I am so afraid I'll project and read too much into the questions and comments of my daughter. I'm am so afraid I will fail to notice the significance of a question or a comment.
My daughter is in the "I Love You" phase and so many times a day she says "I love you" in notes, in sentences, in sign language. But, sometimes she is so filled up she'll say something that stops me. The other day she said, "I love you so much I'm never going to give you away as presents."
"Thanks?" "I love you too?" "I'm never going to give you away either?"
NO. These do not suffice. "Oh sweetie, I love you so much too. But you couldn't give us away even if you wanted. We're your parents. You're stuck with us."
Too light? Not serious enough? Too serious.
I ask a bio mom, parent to three, did your kids ever say things like that?
"No," she says as though I asked if her children walked on their hands into pre-school class.
"How do I know?" I say, "I just want to make sure I"m not projecting."
"You aren't," she says.
Reassured isn't what I feel. What I do feel is inept, determined and grateful. The love of this little girl is so precious to me. When and how she makes sense of her story isn't going to be linear, scripted or by a book.
Not news to anyone who has been a parent I'm sure. Still news to me three and half years in.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Sunday, February 11, 2007
16 Years
We celebrate the day of our first kiss. It was sixteen years ago, in the middle of the night, while Bob Dylan's Isis played in the background. We were in Florida. Here we are now, having a beautiful inside day, sharing cards and dinner. Our daughter got each of us anniversary cards which were adorable. We all "clanked" drinks at dinner having some "ohana" time. I am so lucky to be with a man who is passionate about his work, an activist career man and a talented poet. She's down-to-earth, optimistic and philosophical. He's sentimental and caring. A gratitude-filled day. My daughter wasn't feeling well and what was going to be a very busy active and social day turned into a beautiful, calm, peaceful, fun, crafty "do nothing" day. Agh...
Because I'm at home so often, I can lapse into "family time" feeling a lot like "my job" - the one I do all week. The older my daughter gets, the more family time is a true treasure I enjoy and not only "suck it up" for. That sounds harsh. But, for the first two years of parenthood I longed for alone time, a break from being on, from stepping away from my day dreaming and being so attentive and caring and careful. Mothering is a skill I worked hard to learn and while I have and had a lot of love waiting to be poured it took a while before my hand got steady.
Because I'm at home so often, I can lapse into "family time" feeling a lot like "my job" - the one I do all week. The older my daughter gets, the more family time is a true treasure I enjoy and not only "suck it up" for. That sounds harsh. But, for the first two years of parenthood I longed for alone time, a break from being on, from stepping away from my day dreaming and being so attentive and caring and careful. Mothering is a skill I worked hard to learn and while I have and had a lot of love waiting to be poured it took a while before my hand got steady.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Writing from the Heart Assignment - I Wasn't Invited
Nancy Slonim-Aronie leads writing workshops in Chilmark, MA. She also has a "Writing From the Heart" radio show on Lime. She gives assignments and people submit work, read on the show and get feedback. She believes that EVERY PERSON has a story. She believes that all writers will improve when encouragaed, when voices are not silenced but instead encouraged and that people will take greater risks when they feel safe. She provides a safe environment at her workshops and has people write. She has a book, "Writing from the Heart" that has been out for quite a while and is a wise, eccentric and wonderful woman.
I love listening to her show and had the opportunity, with my writing group, to be on her show last week. Here's what I read.
I Wasn’t Invited
Tuesday came to me and said, “I’m here”. I said, “I’m busy. Come back later.” When Weds. arrived I was doing the laundry. Her sister showed up on Thursday and the dishes needed to be done. When Fri. approached I was sleeping in. I was so tired from being so busy. I planned to make up for the week on the weekend but decided I could just start on Monday with healthier eating, regular writing and two minutes of butt down on the ground meditation and for sure that gratitude list.
But there were cramps, PMS, the crisis of someone else so much more important and really, what’s another week-month-year when you’ve waited this long?
I went to an alternative college without class requirements of grades, where you studied and learned out of love – the love of learning. The key was to master modes of thinking so that you could become an expert on any subject. Under the engine of my will I thrived. I skipped through the social sciences, made a home for myself in the humanities and discovered that cognitive science could help me understand the way the brain communicates. Natural Sciences was less lab, more nature - the formulation of a cloud a fascination for someone. But there were lessons I missed.
This feminist is a stay-at-home mother, a middle-aged spouse and a type-a home owner. How not to be crushed under the weight of endless tasks, responsibilities and to-dos? How to inhabit a moment more fully? No one tells a mother to take a rest except another mother and we say we will and we mean to but we don’t.
But that’s not it, not all of it. I was trained to get by, get through, and get over. I built my muscles on bearing it, cut my teeth counting on the future and got strong on singing the someday song. I can walk fast, multi-task and look towards the horizon.
But I wasn’t invited to the present. In the past, the present was a nightmare, a never-ending assault, a predictable punch, a routine trauma. Every survivor skill in me says stay busy, keep moving, don’t be a target, Even alone I scold – don’t think-linger-dwell. Anger at others could cause an explosion. Anger at self can fuel a new get-away plan.
These skills aren’t helping me be in this very moment, where the safety and security I’ve worked so hard for actually exist. I pat my husband’s back instead of leaning into a bear hug squeeze, I “in a minute, in a minute” my daughter more times than I intend, and miss out on the richness in my collage of friendships.
I store up birthday cards promising to read them later. I keep them in a trunk, like someone saving empty cans after the depression in case I need them later. I store love in other places and wonder why I don’t feel full of it now.
