Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts

Monday, January 24, 2011

Summer Over Already?

If you are not currently in the parenting business . . . parenting school-aged children, that is . . . you may not realize that it is camp-enrollment season.

I know.

Despite the current frigid temperatures and constant threat of snow and ice, we have spent the past week reading activity descriptions, comparing swimming lessons, confirming dates for things like the county fair and the scouts' camp-out, and trying to pin-point what my boy's interests will be come this summer.

And today I spent this morning enrolling him in several fabulous-sounding experiences.  Sports, explorers, horses, music.  Sounds great!

But I always get a bit of a heavy heart as I color in the various weeks that have been scheduled for my boy.  It seems like, with a stroke of a pen, I have spent his entire summer for him.  Already.  And, somehow, I miss him.  Already.



***
 
Before I allow myself to become completely depressed, I must remind myself that my boy has plenty of unscheduled time mixed in this summer.  We will laugh and we will hang out together.  We will go blueberry picking and fishing.  We will clean out closets, too, and pick through the mountain of papers that have come home from school. 

I always strategically leave the cleaning of closets and the organizing of dresser drawers for the last day before a busy camp week . . . somehow, it eases the blow of time apart, if you know what I mean.








Thursday, August 5, 2010

An Important Sandwich

A bridge was crossed yesterday.  A milestone reached.  And I'm not sure how I feel about it.

I was up to my eyeballs in paperwork, telephone calls, and official emails.  Lunchtime descended.  My son broached the subject of what to eat.  Food and serving food was the last thing on my mind.  What was on my mind was what was on the paper in my hands.

That's when it happened. 

Without even looking up from the document I was reviewing, I asked my son to make his own lunch . . . his own sandwich, namely.




And he did it. 

Somehow, while I continued to read on, he located the bread, the peanut butter, the jelly, the apple, and even selected a yogurt.

And he ate.

And then cleaned up. 

I finally tore myself away from my desk long enough to take him to his chess meet. 

And then I went back to my reading and my calling and my waiting to be called. 

And then we ran errands for three hours. 

And pretty soon I was kissing my boy goodnight.

And it was only after I sat down with my husband and reviewed the day's happenings that I realized that my son had made his own lunch for the very first time.  And my heart squeezed a little.

He's ten years old.  More than capable of making his own sandwich, I know.  And I know it is something he should be relied upon to do from time to time, with growing frequency as he gets older. 

But, from the time he was born, I promised myself I would not miss a thing.  I would not take anything for granted.  I promised myself, and my boy, that I would not wake up one day with a grown man for a son and not remember it happening.  That I would take notice of the little things, the measures of progress, and the milestones, for I fervently believe my great-grandmother's adage, "Every step they take is a step away from you." 

My boy took a big step away from me yesterday.  He made his own sandwich.  And from now on, it will be nice if I make him a sandwich, but not necessary.  Not necessary.

And it did, it snuck by me in an instant when I wasn't paying attention.

One more step away from me.

Time goes so quickly when you're watching a child grow.

My boy is on his way.

But as I look around the house, I am comforted. . . 

With all the socks he has still not learned to put in the hamper, he won't get too far.



 




Monday, July 19, 2010

My Boy Is 10

My boy turned 10 years old yesterday . . .



And flowers bloomed . . .

(his very first lotus flower in his very own pond)

And the beasts danced . . .

(feeding the animals at local zoo)




And all was right in the world.


Ten years.


Ten more years, and he will be 20.


It's going too quickly.



Saturday, July 10, 2010

Saturday 9

It's Saturday.  Time for the Saturday 9.  Check out Crazy Sam for more participants or to participate yourself.


1. When was the last time you were told to go your own way?  Probably when I was in college.  I was trying to decide whether to go on to law school or not, and asked the advice of one of my English professors (who was also a practicing attorney).  He encouraged me, reminding me that you only get one chance at life, to grab what I want.

2. What one experience has strengthened your character the most so far?  Raising my daughter who is a highly traumatized former orphan who cannot feel or accept love.  She challenges who I am, all my parts, every single day.  It is my most fervent wish to help her, to heal her, but it is my deepest concern that we will not be the ones to do it.

3. What's your favorite thing to do on a rainy day?  Get all my "musts" done quickly and then curl up, knit, and watch chick flicks. 

