witness & wonder
January 10, 2013 § 4 Comments
I fill pregnant gaps of time with moments of mothering. The uneventful pause in activity a small window of wonder waiting to be inched open. My words sometimes fall of deaf ears, my children registering my tone and measuring the least intrusive exit strategy to escape what feels irrelevant. For this reason, life lessons are often brief; a prelude to an experience.
This past weekend my daughter attended a sleep-over birthday party. The evening was filled with opportunities for her to express her individuality, independence, and ethics. Rather than fill her head with a parade of reminders as we marched to the party, I rewarded her for her strength of will and character. I celebrated the opportunities she was about to have and said goodbye.
The next day, sullen and withdrawn, she crumbled once free of the watchful eyes of the other party guests. Mom, those girls wouldn’t talk or play, they stared at their phones all night! One miserable evening had opened a window for old messages and permitted my daughter an experience that allowed me to reference our family values. Her tears were met by my singular question: How did that make you feel?
My daughter’s ability to own the experience of being lost in a room full of friends is one I hope accompanies her when we entrust her with a cell phone one day. A small injury creating a consciousness I could not provide with mere words.
Reading a more eloquent sharing today I was reminded that for all our adult discussions on the subject of technology and etiquette, our children must learn to create walls where there are none; building expectations to create conscious experiences and stronger relationships. We teach with windows of opportunity, modeling with our actions to reinforce our messages. The most important people are those standing present in the room with us.
old habits
January 7, 2013 § Leave a comment
After two weeks of school vacation, days stretched and misshapen from leisurely exploits, today’s morning routine felt snug and foreign. I stumbled through remnants of a schedule marveling at how clumsy and unprepared my efforts felt. The moods of my companions chaffed against my enthusiasm like a cartoon cloud hovering singularly to spite clear skies. Groggy with sleep and movements heavy with resistance the breakfast table was dressed with melancholy. Watching each child slip into their backpacks, I too felt the uncomfortable weight of familiar expectations infringing on last night’s dreams. One foot begrudgingly in front of the other, seeking the footprint of old habits.
dear someone else’s mom
December 30, 2012 § 6 Comments
I wish I knew your name, or perhaps I wish you knew my smile. I try to greet each fellow parent with a promise of hope acknowledging a partnership among strangers that we are our children’s village, nurturing tiny souls to take over our world. I would smile at your child and forgive imperfect conduct knowing that mistakes are part of learning and growing. It is with this same sense of compassion I would ask you to peer inside my story as a mother.
When I look at my son I see a genuine smile and curious brown eyes. If you were to see my son, you might see someone acting immature for his age. I see the differences that separate my son from his peers. Still, I wouldn’t change my son to fit neatly into someone else’s image – I love him as is. I demonstrate this with words and actions, loving him and informing him, helping him navigate his world as himself.
Today, when I read your comment that children marginalized by other’s act out because there is an imbalance of love and support available from their parents I felt the ache my son feels when a child criticizes him for his differences. There have been days my son barely made it through the door without releasing his tears and at least one occasion he openly wept, unapologetically for the harm committed against him. More often than not, there were no apologies or consequences for other children’s unkindness. Instead my husband, daughter, and I endeavor to wrap his wounds with words of love and acceptance. I wonder if our love is enough to offset the imbalance.
My son comes from a loving home, a “good” home if you will. So too do many of the children who lash out towards him in ignorance pelting him with words of hate and occasionally physical acts. I wonder if you would have me hide my son behind walls to keep him safe, or cage unkind children for their cruelty. How do we punish bullies to validate the victim’s harm without creating new injuries? More importantly, how do we inform children and parents so that ignorance doesn’t breed hate or indifference?
We are all someone else’s mom, but motherhood is universal. I believe in the essential goodness in all of us, but I stand as witness to the harm of childhood unkindness. Would you stand beside me? Would your child stand beside my son? Or do we point fingers and label one another? I wish we knew one another’s smiles and I hope we can share our stories.
Sincerely,
Someone Else’s Mom
(Note: I wrote this almost a week ago after a stranger’s words triggered an emotional response. I chose not to engage in a thread of defensiveness, keeping my words to myself. I am sharing them now in keeping with my experience of writing for myself and my children. These thoughts are not a judgement of others opinions, but rather a reflection of my experiences.)
truth is
December 29, 2012 § 2 Comments
Last night I endeavored to guide my daughter’s behavior with information and experience, appealing to her common sense with critical thinking. If A, then B.
The topic of conversation was secondary to the posturing between us. I was doggedly determined my daughter defer to my logic. Sleepy and stubborn her body language told me my words were tumbling into the space between us, lost.
Letting go of the irritation nagging me along, I changed tactics confessing in a tone clear of sarcasm and heavy with humor: I understand that at 8 years old you feel like you know everything and it seems I, so much older than you, do not know as much as I think.
The response was instant amusement. A brilliant toothless smile and easy laugh, followed by my daughter’s own admission: I do think that a lot.
