how I met your father
March 17, 2014 § 8 Comments
Long before your father was my husband, he was a classmate in a college English course. An athlete, tall and broad but with an unthreateningly playful posture, he consumed classroom discussions in much the same way he filled the physical space of our dated desks; unexpectedly gracefully with a quick and easy sense of humor. He was a smile at the other end of a casual hello, a friendly stranger I didn’t really know beyond the context of our course schedule. At the end of the term we moved in different directions following the path of our studies to different corners of campus.
Two years later your father and I met again, quite accidentally, thanks to another man and an Irish tradition. I visited a St. Patrick’s Day party having begrudgingly set aside my studies to claim a festively frothy green beverage and disprove theories of my mythological existence to my boyfriend’s curious companions. Your father was the first familiar face in a room full of strangers. In much the same way he once filled a small classroom with his easy conversation, he created a quiet space in the noisy nonsense of the evening’s antics. Salvaging a seat to anchor us in the congested crowd your father perched precariously beside me on his bad knee and we exchanged stories from lost years with easy banter. We were not yet friends, but rather comfortable companions of chance.
Your father continued to shadow my dates with an endearingly convenient coincidence of fate. Sitting beside me at every opportunity he gifted me unexpected reasons to smile. Never more than companions in circumstance, we drifted across each other’s days in happy happenstance. After graduation your father moved away while I settled into the end of my relationship, finding a refreshing sense of independence in more solitary endeavors.
Despite my contentment, I missed your father’s easy company and invited his friendship with a note whimsically mailed to an uncertain address in hopes we might invite chance to create cause; an excuse not to say goodbye. No longer neighbors we limited the space between our days by writing letters and filling our free time with phone calls, getting to know more about the person at the other end of our memories. Over time letters became visits until the future became something we moved toward together.
Today, on the anniversary of my serendipitous reunion with your father, I am thinking of the moments that culminated in our life today. Falling in love is a mystery of accidental good fortune and conscious appreciation. Your father and I recognized something between us long before we created a life together and to me the magic is in the intention that invited choice; a series of serendipitous meetings and a collection of intentional hellos that became the story of how I met your father.
diagnosing silence
March 16, 2014 § 4 Comments
This past week I found myself caught in a moment’s pause, trying to give voice to faith in the clinical space of our doctor’s office. From the earliest stages of our son’s diagnoses, there was an implicit trust in the wisdom of our doctor’s experience and knowledge. Just as we introduced our child to this stranger in search of explanations, we were introduced to unfamiliar needs that would come to shadow our experiences lending insight to intimate challenges.
Last Wednesday, in the familiar space of our doctor’s office, I felt doubt in expertise and certainty in things unproven. The intangible instincts of parenthood informed by situations and experiences catalogued with care became evidence of something greater than the volumes of medical knowledge slumbering in our company. Nudged from silence into conflict I heard my voice cautioning our doctor’s certainty with my own; respectfully, but with faith in something unproven.
Grand ideas and daydreams too easily dismissed as symptoms of a disease were in sharp contrast to memories that hint at knowledge outside our understanding. Our doctor dwelled on education and resources as distinguishing factors between fact and fantasy; an ability to physically manifest the ideas our son shares so enthusiastically imperative to a clinical determination.
I stood in the undefined place of possibility, recalling ideas that have all too often appeared years after our son’s suggestion in scientific magazines that litter our home; inventions that even without an advanced education he could predict and without resources he could imagine. I heard echos of conversations past, shared with professional scientists I could not understand, but who met our son’s questions respectfully with interest and appreciation. My husband added his voice to these memories and I watched as our doctor joined us, mutual respect and appreciation for the individuality of our son’s unique abilities and needs have created a place of possibility in place of clinical certainty.
Days later this exchange still lingers in my mind, cautioning against silence in place of certainty and the threat of misunderstanding unfamiliar experiences as something incorrect. Watching our doctor dance between certain diagnosis and an uncertain error, I gave thanks for humility in fallibility. Looking to our son I am reminded of the beauty of our dreams and the trajectory of a life unbound by predetermined boundaries.
