silver linings
April 19, 2015 § 2 Comments
In each loss the sad pieces are made bearable by beauty we cannot always see until life moves us out of our own way. Yesterday’s loss was unbearable, my mind snagged on each irretrievable image in a miserable goodbye until my daughter held my attention with kindness enough to invite perspective.
Mom, we still have each other and we can always make new memories.
The most important of my blessings cannot be measured in print. Photographs and words are poor substitutes for my children’s company.
I cannot undo what is lost, but I will be more responsible in my guardianship of technology in the future. I was lazy in my use and ignorant in my application. I will be more intentional in my care.
My truth is, I hoarded excessive images; hastily snapped photographs of fleeting importance. There were other images too structured in their effort. Moments of life interrupted for forced documentation; we were here. Among the thousands of images I lost, there are very few I can’t imagine living without.
For all my minimalist tendencies, the unseen space of my unprinted photographs and unshared words were stashed in the darkest most cluttered corners of appreciation. So much joy shuffled out of sight, marginalized in my priorities.
Sometimes we have to lose something of value to recognize the value of change and be more intentional in our actions.
invisible ink
April 17, 2013 § 2 Comments
A simple apology in my daughter’s hand, written on the bathroom mirror. Stepping out of the shower I uncovered a humble message hidden in the folds of steam: I love you. Sorry mommy.
She had forgotten to turn on the bathroom fan and was worried about the bathroom her father built, understanding the importance of caring for the space of our home. Old enough to be a part of the care of our rooms, her mistake was less important than her budding awareness of responsibility.
I suppose the greatest lesson in the language of apologies isn’t just finding the words, but how we craft our message. Sometimes the most sincere apology comes quietly, sincerity and humility punctuating words all to often generically recycled and empty.
My husband and I tell both children, Sorry means I will not do it again. The apology marks a moment of awareness and conscious choice. Reading my daughter’s words I acknowledged that sometimes it is enough to know they were listening, storing a new lesson for another time.
written wishes
February 23, 2012 § Leave a comment
This week my daughter’s school celebrated the multicultural diversity of our community with an evening dedicated to honoring the customs of our school’s families. A photojournalist shared his extensive travels; eclectic collections of music were performed and traditional dances demonstrated; art activities and game stations provided an occasion to learn through play; the library was littered with fairy tales from across the world. Around each corner the building was bustling with curiosity and acceptance.
Making my way among the displays shared by families from our school I found myself drawn to a cardboard wall sprinkled with tiny pieces of paper and messages scribbled in the whimsical penmanship of children. A dear friend had contrived a mock Wishing Wall engaging student’s curiosity for her culture by encouraging them to write a wish for the world and then placing it on the wall.
A wish.
My heart swelled and something resonated in the quiet unconscious corners of my mind. In the chaos of a school function I felt myself emotionally drawn to more than an endearing exercise that shared a custom from a different culture. The gift of giving voice to a wish weighted me serenely in a place centered in the written word. The feeling of peace followed me home after a joyful evening of learning and sharing.
The next day my heart full of wishes I came across another sharing. An author I respect and admire shared an article about creating and using a God Box, a safe vessel to store written prayers. I found this lesson on letting go of hopes and fears with faith on Facebook. Much like the space of a crowded gymnasium, I was amused to uncover a moment of spiritual insight outside a traditional place of worship, but acknowledged the relevance of a timely chorus giving voice to a personal moment of growth rippling the surface of my consciousness.
I have come to believe life, God, the universe speaks to us in moments of uncertainty lending us the wisdom of the wind. Truths that fill the air around us and as old as time itself. In these moments my heart swells and I pause to center my spirit, acknowledging the power of listening to silence around me. In these moments of awakening I try to uncover the value of an unexpected lesson.
My heart has been heavy recently with concerns outside of my control. My spirit centered peacefully welcoming the suggestion of giving voice to my deepest hopes and fears in the simple act of writing them and letting go in faith. I won’t name these private hopes and fears, rather I want to acknowledge the beauty of lessons woven intricately into the fabric of our daily activities with a wish for each of you: Be still. Listen. Be present that you hear your own lessons whispered to your heart. Know when to give voice to that which you cannot control and let go in faith.
love lesson
December 19, 2011 § 2 Comments
My husband and I had a disagreement; an unpleasant exchange that spilled sloppily from our mouths to our children’s ears. Wide-eyed my daughter gauged the exchange, holding her questions and concerns beneath thin layers of surprise and uncertainty.
I gathered my little girl near and said what I needed to hear at an early age: adults can disagree without loving one another less. I reminded her that it is important to try your best to be respectful even when you are angry and to accept responsibility when you hurt another person’s feelings. I watched her measure my words considering their meaning.
My husband and I bring to our marriage unique individual heartaches. We unpack grief or anger in moments of exhaustion or anxiety. Rather than stuff our dirty laundry into the corners of our mind, I try to unfold it; smoothing out wrinkles and carefully claiming each piece of ourselves. It is uncomfortable and challenging, but owning our worst helps us nurture our best.