More giggles, this time from both of us. Laughter splashing against logic.
Humor and humility resulted in an amusingly honest exchange. Truth is, I don’t mind being fallible or looking silly so long as my daughter is listening.
crashing
December 12, 2012 § Leave a comment
Yesterday was enchantingly deceptive, my son’s evening unfolded with ease and I embraced a tiny measure of academic and social success greedily. Today, twirling through my errands my heart lighter for the simple joys of the day before I was off-kilter when a message from my son’s school caught me happily distracted, defenses down, entirely unprepared for reports of a day riddled with challenges.
While I was checking off last minute holiday errands and visiting with a close friend, my son had run off course at an alarming speed crashing into conflict. My ignorance was indulgent, the awakening abrupt. These moments when an unforeseen challenge mocks a quiet success I begin looking for markers, unraveling available information, trying to piece together a puzzle that might lend clarity and direction. Like a triage nurse I tuck away emotions to better evaluate symptoms, moving quickly to aide.
Today I sought a familiar voice of authority to share the school day’s challenges, guarding my worries behind self-depreciating humor and a smile, my mind working circles around the information. In a rare moment of unpredictable failing there was no easy, logical answer and that reality brought frustration and sadness in the quiet car ride home from school. Despite my best effort some days crash into others and leave me tender, ever mindful of challenges outside my control.
Tonight, as I set aside expectations and tip toe more cautiously around my hopes, I am mindful that my son stands in the middle of the chaos – misplaced and unaware. In truth, I envy his total lack of inhibitions; he is marching happily to a tune all his own and I must remember to hold tightly to his joy least I allow outside expectations to steal a genuine appreciation for his sense of self. He is mine and entirely his own, more beautiful for his flaws.
character sketch
November 12, 2012 § 2 Comments
Some days I draw my expectations in shades too dark to invite error. Recently I have more consciously created opportunities for my son to draft his own experiences – the juxtaposition of the man I see growing in the child before me in contrast with my son’s choices. Mistakes loom around corners so visibly I am tempted to tug on the hand that once held mine and pull him from harm’s way.
A preteen age of false bravado and boisterous proclamations of independence have drawn new boundaries, my son is mapping himself in broad statements as he postures presumptuously. Despite his best efforts to demonstrate wisdom and strength, I see a little boy playing at being grown. Each error in judgment a skinned knee, a small badge of pride as he finds his strength in moments of weakness.
My daughter, four years her brother’s junior, mirrors her brother’s eagerness to be cast as capable. Here my children are divided by effort and ability. One is blessed with natural gifts that rest unused, neglected with assumption and entitlement. The other steps around challenges eager to keep pace.
I am learning as deeply as I am guiding. As my children grow into their dreams I am rapt with uncertainty and hope for these characters whose stories fill my days.
fate & friendship
September 16, 2012 § Leave a comment
Friday morning I said goodbye to my daughter at the front of her school. As I watched my little girl walk toward a classmate I noted one of my friends and started to find my way to her side to say hello. I love these borrowed moments, casual conversations that tumble in my path like lucky pennies. On this morning I suddenly hesitated; moving against my normal rhythm I shifted direction heading away from a quick hello toward my first task. In the space between walking away from my friend and beginning my errand I repeatedly questioned my decision. I could not have explained, if asked, why I had forgone this beloved morning routine for an often dreaded task.
Arriving at the grocery store I recognized the stranger walking toward me, another happy accident. Two months earlier I had watched this same woman with her young son and known immediately the familiarity of her story, I recognized the unconditional love between a beautiful Autistic child and a woman mothering with hope and patience. The barista serving the woman on that day had said a warm goodbye to the mother and child, then turned to help me. We casually slipped into a conversation about my child as she handed me my morning indulgence. The barista had met my son and without judgment or pity asked quite simply if my child were Autistic. In the months since, this stranger in a green apron serving custom coffee became a lovely introduction to a beautiful conversation that was yet to happen with a mother who shares my experiences parenting a child on the Autism Spectrum.
On the Friday I traded a playground conversation for a trip to the grocery store this mother, who without words grounded me in memories of days long past with my son, was standing just inside the storefront. Leaving as I was coming, this moment was so fleeting I had almost missed it entirely. We exchanged names and spoke for a spell about the young boys for whom so much of our thoughts, fears, and hopes stir uncertainty.
Two days have passed and this chance encounter is never far from my mind. This stranger with the sweet boy so much like my son reminded me not only of the joys I have known as a mother, but of the rewarding experience of creating new experiences working against the grain with a child whose needs create so many opportunities for self growth. I was also reminded of the amazing souls whose stories have woven themselves into the fabric of my life in chance encounters; casual hellos that grew into lifelong friendships.
