Sunday, June 19, 2011

Somethings We Should Never Outgrow!


A long year of music lessons was coming to an end. It was the last class, and we were all, ready to be done, each for different reasons. I had one more mostly painful Tuesday afternoon session to endure, my final 60 minute guilt trip, over having not practiced, note recognition, and Mr. Snowman, more faithfully with my 4 year old.

Jonas was up, his turn had come, I felt more tense than he did. I squeezed his arm a little too hard, my expression was a little too stern, I wanted to communicate to my son with my non verbal gestures that it was time for him to focus. My cues did not cause him to straighten in his chair, he did not get his fingers into position, instead he looked at me with tears brimming, and said, "I'm having a bad day! Can I get some loving?"

I was immediately contrite, feeling fresh guilt, and remorse, this time for wounding my son's fragile sensibilities, and for not noticing that he needed patience, much more than he needed to be whipped into shape.

After some reflecting on our little non musical exchange, I'm left wondering, when did I begin to see my own emotional needs as weakness? Why am I, as an adult afraid to say, "I'm having a bad day. Can I get some loving?" Is it really more mature to assume that people should read my mind and know what I need or want? Is it more grown up to grow resentful over my loved ones' inability to read my mind correctly?

Although it feels needy and vulnerable, I wonder if it wouldn't be better for me to take a page out of my son's book? Perhaps I should let his simple entreaty teach me something about how I should communicate? Maybe, just maybe, I could learn to express myself in a way that inspires compassion, rather than defensiveness in those around me? Maybe....?????

My children really have taught me as much as I've taught them!

Friday, June 10, 2011

Sometimes I Love It When They Cry!


Before you conclude that I am sick and twisted, let me explain. It's June (summer in most parts). Summer means that I, the mommy, spend, weeks, days, and long, long hours at my other job, the non-mommy job.

I love my work, love the patients, (except for the ones that don't bathe), love my Doctors, love the people that I get to work with. In short it's a nice break for me, the mommy, to get out of the house and do something that stimulates the clinical side of my brain.

Today was the first day, of my long summer stint of days, at the hospital. I came home around 8:30. The twins had already been in bed for a little while. My Buddy Boy, had gotten up to use the bathroom at which point he saw me. I kissed him good night, thinking that would be the end of it. Five minutes later he came into my room indignant about something. I told him it was bedtime, and I'd see him in the morning. Ten minutes after that, my husband came into our room and asked if I could go console The Man Cub?

Peeking into his room, I saw him, boo hooing for all that he was worth, face buried in his pillow. I scooted him over, laid down on his single mattress with him, and began to stroke his back, then his hair. The crying stopped. He turned over, and with our noses touching, he sighed, lip quivering, he drifted off to sleep.

Something about the way my son missed me today warmed my Mother's Heart. Very soon there will come a day, when I'll have to twist his arm for the privilege of a Good Night Kiss. So for tonight, I'll cherish the fact that nothing else in the world can soothe the woes of my children like their mommy!

Cherish the sight, smell, sound and feel of your children, in this moment, before the moment changes forever.

Good Night...

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Tell Me About When I Was a Baby..


I woke the other morning to the sound of fruit being chopped and my 4 year old daughter's voice. She was asking my husband about when she was a baby. Rather than tell her, he decided to show her. He plugged the camcorder into the computer, brought out her birth video, and let the memory unfold in front of her.

Blurry eyed and exhausted, I pushed back the covers, and followed the pull toward Memory Lane.

I watched myself as a drugged, helpless, almost lifeless, being, go through the drama of delivering twins. I watched the fear play across the face of my husband, I watched medical professionals, move with frenetic efficiency around me, and our babies. I watched almost transfixed, traumatized.

I was surprised to feel such diverse and conflicting emotions simultaneously, as my eyes were glued to the screen. I seemed to be having an odd out of body experience, as though I were watching someone else, a different family, one that looked an awful lot like mine. More than anything, I felt a momentary panic, an almost desperate need to seperate myself from the scene, from that stage, yet perversely drawn to it at the same time.

I had an overwhelming desire to not go back. I didn't want to remember, the pain, the anxiety, the uncertainty, the sleeplessness. It struck me then, that time is merciful and that the memory softens what was reality. Moving on, is almost always better. I want to remember that.

I want to remember, when I'm having those fleeting feelings of my life slipping away that it isn't slipping a way, it's just entering a new chapter.

I also want to remember that each stage has it's sweetness and hardship, and that to live fully I need to embrace and learn from both. I want to parent with grace, for myself and for my children, so that, when I stroll down memory lane, either in my mind or on screen, I can feel a sense that I embraced the moments while I was in them, a sense that I was present, and that the next stage demands that I be present as well.

Regardless of how old my children are, how they got here, or what their birth experience was like.... I'm a mother, and that is a gift, a gift I plan to cherish.