homecoming
September 27, 2015 § 2 Comments
For our children it was a week of school celebrations; traditional fall festivities in a place only newly home. Football games and formal dances without the comradery of old friendships and familiar colors. By Friday it was tempting to toss ourselves into the frenzy of other people’s enthusiasm, to assimilate into an expectation of good cheer for the sake of belonging.
Except the act of pretending demanded an energy we did not possess. Our daughter was homesick, our son disinterested, my husband and I were exhausted.
Sometimes we muscle through the difficult days, demanding joy, but Friday it was peace we sought. Everyone else’s noise had reminded us of a quieter absence and we found comfort in our shared contentment with a simpler experience of our new community.
We skipped the formalities of a high school dance for outdoor music at our local farmer’s market; the colors of our new school for the kaleidoscope of flowers bundled into humble bouquets. Here, among strangers, we belonged for the sheer serendipity of our experiences.
A beautiful fall day with small children and large dogs, warm food and cool drinks. Colors that threaded the bustle with a harmonious cacophony of lazy busyness.
We gave ourselves permission to belong only to the moment. There will be other games and new friends, community events and school celebrations, but this weekend was an exercise in coming home.
self & space
September 14, 2015 § 4 Comments
As we nestle into our new home, I am mindful of the love that crafts a space into a reflection of self. Empty walls and unmarred floors, naked windows and bare cabinets; we unpack our personalities into expressions of ownership with beloved items and thoughtful choices.
Over the past week I have become fascinated by the choices that hint at the authenticity of each family member’s unique spirit. My daughter’s restless need to fill a space with color or my son’s tendencies toward texture, my husband’s need to tailor his space with carpentry or my stubborn dependence on order.
There is chaos in the process of creation but there is also harmony in the language we use to offer belonging and security.
It is more than rediscovering cherished pieces of past experiences, we are similarly sounding out our hopes with invested choices for new objects; furnishings we imagine gathering around and the story we tell ourselves about these expectations. More than function or necessity, there is hope in the value of shared dreams.
Still, there is work in the privilege of choice. We honor one another by making certain the space we share reflects respect for our differences. We are architects of our own experience but guardians of one another’s story, the space of home a safe haven for individuality and belonging.
to my daughter
September 3, 2015 § Leave a comment
This week a clerical error in the online enrollment process created an unanticipated complication to your school day. An essential document was missing from your records, legal paperwork designed to safeguard specific supports that insure the best possible environment for your academic needs.
Let me back up.
On Monday morning I sent a casual message to your teachers. Having moved to a new state, new neighborhood, and new school I was looking to weave together a greater sense of familiarity with a more personal connectivity. My greatest concern was that you were settling into larger measures of independence. There were small concerns that I didn’t want to overlook or exaggerate.
A missing calculator and ungraded homework left inside your folder were questionable red flags. Rather than leap to worries that revolved around executive functioning skill sets, I wanted to first make certain that your teachers were not concerned. I offered you simple suggestions that would nurture successful habits, feeling comfortable that most of my worries were symptomatic of an adjustment period given so much change.
Before any of the teachers had time to respond, your vice principal reached out to identify a new concern that he might begin to rectify an unintentional error by changing your schedule immediately. I want you to know that in this moment we were all trying to honor the formalities of your needs. Clumsy and well-intentioned, we were checking boxes and honoring professional and personal responsibilities.
Everyone was frantically trying to do the next right thing by you, but it would be you that lead the way.
On the morning that your classes changed, you left our care open-minded and confident. It was only after school, when you walked stoically to the car before crumbling into tears that I knew we had made a greater mistake. On sobs that stole your breath you forced together words that would draft a new expectation of wellness. You told us that you had been placed in a class you didn’t belong in, that the students in your new space needed attention that you did not, and that this change told you and your community of peers that you were not enough.
I let you tire yourself with every steadfast declaration. Your father and I listened carefully and questioned thoroughly each statement for logic and emotion. We pushed against every sensitive doubt to make certain your conviction could withstand a thoughtful challenge.
I asked you to name your worth and the value of others’ judgement. I questioned how hard you would work if allowed a harder path. I prepared you for a long-term investment and the possibility that you might have to wade into discomfort before others would honor your choice.
Internally I struggled between wanting to provide extra academic supports and recognizing the value in self motivation. Ultimately, your father and I decided to support your untraditional request and immediately reached out to your school. We told them that the abruptness of the change had undermined the sense of self and community that you had already established, that we were making personal decisions based on impersonal data. Then we waited.
Late last night, the same administrator who adjusted your schedule to honor your academic needs honored your decision to return to the familiarity of your original schedule. More importantly, he validated your sense of self in the context of your new community. This morning he met you at the school door with a smile asking if you remembered your old schedule.
It isn’t going to be easy, but it doesn’t need to be. You are enough.
