sick day
April 27, 2016 § 4 Comments
The morning unfurled itself around the unexpected, a sick child who only hours previously had shuffled sleepily through her routines without the slightest clue something was amiss.
My husband and I had procrastinated our breakfast as I curled over my thoughts, head bowed over busy keystrokes of curious rambling. The day was settling into the loosely choreographed comfort of modest efficiency when our phones interrupted our efforts and reprioritized our attention.
Gathering our daughter from school we traded tasks, moving busily through the mechanics of washing away the early morning stories with empathetic giggles and gentle encouragements. Tending in generous swaths of presence.
It was only after toilets had been scrubbed, school clothes washed, and shared areas sanitized that I turned the corner on my daughter’s room to find her face partially hidden beneath her sick bowl; not in misery, but good humor.
Balanced atop her head, as if it were the most unexceptional accessory, was the silver bowl meant for emergencies repurposed for entertainment.
Pridefully impulsive costuming that turned everything upside right and back to normal.
These are my favorites. Remarkable moments of personality that dress up the predictable childhood experiences with indulgent individuality; shorthand of self in a universal language of play.
off script
February 11, 2016 § 4 Comments
Last night I had the privilege of watching my daughter’s classmates dress-rehearsal for their 6th grade school play.
There were delightful surprises and scene stealing characters. A meaningful, well-written story with witty one-liners and lessons disguised as puns. It was everything you could wish for opening night, with a few glorious mistakes that stole the show.
In a moment of honest forgetfulness, a main character realized he had lost a line. Center stage, without any distractions, his face processed the revelation and he owned the silence with pitch perfect honesty. He told his parter on stage he had forgotten the line and even asked them directly to “say something.”
The audience’s patience and empathy was as tangible as the actor’s error. We leaned into a moment, completely committed to one another, and I thought:
What if we could all do this in life? Stand center stage to our own experiences and forget ourselves, own our mistakes and move on. Invite others to help while standing tall in humor and humility. Acknowledge the audience without sacrificing self.
Other flubs would follow. Underplayed utterances, small improvisations, hurried lines and voices too quiet or hurried to hear. Colorful strokes of nerves that made the students personalities more amiable than the characters they portrayed. They were, all of them, brave in their own right.
Last, but not least, I want to shine a light on the silent actors who fashioned a beautiful backdrop for the stories acted front and center. Student directors, sound and lighting crews, prop and make-up, set and advertising. Shadows that raced between scenes for weeks to prepare the stage, faces that we didn’t see until curtain call begged a moment’s applause.
Many will remember the handful of stars who stole the spotlight with perfect affectations of difficult accents and seamless character portrayals. I’ll remember the beautiful honesty of imperfect scenes and the whimsical scenery that spoke colorfully of the cast in its entirety.
the play of learning
June 3, 2014 § 6 Comments
On sunny days we are accounting for snow days, but the work of learning has passed. Grade books are closed and text books returned, while attendance requires a presence of mind and body. Eyes cast to the windows and minds quietly tolling the lingering minutes of each day I find classrooms returning to play for an opportunity to control the distractions of the day.
These are the sweet days between homework and summer; we internally exhale relief for an end to testing and standards while breathing in anticipation of summer’s promise. No longer bound by the rules of curriculum, there is an unofficial standard of play. Teachers are creating excuses to absorb time and wrestle attention from daydreams least the students fall into disorder.
While some bemoan lost days of academia, I am hoping our teachers think outside the limits of formal expectations and embrace lessons in play. Learning in the context of joy and curiosity without the weight of grading expressions of knowledge. Today I am wishing both my children and their teachers time to play at learning.
girl next door
June 19, 2013 § Leave a comment
We moved into my husband’s childhood home the summer before our son began first grade, when our daughter was still a toddler. The sidewalk that runs past our home carries memories of footsteps shared between my husband and neighborhood friends. Over the past seven years my children have collected memories and chased friendships along the same concrete squares.
Yesterday my daughter filled an entire day with a girl from just down the street and around the corner. Our backyards practically hold hands but the girls have only played together occasionally, until yesterday. On a beautiful summer day they hid from the sunshine and interfering company of our household in my daughter’s room, occasionally scampering to our deck sharing a meal and giggling soundlessly behind the glass doors only to scurry back to play.
This day of friendship, exploring the corners of imaginary play until the moon pushed the sun from the sky with sad good-byes and tired eyes, was a happy reminder of our good fortune in purchasing a house that was familiar as a home, inheriting a stretch of sidewalk that leads to friendship in every direction.
paper play
October 29, 2012 § Leave a comment
Saturday evening my daughter requested a cardboard box. Putting our dinner reservations on hold my husband humored our daughter by unearthing a recycled box and reconfiguring it from its flattened form back into a rectangle capturing potential between taped together folds. The assembled box was then quickly cut with long slits on each side and the bottom per our daughter’s instructions. We left for dinner as our daughter scurried off box in tow.
Long after our meal was finished and the credits to our movie had ended we peeked into our daughter’s room. Resting on her desk chair was a puppet theater. Long strips of lined notebook paper carefully tapped together and fed through the slits in her cardboard box told a story in pencil sketches, each end rolled around taped together toy silverware from her play kitchen to create rods. On the floor beneath her chair colorful paper alien creatures were taped to colored pencils.