The high school friend that was always there, but one day became the singular friend I would miss dearly until the day we realized we were practically neighbors a state away from where we began. The college neighbor that now lives hours away, but with whom I share an unbroken conversation. The woman I met in my earliest days as a mother who shares so many memories of our boys as playmates. A kindergarten mother who guided me through the earliest heartache and acceptance of my son’s diagnoses. A neighbor I didn’t know was a friend just waiting to be found at a pool rather than down the street. A woman I met over the phone when my body was heavy with my second child and hers full with the promise of her first born, each of us restricted to bed rest. A teacher who knew my son first as an infant and later as a pupil, but whom always hugs me and inspires me with the affection of a mother.
The list is unending. There are beautiful souls I have met sitting in waiting rooms at various doctor’s offices and therapy sessions, playgrounds and school events. This new mother, a bright star in a constellation of warmth. We were drawn together by chance, strangers who recognized a common challenge and mother’s love. When I count my blessings it seems there is a greater architect who guides me with friendship to reach my greatest potential as a woman, wife, mother, and friend. Call this faith or fate, my life is richer for the kind, compassionate, wise voices whom I call friends.
jekyll & hyde
May 5, 2012 § Leave a comment
Dimpled smiles and sentimental gestures have been replaced with passive aggressive posturing; deep sighs, eye rolls, and argumentative mumblings. My mild-mannered Mr. Darcy has been transformed into a preteen tangle of emotions. Gone are the eloquent laments and generous demonstrations of gratitude; in its place is a temperamental curiosity that calls me Mom.
Jekyll reaches for my hand when we cross traffic and hugs me before leaving for school. Hyde rants that he needs more respect; bemoaning my high expectations. Jekyll says please and Hyde groans what. I comfort myself with the knowledge that these dramatic demonstrations of exaggerated irritation are exclamations of independence, but time has passed so quickly that it seems impossible to reconcile the reality of Hyde with the company of Jekyll. How quickly we have arrived at this place of adolescence.
I abhor the angst, but listen to Hyde’s litany of perceived transgressions against Jekyll’s pride. I cling to patience reaching for a connection that will bridge the space between moods. Hormones exaggerate emotions that underlie frustration; contentment challenging conflict with little cause. Hidden beneath my irritation there is humor; the endearing big brown eyes that roll so laboriously and the heartfelt sighs of injustice are delivered with preteen panache.
questionable certainty
April 24, 2012 § Leave a comment
I have unintentionally began to schedule our summer. Two commitments anchor our time and I am hesitant to sacrifice lingering lazy days of serendipitous exploration to additional obligations. Even as I clutch tightly to unstructured time, I look over my shoulder at other mothers’ agendas questioning how much is too much and what is not enough?
I can broaden my uncertainty to encompass old decisions. Confident in a moment, doubt catches up with me stealing my resolve. Should I force my son to continue a particular sport? Should I insist my daughter explore other interests? Do I enforce expectations or nurture independent demonstrations of individual interests?
I know there isn’t a simple right or wrong answer. The bigger personal truth is that I mother my children from the trenches of my own comfort zone. I tell myself that I celebrate our unsystematic exploration of interests and resistance to conform to cookie cutter choices, but quietly unspoken doubts lead to second guessing. Am I forging a new path or limiting choices by overlooking other experiences?
I sometimes look to my peers, mothers whose calendars are filled with lessons and games, performances and competitions. I wonder if they have broken a code that creates a more well-balanced child. Doubt challenges my confidence.
Just as I embrace the possibility that I have done everything wrong, I look up and catch sight of my children playing. One child swinging contentedly while studying the clouds; the other curled over a treasure trove of small rocks. It is a simple life with simple joys. I tuck my doubts away for now, hopeful that in following my heart I have chosen wisely.
socially speaking
April 18, 2012 § Leave a comment
The unspoken language of our bodies, innuendo, sarcasm, and play. My twelve-year-old son endeavors to speak the unspoken, stumbling through with fragmented comprehension. This is his greatest challenge as a child on the Autism Spectrum.
Before his diagnosis the tell-tale signs were endearing quirks. His ability to play creatively, independently for long periods of time were perceived as a strength. His interaction among peers was limited and awkward, but his eyes always found ours and his mannerisms were respectful and engaging. As an older child navigating the congested halls of middle school, so many moments of misunderstanding have created a new awareness of invisible handicaps as my son attempts to speak the language of social.
On his birthday my son came home and diligently reported that students on the school bus threw items at him, saying they were presents. I contacted the appropriate school administrator to request they observe the bus video and ensure that my son was treated respectfully. The video footage showed my son caught in the middle of a game of keep away where other students’ belongings were being passed around and inadvertently gifted to my son after he announced to the audience of travelers that it was his birthday.
These moments of contrasting perspective and internalization create an illusion of harm. My son feels victimized, unliked, and curls into defensiveness. Stretching his perspective outside this space and teaching him to see the world around him with neutrality and understanding is an ongoing exercise towards speaking the unspoken.
On this occasion we have the benefit of an administrator that is willing to coach our son using the tools available. A patient individual willing to share the bus video with our son to give him a different view of an experience, a rare opportunity to look at a moment of time; studying the social interactions of his peers. A small step, a large lesson. A singular act of patience and kindness.
scribblechic 