In this cute cottage by the ocean where I saw a seal sitting on a rock last Saturday, I promised myself more. At night I’ll light a candle, say a wish and gratitude, stare into the flicker of a flame through the closed eye of prayer. I’ll feel the night, breathe into the world and turn the engine off. But I forget to remember. I stick to busy like taffy to teeth.
She walks along behind me, the present, a patient ghost whispering “Stay still. Sit back. Surrender” Can I trust her? Who will I be if I merge with the moment? What will I cling to, look at, work towards? If I lose my motor will I still go?
She’s patient, thank god and kind. She says, “I don’t issue invitations. I’m not an occasion. I’m always here and can wait for you to arrive. I’ve got time on my side.”
It’s a new learning I need, the college of self-care, a BA in being and a certificate for stillness. Monday. Maybe I’ll start Monday…
I love listening to her show and had the opportunity, with my writing group, to be on her show last week. Here's what I read.
I Wasn’t Invited
Tuesday came to me and said, “I’m here”. I said, “I’m busy. Come back later.” When Weds. arrived I was doing the laundry. Her sister showed up on Thursday and the dishes needed to be done. When Fri. approached I was sleeping in. I was so tired from being so busy. I planned to make up for the week on the weekend but decided I could just start on Monday with healthier eating, regular writing and two minutes of butt down on the ground meditation and for sure that gratitude list.
But there were cramps, PMS, the crisis of someone else so much more important and really, what’s another week-month-year when you’ve waited this long?
I went to an alternative college without class requirements of grades, where you studied and learned out of love – the love of learning. The key was to master modes of thinking so that you could become an expert on any subject. Under the engine of my will I thrived. I skipped through the social sciences, made a home for myself in the humanities and discovered that cognitive science could help me understand the way the brain communicates. Natural Sciences was less lab, more nature - the formulation of a cloud a fascination for someone. But there were lessons I missed.
This feminist is a stay-at-home mother, a middle-aged spouse and a type-a home owner. How not to be crushed under the weight of endless tasks, responsibilities and to-dos? How to inhabit a moment more fully? No one tells a mother to take a rest except another mother and we say we will and we mean to but we don’t.
But that’s not it, not all of it. I was trained to get by, get through, and get over. I built my muscles on bearing it, cut my teeth counting on the future and got strong on singing the someday song. I can walk fast, multi-task and look towards the horizon.
But I wasn’t invited to the present. In the past, the present was a nightmare, a never-ending assault, a predictable punch, a routine trauma. Every survivor skill in me says stay busy, keep moving, don’t be a target, Even alone I scold – don’t think-linger-dwell. Anger at others could cause an explosion. Anger at self can fuel a new get-away plan.
These skills aren’t helping me be in this very moment, where the safety and security I’ve worked so hard for actually exist. I pat my husband’s back instead of leaning into a bear hug squeeze, I “in a minute, in a minute” my daughter more times than I intend, and miss out on the richness in my collage of friendships.
I store up birthday cards promising to read them later. I keep them in a trunk, like someone saving empty cans after the depression in case I need them later. I store love in other places and wonder why I don’t feel full of it now.
In this cute cottage by the ocean where I saw a seal sitting on a rock last Saturday, I promised myself more. At night I’ll light a candle, say a wish and gratitude, stare into the flicker of a flame through the closed eye of prayer. I’ll feel the night, breathe into the world and turn the engine off. But I forget to remember. I stick to busy like taffy to teeth.
She walks along behind me, the present, a patient ghost whispering “Stay still. Sit back. Surrender” Can I trust her? Who will I be if I merge with the moment? What will I cling to, look at, work towards? If I lose my motor will I still go?
She’s patient, thank god and kind. She says, “I don’t issue invitations. I’m not an occasion. I’m always here and can wait for you to arrive. I’ve got time on my side.”
It’s a new learning I need, the college of self-care, a BA in being and a certificate for stillness. Monday. Maybe I’ll start Monday…
Monday, February 05, 2007
Mothers and Daughters
I was mothered by a woman who didn't give birth to me today. She listened while I talked and even welled up some with tears. We had a cheese sandwich. She called to make sure I got home o.k.
My daughter had a physical therapy assessment today. She might have a disability which, if she does have it, she already has it. So, knowing will be helpful. She said, "I love _____," who she had just met - the woman who stretched her limbs, tested tone and mobility. She trusts who she trusts and loves who she loves. Sometimes it is someone she just met. Sometimes it is not someone she has known for years.
I asked my mother for space. She wrote me a few emails saying she would give it to me. Each email made me more angry. I can't keep her from writing them. I can decide if I want to open them or respond.
My daughter is in the stage where she says, "watch me, watch me," as she is in the process of learning something. Right now, she can do six cylces of hula hooping. She LOVES to try harder and harder and harder and see if she can hula longer and longer and longer. So sweet and tender and tenacious.
Gratitude for warmth today, for friends, for a house full of love, food and blankets. Breathing. A friend asked, "Are you breathing?" I am now.
My daughter had a physical therapy assessment today. She might have a disability which, if she does have it, she already has it. So, knowing will be helpful. She said, "I love _____," who she had just met - the woman who stretched her limbs, tested tone and mobility. She trusts who she trusts and loves who she loves. Sometimes it is someone she just met. Sometimes it is not someone she has known for years.
I asked my mother for space. She wrote me a few emails saying she would give it to me. Each email made me more angry. I can't keep her from writing them. I can decide if I want to open them or respond.
My daughter is in the stage where she says, "watch me, watch me," as she is in the process of learning something. Right now, she can do six cylces of hula hooping. She LOVES to try harder and harder and harder and see if she can hula longer and longer and longer. So sweet and tender and tenacious.
Gratitude for warmth today, for friends, for a house full of love, food and blankets. Breathing. A friend asked, "Are you breathing?" I am now.
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