pieces of us
January 12, 2013 § 2 Comments
Settling a home happens in stages. As floors and walls have come together to create a canvas for our story, my husband and I have begun carving out corners of our home for memories. In tidy mismatched frames spread across walls of our home, images and art anchor the chaos of daily life. The space between frames is uneven like the days between images. Past and present mingling with words and art. On the wall of our family room is my favorite piece of our home, a little corner of Us in the room we work, play, and rest.
Placed solidly in the middle of this wall rests the word art my son felt represented friendship, whimsical pairings that imply belonging. A painting my daughter made on a day when she was fighting restlessness lends a burst of color amid colorless images, the contrast inviting energy to stillness. Snapshots of our puppy now absent from our home; photos taken on the day we met gifting us the memory of falling in love to fill the space of a sad goodbye. Candid moments alongside professional photographs, a study in smiles. My husband and I facing one another with years between each gaze, our children in acts of adventure joined in moments of friendship, family time, and individual representations of self.
The space is finished but incomplete for moments yet to occur; our younger selves watching with amusement as we grow into our future together.
in dreams awake
January 11, 2013 § Leave a comment
Tucked beneath an evening sky ripples of laughter woke me from a dreamless sleep. The sound always makes me still, as if by moving I might disrupt the cause and break the spell. My daughter’s laughter fills our quiet home with energy and amusement even in her sleep. Her days and dreams undistinguishable, joy infecting sleep and dreams inviting possibility into her days; she moves between sunlight and moonlight without boundaries.
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.
unfinished
January 9, 2013 § 2 Comments
Disconnected thoughts, apologies, wishes, and goodbyes scattered across a lifetime; letters unshared that I revisit in memories. Over the years I have begun gathering these thoughts into messages that begin almost from the middle of a conversation hidden beneath years of forgetfulness and distraction. I cast these letters into my past, letting go of something unsaid while collecting a greater consciousness of self; wondering if the recipients, special souls no longer connected to my days for whom so many memories keep us tethered together in time, know they are cherished with the innocence of childhood and the wisdom of age.
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.
the end
January 6, 2013 § 2 Comments
There is no sadder ending than that which comes too soon. A new book, now old, mysteries unraveled dispelling the allure of the unknown. With each page I fought against familiar tendencies to stow away with my story, hiding from responsibilities, breathing the words like physical sustenance; feasting without patience too eager for each subsequent word. This story crafted intentionally and layered with imagery begged for stillness and so I forced myself to give each line attention; extending each phrase with unpracticed emphasis like a child testing a new word aloud. Placing paper pages in a state of unrest I moved through simple housekeeping tasks over the weekend while my mind wandered, weighing the characters’ plights, intentionally inviting the author’s company into my thoughts. The end has brought an emptiness and I am lonely for words to fill a new beginning.
paper weight
January 5, 2013 § Leave a comment
Despite the sinfully indulgent gratification of receiving a book instantly, delivered as if by magic through the air conveniently into a lightweight gift of modern technology – I still linger lovingly over the heavier, tangible shape of a book. Pages of another’s dreams collected between the shield of book covers; to be held and protected, cherished and shared. This morning as I curled beneath a blanket of my mother’s making, beside a warm cup of coffee, and in the company of a new story, I gave thanks for the dreamers and writers who fill my days with magic. The weight of paper and the spell of a new story welcoming the day with possibility and prose.
inherent wisdom
January 3, 2013 § 2 Comments
There are truths we know with unspoken certainty. They echo quietly in our hearts, tugging at our conscious minds, seeking action and holding us tightly to our sense of self. This is how I welcomed this New Year; appreciative of a new beginning, carrying my dreams dressed in hope. To my children:
Dreams are visions we invite into possibility with movement, lines sketched in our sleep that we fill with color and give weight with actions. Dream well and move consciously through your days. Embrace possibility and believe in yourselves.
in passing
December 31, 2012 § Leave a comment
I like to imagine I have met some of you in the easy happenstance of sharing a seat on a train to nowhere in particular, our thoughts mingling with other travelers’ in easy conversation. From my window I can see the world outside pass by and I craft stories to accompany the figures. Then the train slows, I gather myself to join the fray of activity. In these moments between movement I construct expectations, shifting from stillness, following a direction that invites momentum.
So too as this year comes to an end I gather myself, moving seamlessly from old to new as the minute hand dances round the clock sweeping us into the future while holding us in the present; strangers and friends tethered by strings of thought that hang delicately in the air between us.
As eagerly as I presented my ticket, mapping a journey of intention, I turn the page of my calendar inviting life to unmarked days ahead. I carry my lessons in preparation for new experiences and marvel momentarily at the boundless possibility of days yet unwritten. Travelers and time move forward, goodbyes and greetings overlapping as our paths intersect. To my fellow travelers, may the New Year welcome your hopes and dreams with generosity, your fears and troubles with compassion, your joy and peace with harmony.
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.)
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