To my son, There will be moments when the momentum of others’ assumptions and experiences will inform understanding. You must not be afraid to push against certainty with the force of your own doubts. The world is full of those who cannot imagine change without first knowing proof, do not be afraid to move in certainty against their doubts. Love, Mom
aggressively passive
March 8, 2014 § 14 Comments
In an altogether too common happenstance I read a casually, intentional social media message of victimization with undertones of accusatory wrongdoing. I was uncomfortable with the passive aggressive statement of harm, but not for the reason you might expect.
A couple days ago I might have composed a similar statement of injustice. A moment of unkindness toward my son had me puffed up with righteous indignation. I considered buoying myself with the reassurance of friends while passively labeling the children involved as bad, mean, or bullying. Perhaps they were all of these things, but labeling others in a public manner makes me no better a person.
I see this more often, otherwise kind individuals posting unkind sentiments. One statement becomes a thread of conviction; responses based in concern and loyalty unintentionally becomes a secondary source of harm. We take moments out of context and recycle wounds into weapons.
Reading unkindness I am not so innocent a bystander either, my silence a passive acquiescence of wrongdoing. Somewhere in the space between assumptions and statements there must be time enough for greater consciousness in our words.
Perhaps we must begin in silence, allowing ourselves time to experience a harm privately before expressing ourselves publicly. As a mother I am especially concerned with how I address injury and promote healing. I do not want my children to balance justice by a contingency of karma or hold tightly to bitterness; to label or convict casually another’s error in judgement. This is my challenge, to model with clarity an experience often cluttered emotionally.
to my son
March 7, 2014 § Leave a comment
This morning we sat among familiar faces and new, planning for the academic year to come. It was our second of two, thoughtfully attended meetings in preparation for your transition to high school.
In the moments before you joined us, I listened to those who have shared your days these past three years introduce you to our high school coordinator with words of kindness for your character, confidence in your ability, and concern for your well-being. In turn I heard the echo of our experiences past in the voice of shared expectations for the future.
When you joined our discussion I marveled at the young man you have become. With each gesture I remembered small exercises in etiquette, a toddler’s hand reaching out in greeting and eyes intentionally seeking acknowledgment in small demonstrations of respect. I saw a young man fighting nerves in recognition of the weight of this milestone, endeavoring to speak conscientiously of his doubts and hopes.
You spoke of the joy you have found working with others and looked eagerly to create this experience of community in your future. When evaluating choices for opportunities to explore new interests you spoke enthusiastically and chose intentionally. You asked questions and provided answers while I sat quietly, giving you room to use the voice of self-advocacy your father and I have endeavored to help you cultivate.
Later, when you replay this moment in your mind gauging your words and reflecting on your decisions, I hope you remember the faces of the individuals in your company who have collectively and actively shared in our journey; steadfastly supporting you for the unique spirit you are. I also hope you see yourself in your plans and pause to honor the importance of presence in creating your future.
Love, Mom
the learning place
March 4, 2014 § 2 Comments
The space of learning is a constant source of my distraction. My thoughts on my children’s identity and accomplishment, confidence and curiosity are entangled in the environment of their education. My husband and I map the physical space of our children’s academics with the same attention we note the emotional and psychological space of their days as independent learners navigating unique needs in a traditional environment.
Most days I am as tempted to reject the boundaries of familiar classroom settings as I am to embrace its potential. Between rows of identical chairs there is a community of diversity that gifts difficult lessons in sharing space with children and adults whose expectations and values compliment and challenge our assumptions. Simultaneously there is a homogenization that too often undermines the individuality of the child who does not move so easily within the current of curriculum.
Over the past couple years I have watched my children slowly assimilate into a blind acceptance of the unspoken rules of classroom performance. With less curiosity for their world and a greater awareness of each error, I have begun to worry that the current they once resisted has worn away the sharp edges of their perseverance making them more passive students.