4. How long can you go without your cell phone?  Having it?  Not long at all, because I like to feel like I'm reachable should my small kids need me.  Using it?  I could go quite a while.  I've worked very hard not to become dependent upon it.

5. Do you wish you were somewhere else right now?  Yes, I wish I were off on the outing my son and husband are on, but, alas, only one parent to a child, as usual at these things. 

6. Of all the people you've ever known, who have you most feared?  My mother.

7. Do people tell you that you look your age?  Some people tell me rather emphatically that I look younger, but I don't honestly believe them.

 8. Your ex shows up randomly at your house, what do you say?  Kiss me, you devil!  (kidding, only kidding)

9. Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance?  No.




Have a weekend!



Saturday, May 8, 2010

Happy Mother's Day, My Boy





















































































































You are my dream come true, Angel.  


I love you every day,


And I thank God for you every night.


Love,
Mommy






Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Good Company

I've got a Mother's Day present for you.

Each of you.

Mothers or not.  You all had mothers, or grandmothers, or aunties, or someone whose company nurtured you, kept you company, soothed you.

As Mother's Day approaches (here in the U.S., anyway), my heart is heavy with both joy and yearning for this feeling.

Both of my grandmothers have passed on, and I miss them.  The girl in me misses my grandmas for the joy they brought to my life.  The woman in me yearns to know them as women know each other, if they are lucky.

I wonder what they would tell me . . . now that I am grown.

I wonder what they knew that I was not yet ready to know . . . but should know now.

I yearn to sit with them . . . with all the time in the world.

It's not possible, I know it.

But, for a couple of hours this afternoon, I had, quite possibly, the next best thing.


I fell into it quite by accident -- television left on while I was busy with other things.  I sat down to knit a row, or three, and the next thing I knew I was completely captivated.  Most of the movie is improvisational, personal, true, and honest.  An amateur cast playing themselves, watching this movie was like being surrounded by grandmothers and aunties and elderly neighbor ladies . . . with all pretenses dropped. 

I laughed and cried and swooned and swayed.

If you crave the company of your grandmother, or any grandmother, clear some time to sit quietly with these women.  Having watched this movie, I feel rejuvenated and kept company.

Happy Mothers' Day to all of us who have mothers, miss mothers, or need mothers.




Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Distress Call

Now look.



My kids haven't been to school since the morning of Friday, February 5th . . . more than 10 days ago.  I can barely remember that far back. All that has happened. And not happened.

No "going outside" to play. No bikes to ride. No toads to catch. No friends to visit. No Christmas presents to soak up extra time . . .

No unmeasured time to peruse the blogs. No quiet in which to write a thoughtful post. No "good" talks on the telephone. No unrushed cups of coffee.  No unaccompanied trips. anywhere. I haven't been alone in ten-and-a-half days. Understand?




There is now a 2 hour delay in the start back to school today. Why? No reason. Literally. One inch of snow was forecasted yesterday. Blessedly, it never came. Now, for the sake of all that is good and holy, we need some routine. We need . . . school.




Puleeez!



Wednesday, January 6, 2010

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday





Yep, they are in school today . . . BOTH of them . . . at the same time!

Now, nobody talk to me . . . Nobody ask me anything, rhetorical or otherwise . . . Don't ask me for anything to eat . . . or to drink . . . Don't ask me where we're going today . . . Don't tell me what your brother did . . . or what face your sister made at you . . . I don't even want to hear what the meannest classmate of yours probably didn't get for Christmas . . .

Here that?

Me, neither.

Ahhhhhhh . . .




Tuesday, January 5, 2010

And The Breaks Just Keep On Coming

So the saga continues.  You remember . . . the Christmas break that may never end.




My daughter went to back school today.  A good thing, I guess.  Except I think all her pouting last night burned any illness left right out of her.  You see, because the last two days before Christmas break were snow days ~ remember?! ~ my daughter's first grade class missed their class Christmas party.  Turns out, they had it yesterday.  (Why not?  Not like they have anything important to do . . . like teaching them to read, write, add . . .)  I expected acid rain to fall inside our own van yesterday afternoon when she saw most of her classmates all lined up holding their freshly frosted, heavily candied gingerbread houses at carpool.  I could feel my daughter -- all of 6 years old -- seething all the way in the back seat.