Scraps of paper and bits of clear tape littered her work space, but my eyes and heart were measuring a gift of nothing – a box made into a vessel of imagination.
the work of play
September 18, 2012 § Leave a comment
Parenting magazines and childhood development books enumerate eloquently on the psychological and emotional benefits of play. Parents facilitate play dispensing it with the regularity of an essential vitamin, using play as a directive and alternately assigning it time slots in busier schedules. At twelve years old my son plays in a manner not unlike the parallel play common to young children, beside another rather than interacting directly with another. Play when left to his own endeavors is independent, when directed by us it becomes an exercise in navigating the social challenges of communicating with another.
Social practice sessions in formal groups often place my son in a circle of chairs using a partially scripted conversation. I tend to identify these as warm up routines, similar to the mundane act of playing catch in preparation for the big game. My son goes through the motions waiting to be called to the plate. When he doesn’t get invited to play, he retreats into individual interests.
Last night I watched my son exercise his social knowledge in a setting intended to be recreational. He was working at playing. I enrolled my son in a rock climbing class, aware this was an individual activity that highlighted a natural skill set, hoping perhaps he would meet another child that shared his interest. I was aligning chance in hopes of fostering a conversation and play.
On the first day of class I was pleasantly surprised to note that the only other child in his time slot was a familiar face from our past, a young girl also on the Autism Spectrum who we met in a structured social group a couple of years back. I recognized the mother from waiting room conversations and inwardly applauded our good fortune. Two children in need of practical exercises in play, sharing an interest and need, working through play.
Last night I watched my son and his peer guide one another up a rock wall, blindfolded, directing one another and encouraging one another over obstacles toward a goal. There could be no greater moment that witnessing this sharing. I fell asleep last night peaceful with the knowledge that this new experience with an old acquaintance is providing an essential, natural opportunity for my son to play.
waiting room only
August 4, 2012 § 1 Comment
Waiting rooms are rich with practical social skills opportunities. More than chairs arranged in a sterile circle and predesigned questions this space lends endless opportunities for practice.
Adults and children ranging in need and restless for their moment with an over-scheduled doctor, my son’s psychiatrist’s practice is ripe with practical applications of various behavioral exercises. Taking turns, controlling impulsive speech, using and interpreting body language.
Yesterday my daughter shared a special moment with a little boy. Her own needs and her experiences with her brother’s challenges lend her awareness and compassion. On this occasion she used the waiting room as an opportunity to play with another child while her brother and I met with the doctor. Play in this space is interpretive; often it consists of parallel play and fragmented conversations. My daughter asked me to trust her to play rather than sit quietly through her brother’s appointment. Grasping an occasion to exercise her independence I gave her room to play, trusting she would navigate the social space of the waiting room.
Upon ending my son’s appointment, a mother thanked me for my daughter’s kindness. She didn’t enumerate on how my daughter demonstrated kindness, but I understood the language of the other mother’s gratitude; the need to acknowledge another child’s compassion. I have shared breathtaking moments of thankfulness for small acts of generosity: a child patiently listening to a series of facts squished together without room for interruption, finding humor or brilliance in an otherwise misplaced mannerism, an absence of judgement or irritation when my child acts outside expectations.
In our home we deconstruct simple interactions to decode the invisible social rules. I couldn’t be more proud that my daughter has learned to share these lessons with others through acts of kindness tucked inside childhood play.
brick by brick
April 9, 2012 § 1 Comment
This weekend we began packing away the chaotic contents of our family LEGO room, noisy handfuls of bricks tumbled into large storage containers. As primary colored creations were contained from clutter into controlled chaos, memories filled the corners of my heart with gratitude for years of creativity and sharing.
Our children were the fortunate recipient of their father’s old LEGOs and my husband happily embraced a second childhood as both children discovered the joy of creating; the physical manifestation of a moment of inspiration. Lifting the weight of each bin, I wondered if I could measure their time together with these tiny building toys, one moment piled on top of another brick by brick.
Our toy room was a kaleidoscope of colorful shapes; kits and creations piled haphazardly and intentionally on flat surfaces and scattered across the floor. Packing away the remnants of this piece of our life was my children’s choice and I welcomed their decision to make room for a new experience. Still as we tucked away these well-loved toys for another generation I found myself pausing over various pieces, marveling at my children’s creations, and collecting memories for safekeeping brick by brick.
hello, sunshine
April 30, 2011 § Leave a comment
Grey skies and rain drenched days have kept us huddled indoors, dreary of damp afternoons. Today, the sun blossomed through the clouds and warmth spread as quickly as smiles. My daughter dressed with frantic intent and we set off for a park.
Racing ahead of me, ponytail swinging to the rhythm of her footsteps, she lovingly traced the lines of the play structure; reacquainting herself with an old friend. She slipped casually down each slide and climbed each ladder retracing footsteps from summers past. Then she settled in a quiet corner, paper and pen in hand.
I watched bewitched by the peaceful tilt of her head as she folded herself over her work in concentration. Each of us absorbing the sunshine.
tenants
April 22, 2011 § 1 Comment
On the eve of a quiet day, we forgo our bedtime routines and lease our family room to tiny tenants to the tune of gleeful exclamations. Each child nestled in a makeshift bed, they camp out by the light of a late night movie, armed with an assortment of snacks and extra time. The evening blurs into morning; tides of giggles wash up the stairs as they feign sleep with muffled chatter. For the moment my children are friends.
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