In my greatest moments of doubt I am reminded of one certainty: Uncertainties are the elixir to complacency. Resignation fosters stagnancy that decays the spirit of learning. With this in mind I am more consciously questioning my children’s days, looking for indications of acquiescence. I am mapping my worries with question marks, reminding my children (and myself) that learning begins within the intangible space of unanswered questions in search of information that challenges our comfort and sparks awareness for our environment; extending the classroom to every corner of our day and transforming our measurement of success to one of independent accountability in the pursuit of knowledge without fear of failure.
adding together
February 23, 2014 § 10 Comments
This week, in the midst of ordinary school day and work day routines, my husband and I will celebrate our anniversary with a stolen moment of togetherness. A calendar day made exceptional for the collection of days past. In much the same way our wedding was overshadowed in consciousness by the concept of marriage; our anniversaries are greater than a celebration of a singular day, they are a culmination of little moments across a year of beautiful challenges that nurture our promise to one another.
Our commitment began with an expectation of family, my husband and I joined our lives mindful of an experience greater than either one of us balanced by the independent value of each of us. From the beginning we were planning for a sum greater than two, but weighted in a sense of self and appreciation for the differences between us. I dwelled over these details as I drafted our vows.
In gathering words into promises I was as determined to map our future with partnership as I was to honor the individuality that first drew us to fill the spaces between us. My husband’s easy humor and certainty complimented my reservations and seriousness. We pushed one another as firmly as we pulled, creating a balance of understanding and curiosity that informed the way we approached the challenges we could not have predicted; premature children, special needs, and professional goals that required a comfortable familiarity with discomfort.
Whatever my expectations, the earliest days of our experiences as a married couple were centered in a selflessness and a practicality as young parents that grounded romantic gestures in gratitude rather than fantasy. Romance was redefined early with small acts of appreciation. Our needs were simpler than exotic getaways or glamorous gifts. A romantic holiday was made sweeter for our homecoming; beautiful jewelry no more valuable than acts of kindness or patience on the most difficult days.
It seems impossible some days to separate my experience in marriage from those of family. In my children I remember my husband and in my husband I am reminded of my children; ours and us often interchangeable. No less myself and yet greater still for my role was wife and mother I curl into quiet moments of self, reflective and uncertain, even as I reach a hand toward my husband for balance or draw my children close marveling at the passage of time; mine and theirs simultaneously.
For all the complexity of our experiences there is a simple math to our experience of marriage; we add together. Each new experience is a product of a series of choices; from the mundane to the momentous we move in a path together that allows for change and growth. We confront conflict, lend patience, borrow strength; subtracting self without sacrificing self.
I am certain there are equally beautiful love stories without children and whose path is built more intimately for two, but as I look back over the years I am thankful for the landscape of mine; ours.
lost in place
February 18, 2014 § 10 Comments
This past year my most consistent companion has been distraction; I seem to muddle through moments misplaced between thoughts and critiquing myself unkindly in the absence of answers for familiar worries.
I worry about my husband’s career or his physical and emotional health; the three have become almost inseparable as he navigates new choices. I look to my son’s quickly approaching milestone as he transitions to high school and question years of intentional efforts that seemingly undermine the confidence I thought I had crafted but cannot seem to find. Then, I look to my daughter, her own uncertainties pulling me further into new doubts.
Meanwhile, laundry gets lost between unfinished loads and groceries are forgotten on store shelves; appointments written intentionally onto calendars are overlooked in my daily routine and habits are shuffled into intentions. Small mistakes unfamiliar to my experience have become anticipated oversights leaving me lost in a familiar place. Eager to redirect my attention and energy I began mapping personal goals from popular posts that highlight what to do, not do, avoid, give up, or hold closely to in order to be productive, content, inspired, fulfilled, and happy. The list of lists creating a sense of desperate disorientation in place of direction.