Love, Mom
giving & receiving
August 31, 2015 § Leave a comment
Throughout our move I have been humbled by the generosity of others; close friends and companionable acquaintances have consistently shown up in the disorder of our need and stood beside us, actively helping us process the demands of our choice.
On days when I could not see my own needs for the chaos of our work, others provided comfort and care with meaningful offerings of purposeful aid. Meals and muscle, pet care and child’s play; there was no false pride or martyrdom, no posturing of strength in stubborn refusals in my acceptance. I recognized the kindness in each offering and learned a new language of strength by honoring my limits.
I had previously assumed my independence was a greater measure of ability, priding myself on self-sufficiency. I similarly judged others for decisions that placed them in a position of vulnerability with passive aggressive criticisms that were directly correlative to their need and my expectations of accountability. Strength is not so easily measured by need or ability.
For all the years I said “no” to an experience because the unknown demanded vulnerability; for every criticism I privately harbored for someone else’s display of need; for every cautious excuse that allowed me to disengage from uncertain success – I misvalued my community and my worth.
Friends do not wait for permission to love one another with acts of care, we fill our arms with efforts and our hearts with an openness that leaves room enough in our expectations for imperfect choices. This is what I have learned over long days of worries and endless to-do lists. We are stronger together.
breaking bad
August 29, 2015 § Leave a comment
Living in close quarters, without familiar comforts, we explore new choices with a mindset of possibility. Of course, it would be almost as easy to dwell in frustration for lost conveniences, but for our family the days of mindfully navigating suspended normalcy in the temporary space of our hotel habitat have led to fewer bad habits.
We’re offline more, impulse eating less, exercising consistently and resting consciously. Budgeting food costs with attention to problem solving around nutritional needs has pushed us to more consciously consider when and what we eat. Given the physical limitations of our temporary home, we are similarly hesitant to invite snacks that might draw smaller visitors and so we have avoided the temptation to over-indulge in restless boredom. More often we leave our overlapping living space to explore our new community or unwind at the pool.
The novelty of a pool has become an important part of our transition. We play as a family and we sleep more thoroughly despite the distractions of our surroundings. Television and hand-held entertainment offerings have been replaced by a dollar store pool ball that volleys between us over evening hours.
Our days end quickly with sleepy limbs and full bellies until we begin again the next day with a now familiar cold breakfast courtesy of a small convenience. Without our tech savvy home and oversized kitchen, we are sated by a simpler offering. Less is genuinely more. The minimalist mentality of a more mindful appreciation for needs in place of wants is something I hope we unpack into our new home.
To break bad habits with new attentiveness for the simpler luxury of change and choice.
beautiful bruises
August 26, 2015 § 4 Comments
It has been one week since we arrived on the outskirts of our new home; three days since our children began school; days still before we will settle into a greater sense of permanence within our community. Each day dawns full of uncertain possibility as we feel our way through the unknown in search of belonging.
The first day of school my son recounted the numerous hellos met with hollow echoes that never evolved into conversations. It was a long day of polite coexistence and no matter the population of his new school, it was a lonely experience. By day two my son had begun friendships, but my daughter was stranded in the social hierarchy of lunch without a place to eat. On the verge of tears she was saved by someone she might never have met had there been space for them elsewhere. On this, our third day, I stumbled through my own mistakes feeling hugely overwhelmed and alone until I remembered how my children have braved their own discouragements.
There is grace in acknowledging the honesty of our emotions while extending ourselves; standing publicly in clumsy efforts of earnest hopefulness and reaching toward an opportunity rather than curling against vulnerability to feign disinterest or posture a superficial image of strength.
These stories of our days are beautiful bruises, tender badges of effort that allow us to celebrate the path of our imperfect progress.
objects in mirror
August 25, 2015 § Leave a comment
Yesterday I watched my daughter hesitate outside the entry of her new school; early and alone, I wondered if she would find a friendly smile that might help her navigate the minutes before her first day. Gauging her image in the frame of my side mirror, I was tempted to rescue her from a solitude that felt larger in a backward glance. Instead I watched as she held a door open for someone else and stole away beyond the scope of my gaze.
It had been easier to watch her brother race, gawky and eager, toward an uncertain friend whose backpack invited an immediate introduction; a shared interest that might lead to a companionable moment on a day that wore a little starched for our unfamiliarity. I worried less about the outgoing teenager who didn’t look back than the child who watched me from the periphery of my mirror. It was the solitary figure who cast a larger shadow across my thoughts; I couldn’t imagine it might be my son who would struggle against the loneliness of missing companions as he raced to make new connections.
By dismissal my worries were exaggerated by the clumsiness of my own confusion at pick-up, congested carpool lanes crowded with children and adults all moving in chaotic circles of rushed energy. I anticipated need in error and allowed my thoughts to race toward false expectations.