Tonight my husband echoed my message to our daughter with his own. He apologized for speaking unkindly. The moment had passed, but he stretched his accountability into the present creating an occasion to share a lesson. He reaffirmed my worth by apologizing and his own strength by modeling humility.
I hope my children fall in love and know kindness and compassion, but I also wish them partners that challenge them to grow and a safe place to make mistakes.
walking the talk
October 13, 2011 § 2 Comments
I tell my children to stand up for themselves, but stood quietly in the background when uncomfortable with the idea of confrontation. Trusted friends nudged me out of my comfort zone. Sometimes the measure of a true friend is their willingness to tell you what you need to hear rather than what gives you comfort.
Recently both of my children have experienced a moment of unkindness with a peer that was presumably a friend. In each instance I told my children they deserved to be treated with respect, but did not model for them how we ask for respect with words and actions. I was all talk. Confiding in a friend, I was challenged to speak up and walk the talk.
I have since approached each parent of said children with wobbling knees and a pounding heart. Despite rehearsing in my mind what I would say, in each instance the script was forgotten in the moment. I held tightly to one message: this behavior is not acceptable.
It was uncomfortable; impossible as it was necessary. I was torn between my own hurt feelings and the other parents’ feelings. I imagined how I might feel if the roles were reversed. Mistakes are a part of growing up. Still, how do we help our children if their mistakes are sheltered and lessons lost? I hope my efforts help both my children and their peers learn and grow.
My children are unaware of my conversations, but I stand a little taller knowing I did more than talk the talk, I walked the talk.
parenting in progress
September 12, 2011 § Leave a comment
I am an amateur. I have lofty dreams of parenting from a serene source of strength, but sometimes I struggle to be the mother I strive to be.
I never intend to raise my voice to my children and still I have. The sharp sound of my voice tinged with anger makes me feel horrible and has yet to fix poor behavior, but in moments of extreme frustration I sometimes lose sight of intentions and ideologies grasping desperately for order and authority. Shame for my own impatience guides me to apologize. In our house we have expanded sorry to encompass a promise, we say: Sorry means I will try to do better.
My kids know I am fallible, it would seem silly to hide this. I cannot imagine the standard of perfection that would cast judgment on their own mistakes without the balance of my errors. I hope my children are comfortable with both making mistakes and striving to learn from them. I often think of my children as consultants in parenting; sometimes they teach me, often times they forgive me, but mostly they hold me accountable to do my best.
On Saturday, my son snapped at my daughter and my daughter threw a noisy, public temper tantrum. I was horrified and snapped back. Maybe they were tired, hungry, overheated, or under the weather. Regardless of why, they were unhappy and ugliness seemed to puddle around us drawing each of us further into a muck of misery. Underneath the unpleasantness were these amazing little souls that provide me with moments of joy, humor, compassion, and wisdom.
I sat both children down and held for them the mirror of accountability that they hold for me. We talked our way through the problems and I asked them who they want to be; if their behavior best represented the person they are on the inside. They are no more bad kids, than I am a bad mom. They are little people still making sense of their world just as I am finding my way through motherhood. Forgiveness and understanding, acceptance for our imperfections and opportunities to do better are all any of us can hope for.
Parenting is an ongoing effort full of adjustments, lessons, apologies, and hope; a work in progress. Each day is a new beginning, an opportunity to do better.
my father
June 18, 2011 § Leave a comment
Sentiments and memories, unintended, pull on my heartstrings. There are moments in a lifetime when the absence of a parent seems larger than memories and love can fill. My father is alive but absent from my life, acceptance and forgiveness for the path that divided us cannot dull the pieces of the little girl nestled in my heart that wish for my father’s love. Once upon a time he was my hero. Smart and funny, charismatic and handsome, he was the person I tirelessly tried to please. Good and bad, somewhere in the shades of love there are lessons and gifts.
Sometimes our parents model examples that help us choose a healthier path. Standing on the shoulders of their mistakes we look into the horizon and try to map a path that winds around old mistakes. It is a mixed blessing, but a gift. As other’s celebrate their fathers, I am taking a moment to remember a simpler time when it was easier to love mine and to recognize the unintentional lessons I gained as my father’s daughter that guide me as I chart my journey as a mother.
ink
March 30, 2011 § 1 Comment
My daughter began writing journal entries, in ink. When I saw her pen, poised over paper, I panicked and scrounged for a pencil. My instinct was to guard her work from mistakes, provide second chances to do her best. I almost overlooked the value of simple spelling mistakes marking my daughter’s development in to a writer and the beauty of her free-flowing thoughts captured, unedited, permanently.
I often find myself wanting to shelter my children from the uncomfortable feelings of frustration or disappointment. With every attempt to prevent mistakes, my children find their way around me. Sometimes they dodge poor choices and occasionally they stumble into disappointment, but always with independence and adventure. My children seem determined to teach me that I cannot protect them from their own experiences, there must be moments of unerasable error.
scribblechic 