So guess who's home today?  Yep, the pale-yet-flush-faced 9 year old.  (Is that snickering I hear?  I don't find this funny!  Okay, maybe a little . . .)  My poor little guy had a headache to beat the band last night -- always a sure sign of impending doom and illness for him.  He managed to sleep most the night . . . that's better than I can say for myself.  I couldn't stop myself from checking on him several times after finding him basically sleeping on his head at 1am.  (No, really.  Can anyone other than those 9 and younger sleep on their stomachs with their knees pulled up under their chests?  With his arms at his sides, somehow, his whole body was pitched toward the top of his head!  Talk about a headache!) 

He's feeling better this morning, all sacked out on the couch watching Ripley's Believe It Or Not.  (I gave up after the guy with 600 rings pierced through his face and the other guy with the 25 lb. foot.)  Amazingly, my son keeps asking for more and more to eat and drink -- despite his chosen television program.  A good sign.

Perhaps, maybe, just maybe, possibly . . . everyone will be where they belong tomorrow. 


Monday, January 4, 2010

From the "Whoops" File of Parenting

Ever get the feeling you can't do anything right on a given day? 




So I went in to wake my daughter this morning and found her hot-faced, extremely drowsy, and complaining of various aches and pains.  Suspecting the annual holiday ailment had come after all, if a bit late, I kept her home.  I felt so ahead of the game . . . avoiding the dreaded call from the school nurse, noting that I'd rolled the dice and lost. 

I oh-so efficiently tucked her back into bed and encouraged her to rest.  After about an hour more rest, she was right as rain.  So right, in fact, she was wrong.  A lot.  Today.  We won't get into all of her misdeeds today; though I can be spotted lamenting some of it over at Anna's blog (Chickens in the Basement) earlier this morning.  Suffice it to say, it bespoke of a child who was bored and should have been in school today.  Ooops.

Well, you may ask, what's so bad about that?  Better safe than sorry.  No harm done. 

But you would only know half the story.

The other half entails picking up my son from school.  I picked up a pleasant, happy little boy whose day was reportedly "pretty good."  We talked all the way home about the new pens his teacher had passed out to the class today -- the first time using pens in school . . . a leap from nine right over to at least fifteen years old by his measure!  By the time we got home and he got his jacket off, he was pale . . . prompting me to ask, "What's the matter?"  He admitted having had a bit of a headache all day.  (uh-oh)  And by the time he'd put his lunchbox away and washed his hands, his paleness had turned red-faced and weepy, reporting a "big headache now." 

So now the one who was home "sick" from school is disappointed that the one who did go to school today is too sick to play. 

Whoops. 

Monday, December 21, 2009

Listen, Bub

I know motherhood brings lots of surprises and challenges . . . I know.

But.

A SNOW DAY TWO DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS TRAVEL IS BEYOND ANYTHING GOOD AND KIND AND, WELL, NORMAL!

I don't find it beautiful,
and I don't find it festive,
and I don't find it funny.

And anyone who does think this is funny can join my daughter on the time-out step!  

Got it?

Good!

(Please excuse my tone . . . I've found that to be the most effective one here today.)




Monday, December 14, 2009

Here Comes Santa Claus

Each year, my husband finds a way to take just one more day off before Christmas and we go Christmas shopping, just the two of us.  Well, not Christmas shopping as in grandpa-needs-a-new-bowling-bag-and-mom-would-like-new-slippers, the real Christmas shopping . . . you know.




As the parents of a 9 year old who still believes as well as a 6 year old, we take our Santa-duties very seriously.  As soon as we drop the kids off at school, our tires screech as we peel off to begin our shopping.  We make a day of it and always manage to use every single minute . . . and then a few more just to make it interesting.  We spend our time in the carpool line frantically rearranging and covering all our loot so it cannot be seen by our most innocent passengers about to pile in.  It takes a lot of work when your 9 year old believes . . . you must be come craftier and cleverer.





But it is oh-so worth it.




Friday, December 4, 2009

An Encounter With A Scrooge




You'll have to pardon me this morning, I'm still reeling.

Just as an encounter with kindness at the right moment can soothe your spirit, an encounter with cold indifference can scorch your heart.

