those rare families who’s lives fit ours like puzzle pieces. Where the music never ends and no one is left standing alone.
paper cuts
July 1, 2011 § Leave a comment
Recently a friend shared something powerful, a personal challenge. As she generously unraveled her story, I drew parallels between our lives. In sharing the burden of our challenges with the same support and kindness we celebrate accomplishments, there is a sameness that envelopes our unique differences. She is ever my friend, the same girl I met years ago, only now there is more to love.
As she has opened up I have come to wish her a place to share her story, to cast her challenges into inspiration; charting her progress and providing hope and comfort to others finding their way. It is a wonderful story and she is a talented woman.
I cannot ask another to go where I have not. It is joyful to write about beautiful moments with my children and overwhelming to share pieces of private pain. I hint at my old nemeses, body issues and self-esteem. Still uncovering private challenges leaves me feeling raw and vulnerable to air. My chest tightens and I want to shake the weakness away, disown those pieces of myself.
Paper cuts on our spirit. Wounds too small for others to see and painfully obvious to ourselves. Still, somewhere in the open air, healing begins.
twenty something
May 31, 2011 § 1 Comment
Crossing paths with an old friend washes away the years and makes memories feel nearer to new. Today I am counting the minutes until I am twenty something, falling into laughter and confidences with a close friend. No longer neighbors in the chaotic space of a college dorm, we are wives and mothers sharing new experiences.
Separated by miles rather than a hallway, we share pieces of our day in a series of scattered e-mails rather than through open thresholds in passing. Closing the distance between our homes, we gather with the same sense of belonging, finding our place in an endless conversation. At twenty something we were dreaming of a future. Research papers and finals have faded into book clubs and recipes. Boyfriends are now husbands and we are now mothers. We meet in the present with the strength and comfort of the past, as we find our way in to the future.
coded
May 23, 2011 § Leave a comment
My son has his own soundtrack, a stream of sounds and commentary that accompany him as he moves through the world. Sitting beside him in the waiting room of a doctor’s office, he began making sound effects to accompany the portable game that held his attention tightly. I tuned out his familiar sounds and began reading a book. As we waited, distracted and absorbed in our own activities, a new sound joined the space. A young girl making a mechanical click deep in her throat settled into a seat nearby.
Next to me, my son was drawn out of his game curiously enamoured by the stranger’s sounds. His eyebrows drawn together and his brown eyes focused, he watched the girl before asking me simply, Why? The girl’s mother, kind and patient, explained her daughter was trying to communicate in a language of her own. I let the woman’s words guide my son, waiting for his response.
He watched the girl in silence, listening closely. Then, his eyes registered excitement. Moving so that he stood between the girl and her mother, my son sought a conversation in Morse Code. I would love to say they chatted, perhaps they did. Later, we parted ways, my son said good-bye and the girl offered her response. I held the moment close and gave thanks for the kindness of children and the simple language of friendship.
tenants
April 22, 2011 § 1 Comment
On the eve of a quiet day, we forgo our bedtime routines and lease our family room to tiny tenants to the tune of gleeful exclamations. Each child nestled in a makeshift bed, they camp out by the light of a late night movie, armed with an assortment of snacks and extra time. The evening blurs into morning; tides of giggles wash up the stairs as they feign sleep with muffled chatter. For the moment my children are friends.
just add water
April 21, 2011 § 1 Comment
Two pair of hands, palms touching, fingers intertwined between mischievous smiles. One, two, three! The girls sounded off in high-pitched tones as they synchronized their dives. I watched their pony tails plunge beneath the water’s surface followed by a riotous burst of giggles as they reappeared, eyes bulging behind swim goggles. My daughter’s spontaneous friendship born of convenience and nurtured in play.
The girls shared conspiratorial smiles as they paced themselves in the pool; eager to catch one another’s attention while escaping the watchful gaze of the instructors. I hid my amusement behind the pages of a magazine, lost to the unintentional performance. Another child sat on the periphery gauging her classmates’ antics. I noted the child’s progress from tears to triumph and wished her a place in my daughter’s game. Sure enough, all three girls were soon a tangle of limbs as they splashed side by side.
With a full heart I sent my daughter a smile and nod, sharing a moment of gratitude that she gathers others in kindness and friendship.
two wheels
April 2, 2011 § Leave a comment
Each summer my son faced his bike like a comic strip superhero disdainfully surveying an arch nemesis, his gleaming unmarred bike mocking him from the shadows of our garage. My confident, resourceful son was rendered powerless on two wheels. With each failed lesson he would slowly spiral into anger, frustration, insecurity and fear; tears and temper sabotaging his efforts, he evaded the childhood milestone of riding a bike.
Today, on a beautiful Spring day, he found his way on two wheels in the company of a friend. I marveled at this child’s ability to direct and encourage, acknowledge and accept my son’s progress with quiet compassion. I struggled to remain silent wanting to be present at the moment of accomplishment having so long been a companion on the journey. Together we stood in strength and my heart burst in soundless applause as my son faced his fear on two wheels.
pieces
March 26, 2011 § 1 Comment
I peek around life’s corners, anticipating the future while reaching behind me holding on to pieces of the past. I do this mostly with people, bringing old friends into my present like a child holding a flashlight to better see down a dark hallway. Often what I am holding on to is a piece of myself, the connection to another allowing me to appreciate a moment of strength and to weave scattered moments into my consciousness.
In one such moment I reached out to an old friend, a fleeting connection amid a myriad of college friendships, gathering to me a spirited younger self. Amongst the sentimental reminiscing and sharing my friend gifted an accidental moment of grace. It was a serendipitous sentiment that has resonated with me.
We are all broken.
Such a tiny thought, so filled with love and acceptance. Between the broken pieces of a life lies permission to be imperfect and to share a simple truth with loved one’s and strangers alike. Hidden heartaches and private struggles, unifying us with kindness and empathy.
I reached out to a friend drawing to me a moment of strength and found something beautiful among imperfect pieces.
in bloom
February 22, 2011 § 1 Comment
Anticipation woke me early the day of my wedding. Restless, sitting stifled in my hotel room, I slipped out for a brief walk in the company of my bridesmaids. With no particular route in mind we wandered the quaint downtown storefronts near the hotel. I paused briefly at a local florist to purchase a simple bundle of apricot colored tulips that brought sunlight and spontaneity into my cream-colored wedding suite. Every February I welcome these early bursts of sunshine into my kitchen and celebrate the beauty of friendship and love gathered into a bouquet of memories from a sentimental day.
hide and peek
January 25, 2011 § 1 Comment
I am a nosey, private person; I welcome anonymity, but compulsively peek. I hide my Facebook account from strangers, but frequently search out old acquaintances. This cast of characters from stories long forgotten tug at my heartstrings. Images of veterans from my teenage trenches and college cliques, or suitors that didn’t suit bring to life hazy memories with the click of a mouse.
I peek into these publicly, private spaces seeking a moment of remembrance, not from another but for myself. Little voices call me mother, but so much of the woman within celebrates stolen moments from the past. They are my tiny treasures, beautiful pebbles in the ever flowing stream of life. I extract them for a moment, marvel at their beauty, and then replace them safely for another day.
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