My daughter had struggled against all the change with humor and humility, she counted each honest mistake while adding her strengths. By day’s end she stood a little taller in her knowledge, a little more comfortable among her mistakes. It was my son, the outgoing personality who so often speaks uncensored of self-confidence who struggled against a distorted measure of success. There were no mistakes to correct, no uncomfortable moments of embarrassment; only loneliness for friendships not yet formed.
Today I am trying to remember that challenges may feel larger than they appear, that success and error are little more than different perspectives of a shared experience.
to my family
August 24, 2015 § 2 Comments
Today was the first day of school. We moved through awkward morning routines with a tenderness for tradition, laughing our way through nervous energy to break up the quiet of our doubts. In all the anxiety of change, we’ve found a gentler peace in one another’s company.
Over the past week we have simplified the space of family. Days spread across boxed corners of a house crowded into storage; evenings gathered around the table of friends who nurture us with kindness; dwindling summer days straddled between play and preparations. Home is a mindset of togetherness, a place of belonging that shelters us through change.
There is a certainty of sentiment, a comfort in the intangibility of tradition. Milestone photographs to mark this day were tempered by a silly appreciation for the comedy of our surroundings. We are living from suitcases in want of nothing more than time together. Breakfast balanced on hotel furnishings and a bathroom to share are small sacrifices for pool playdates and complimentary cookies.
This morning we expected to feel uncertain and the imperfect wisdom of this assumption created room enough for us to lean into our insecurities with a collective confidence. We’ve become more comfortable with the unknown, more certain of ourselves and one another.
As the school clock swings a neatly postured arm toward dismissal, I am eager to unpack the day’s events for markers of new adventures to come. Snapshots that spool around our words into a place of home.
to my daughter
August 9, 2015 § 2 Comments
Last year an unhappy surprise stole the sweetness of your smile. Ten was a difficult birthday, a complicated celebration with more unkindness than candles. Despite canceled plans and casual criticisms, you kept your chin up and welcomed double digits with a tolerance for unwelcome guests in the name of family.
This year we greeted the day with a quieter presence. We planned our own surprise and guarded the space of your joy with a greater appreciation for your needs over empty obligations to unhealthy relationships. Ten was a year of too many sorrows, your father and I agreed that we can no longer afford to willfully squander the celebrations of your childhood on certain unhappiness for the sake of empty responsibilities.
This birthday, for every tradition we created space enough for change to accommodate new expectations of healthier days.
Rather than streamers stretched across the threshold to your room, we crossed miles to walk the rooms of our new home. Between these walls we found new smiles over happy discoveries as you explored the promise of adventures to come.
Instead of best friends and classmates gathered under our roof, you shared the day with family and long distance friends under sunny skies. False bravado was replaced with genuine contentment for the company of uncomplicated loved ones and we relaxed into a less guarded posture of peace.
Rather than celebrating around our dinning room table with a homemade cake and a late night sleepover, we substituted with store bought cupcakes around a hotel room rumpled from late night movies. The celebration drifted between outdoor interests and poolside antics; favorite restaurants and curious window shopping.
In place of presents that would be quickly repacked in anticipation of moving, you acquired tiny keepsakes of the day to celebrate our move. Farmers market trinkets and mementos to be gifted to others.
It was a beautiful day, uncomplicated and unstructured; held together by family, friends, and home. Instead of themes and stages, passing interests and favorite colors or unhappy surprises and uninvited guests, this birthday will be remembered for a single image and colorful phrase.
You named the year Eleventeen and leaned into a more relaxed posture of togetherness for a fleeting snapshot that hinted at so much history to come. This is how I will forever remember your day; brushstrokes of individuality and tradition that spell family.
Love, Mom
in pictures
July 30, 2015 § 6 Comments
It is a curious thing to pack away memories and leave behind tangible pieces of our past. Yesterday I moved in circles around photographers, cleaning even as they navigated our rooms; remembering moments one cannot see in photographs, evidence lost in clean coats of paint and finished flooring.
Gone is the tiny black insect my daughter inked into a small dent in the hall stairway and the crooked lines of a secret safe sketched into the wall of her closet. No one is the wiser where little fingers dipped into the lacquer of a newly sealed plank of wood to drag an invisible smiley face against my husband’s wishes or where toddler toes tracked paint primer beneath finished floors.
Gone are the traces of crime scene chalk outlines covered by wooden floors and the indentation of a dismantled sandbox. The prideful markings of our children’s heights that once scaled our kitchen door frame, an evolution of handwriting in contrasting colors, has since been erased by a an overworked paintbrush and only our climbing tree knows it was my husband who, in his childhood, curled its branch into a handle that our children would one day grasp.
The images we see in glossy advertisements for home are an edited version of the truth; beneath the polished exterior of cleverly articulated interiors sleeps a life in pictures we cannot so easily photograph.
scribblechic 