My son had to quit the school Christmas play this morning because the rehearsal schedule has become too demanding.

Now, as parents, we don't usually condone or allow quitting, but quitting is when you have agreed to do something and then refuse.  My son never agreed to this rehearsal schedule; actually, at no time, has the music teacher revealed the rehearsal schedule more than a day or two in advance.  I believe expecting 9 and 10 year olds to miss 3 recesses and lunch hours a week for rehearsal -- for months on end -- is wildly unreasonable.  Bear in mind, most of these kids, like my son, have 2 lines and then proceed to stand on their mark for the duration of the concert.  While I am sure it will be wonderful, Broadway it is not.  I thought the point of a school play was to kindle, in children, an interest and enthusiasm for the performing arts; to encourage them toward music and participation, not to provide the teacher a stage to live out her career frustrations to the detriment of the children.  

Because these rehearsals deprive my son of any break between his morning and afternoon classes, he is beginning to struggle with his afternoon classes and admits he cannot concentrate after having no break in his day.  (No talking or recreation of any kind is allowed during these rehearsals.)  I spoke with the music teacher yesterday regarding the difficulties my son is having; she informed me that my son was free to quit.  When I asked her how she could so easily replace him if all these rehearsals were so vital, she explained that she had plenty of understudies.  (Talk about delusions of grandeur!)  So cold she was . . . I pity her that.

So after a couple hours of discussion and tears last night, my son decided he would rather return to his school routine than continue with this rehearsal schedule.  All his enthusiasm, all his dedication, all his hard work squandered for a music teacher's confused priorities.  I, myself, am still reeling from watching my son suffer with the realization that either option is a painful one.  He's only 9. 

Your heart never hurts quite like it does when your child hurts.

I just kissed him goodbye this morning, and wished him a good day, knowing his heart was heavy and hurt.





I will get on with my day now, re-inspired in my mission to create a warm, safe, happy home . . . with lots of Christmas cheer.  My little boy will come to a home with Christmas trees shining, stockings hung, and whatever wonderfulness I can accomplish during these hours. 

Wishing you all a joyful day.






Sunday, November 15, 2009

Would It Hurt Him!

I have always suspected . . . and now I know for sure . . .

If it were up to my husband, my kids would never eat lunch.

Honestly . . .


Sunday, October 11, 2009

My Grandmother the Artist

Today is my grandmother's birthday. 

She died several years ago, but I still remember her clearly.  And the older I get, the more extraordinary she becomes.  Do you have someone in your past like that? 

She raised three children practically alone despite being married.

She did without more times than I'm sure she would admit to.  

She wrote to my father every single day he was away at war; that was 735 letters.

When she was older, she took herself to Hawaii -- alone, because it had been her dream and she couldn't find anyone to go along with her, despite being married. 

And she was an artist.  An artist who persisted without much encouragement.  I think my father was the only one who valued her work, when I was a child, at least.  Here is an example of her work, I think she'd like it if I showed it to whomever might be interested:





Of course, it's much better in person, but you get the idea.

I took my grandmother for granted when I knew her.  I was a child and, while she was certainly pleasant to me, she was not really a "kid person." 

Being a grown woman now, I finally have a full appreciation for the woman she was - extraordinary.





Saturday, October 3, 2009

As Goes the Scout, So Goes the World




So my son, a webelo scout this year, is out in the neighborhood, right now, selling popcorn for their annual fundraiser.

Poor kid.  I think selling popcorn for $9, the cheapest -- for a couple handfuls of caramel corn -- is a tough sell, I don't care how cute he looks in his plaid hat.  Yet, people, God bless 'em, buy the stuff.

So a note of thanks to the buyers of all these somewhat useless and very overpriced items . . .

Blessed are the buyers of the $20 tins of flavored popcorn, the $10 rolls of reversible wrapping paper (And, really, what is the purpose of this?  You can only show one side of wrapping paper at a time!  For that amount of money, I would rather have two rolls of one-sided wrapping paper.), the $14 tubs of cookie dough, and the $7 boxes of mediocre cookies.  From one consumer to another . . . we both know you are not getting what you've paid for.  But from the parent of a hard-selling little scout, thanks . . . with your good-natured purchase of a highly overpriced item, you are keeping the faith of a still-innocent little boy and you are restoring mine.