I am sharing this because in a playfully apologetic exercise in humility I recently confessed to a company of parents and educators this very experience; noisy parental worries and clumsy failures. In the moment I was letting go of self-perceived domestic deficiencies only to be greeted with a most generous compliment; what I deemed as a shortcoming another welcomed as honesty. One moment of imperfect vulnerability created a consensus of community.
Rather than uncovering an equation for contentment in neatly organized lists, I am finding small moments of intimate clarity in everyday accidents of insight. In a world that seems to reward answers, I am discovering a greater sense of self amid questions largely unanswered. Stumbling over errors into understanding with each ungraceful step.
secondhand certainty
February 16, 2014 § 4 Comments
Recently I read an intimate sharing, a young woman once familiar and now a stranger traversing a health scare with integrity and fearlessness. I happened upon her story accidentally, but I have returned intentionally in awe of her certainty.
In her words there is a vulnerability and genuineness, void of anger or self-pity her earliest writings have created an intention of strength and community. In sharing the uncomfortable pieces of her illness she has invited others to embrace her spirit as our own, fostering consciousness that demands accountability. We are at once witnesses and warriors connected by universal themes of fear and faith.
Her story is not mine to share, but her truths have created questions in my heart. What if we spoke our uncertainties? What if we lived without remorse, holding today above tomorrow and can beside maybe? What if we set aside discomfort for certainty? What if we didn’t wait for illness or tragedy to push us past the edge of caution?
I might never walk this woman’s path, but I am braver for her strength and stronger for her courage; welcoming my own uncertain wonderings with secondhand certainty.
counting backward
February 15, 2014 § 4 Comments
Twelve days; lost hours misplaced in the busyness of everyday life. Counting backward to the beginning of the month, there are pieces of our story missing; beautiful fragments scattered in the silence.
This month my husband and I gathered around a now familiar space with teachers and support staff to begin one of two meetings in anticipation of our son’s transition to high school. Each of these meetings carries an awareness that we are planning for an unknown, anticipating need alongside the expectation of growth; weighing academic ability and emotional well-being in an effort to provide a safe place for our son to develop alongside his peers at his own pace in recognition of needs that sometimes undermine others’ assumptions.
The days leading up to these meetings are burdened with doubt, we tally our worries as we draft and edit statements designed to create a balanced image of our son between the formal language of measurable goals. Even among familiar educators and support staff who share our experiences with kindness and compassion, there is a responsibility to invite cause for discomfort in our expectations least we become complacent in our commitments.
Above all, there is an emotional experience beneath the formality of this process; borrowed worries and stolen rest. This year, in an effort to acknowledge our family’s needs outside this process, I determinedly mapped the days surrounding our meeting with small intentional exercises in stillness; grounding my spirit in those relationships that lend clarity. I scheduled time with friends to better look outside the wall of worries that clouded my perspective; I indulged in time alone with my husband to center our shared perspective in joy; I blocked off outside interruptions from my daughter’s bedtime routine to balance time invested in our son’s future with our daughter’s present; I met myself in meditation letting my thoughts chase one another while I slipped inside the solitude of inner peace.
Each day I wondered what piece of this process I might hold tightly among my thoughts in written word. Do I share the formal decisions that we crafted so carefully in our son’s initial meeting or am I better served outlining the wisdom I uncovered in the days before and after said meeting? My efforts to retrace each step and capture the whole of those days feels impossible; like a child transporting water in carefully clasped hands, the sum is lost slowly over time.
In the end, as I ruminate on these twelve days, I am most drawn to the awareness that as my children grow in anticipation of their independence, I am turning a more conscious eye inward and reaching outward.
to my daughter
February 13, 2014 § 4 Comments
This week you found yourself in the middle of a mistake, one you could not hide from and wore with naked vulnerability. Self conscious you held your chin up and navigated your days with grace; you shared your worries with a friend, giving trust and demonstrating faith; you spoke up for other children even when it would have been easier to keep quiet and bask in the silence. You chased each day’s joy despite an uncomfortable companion and I am in awe of the quiet strength that informed your choices. Love you.
Mom
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