Despite my occasional flushes of worry and doubt, people are still mostly kind and good.


 

Thursday, October 1, 2009

"Just" ~ A Word About Motherhood?




Waiting in line at the school carpool today, I heard someone on the radio describe a certain woman as "just a mom."  The speaker meant no offense, really; he was trying to convey that she had no "job."  Nevertheless, the phrase "just a mom" sears my sensibilities like few others.

 All mothers are working mothers.  ~Author Unknown

I remember when Sarah Palin accepted the vice-presidential nominee position and a discussion erupted about whether a woman with so many young children should be in such a time-consuming position outside of the home.  That is not a debate I care to engage in today, but I do want to point out that some -- maybe many -- people believe that "just being a mom," is not a formidable job in itself.  Indeed, it was a female commentator who said, "Yes, I'm a mom, but I have a lot more to offer the world than just that.  I can't be stuck home baking cookies; I have important things to contribute."

Excuse me just a moment.  "Than just that."  What an insult.  And what a complete misunderstanding of a mother's role.  And what in this world could be more important than raising a competent, decent, happy child?  Whether a woman is a mother with one job -- that of being a full-time homemaker -- or is a mother with more than one job -- homemaker + job outside the home, the job of mother is the most profound, the most challenging, and, dare I say, the most important.    

If you bungle raising your children, I don't think whatever else you do well matters very much.  ~Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis

Allow me to expound on the role of "just a mother," for it is ever more challenging and often less satisfying than any other job could ever be.  It is challenging because it never, ever ends and nothing feels more important than your child's happiness and well-being.  To use the cliche' "24/7" doesn't even capture it.  After hours?  After dinner?  A mother's duties expand exponentially in the "off hours."  Vacation?  Even more.  Special occasions?  More yet.

And there is no retirement.  No pension.  For I know my heart goes with my children until, and beyond, their dying day.

Grown don't mean nothing to a mother.  A child is a child.  They get bigger, older, but grown?  What's that suppose to mean?  In my heart it don't mean a thing.  ~Toni Morrison, Beloved

I say it is often less satisfying than other jobs because there is seldom instant gratification.  The older a child gets, the longer it takes to see the impact of a mother's actions.  An infant may (or may not!) respond instantly to a mother's soothing.  A preschooler, ever the tantrum thrower, takes longer to respond.  A school-age child, even longer; and teenagers, well . . .

There are no raises . . . heck, there is no pay.  There are no merit awards.  No one, outside of yourself, will pat you on the back for a job well done.  A job well done?  Who can recognize a job well done?  The truth is, a mother makes countless decisions every day -- every hour -- and will have to wait days, months, years, if ever, to learn whether the decisions they made were correct.

One good mother is worth a hundred schoolmasters.  ~George Herbert

Women are capable of any job, many jobs, and her competence knows no bounds.  However, of all the jobs women do, show me another job that quite literally has lives on the line -- lives of your own children, your own loved ones.  Show me another job with such hours and such little tangible reward.  Show me another job of equal stress and such an uncertain measure of success.  Show me another position that provides such little self-aggrandizement.  

When you are a mother, you are never really alone in your thoughts.  A mother always has to think twice, once for herself and once for her child.  ~Sophia Loren

"Just a mom."  No one, except perhaps especially alert and appreciative fathers, understand and appreciate a mother's job.  The level of care, heart, concern, work, effort, and strain is immeasurable.  That is not to say it is not worth it, but rather, that it is completely saturating and always will be.

Every single decision I make . . . what I'm putting out in the world, is because of my children.  ~Meryl Streep 

Yet nothing is so important as protecting, guiding, soothing, strengthening, and supporting a little soul as it evolves.

The formative period for building character for eternity is in the nursery. The mother is queen of that realm and sways a scepter more potent than that of kings or priests. ~Author Unknown

Our children are our hearts.  When they hurt, we throb.  When they fail, we fall.  And when they smile, we exult.  And yet they never know it.

Until they, that is, they, themselves, become mothers or fathers.

The moment a child is born, the mother is also born.  She never existed before.  The woman existed, but the mother, never.  A mother is something absolutely new.  ~Rajneesh









   
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