I've spent a great deal of my life being fake, pretending, being inauthentic. The reasons vary: to keep the peace, to shove the situation under the rug, to not be called names, to not hurt someone's feelings, it's easier.
And though I am grateful for this new space to be completely me...I realize with some people in my circle, authenticity can not exist. I grow, become more myself, yet, I still lie to keep the peace. I quietly accept lies in order not to aggravate the situation. I am quiet and pretend to accept someone's lies in order to maintain some faux sense of ...
I am more grateful than ever for those with whom I can be authentic and truly trust...I am hopeful that this group will continue to grow. I need authentic relationships and people to balance out the inauthentic ones and to help me to keep growing and becoming me.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
On reading to little people
Ezra grabs my heart when he grabs a book, brings it to me and says, "book." And I remember so fondly reading this same books to Elijah at this age. And they both loved hearing the stories, my sing-song voice, the pictures, the red balloon and the old lady whispering hush, the 3 plums, four oranges, the crickets and Polar Bear, Polar Bear, and Please, Baby, Please.
They also both turned the pages of the books before I finished reading the page or grabbed more books for me to read, when I finished one. I love looking at Ezra's eyes gaze with wonder at the pictures as I read and point. It's a small thing, but it's a beautiful moment in our hectic lives.
They also both turned the pages of the books before I finished reading the page or grabbed more books for me to read, when I finished one. I love looking at Ezra's eyes gaze with wonder at the pictures as I read and point. It's a small thing, but it's a beautiful moment in our hectic lives.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
On being 7
For the last two days, Elijah has been wiggling this loose tooth, hoping it would fall out. Last night, I tried to twist it for him; but I just wasn't up to the task.
As we witnessed the first droplets of blood, I thought it was time. "If you keep wiggling it, it will come out." He did. And I was so proud that he was persistent, he was determined and was not afraid of the blood, was not afraid of hurting himself. I love these things about this little boy, in addition to the way his imagination works. He was seven! His new independence had come in full force..just like his two year old brother who insists on feeding himself, despite how little makes it to his mouth or pushes himself out of the chair and onto the floor when he is unable to assert and be rewarded for his new independence.
The parallels between these two ages is remarkable.
My seven year old's mind went to work explaining how his classmates wanted to know if the tooth fairy would come and how much money he would get.
Elijah took a trip into the recesses of his imagination and then detoured into logic-ville with his desire for rationale explanations he questioned the existence of fairies. (This same child insisted that Santa Claus was real when I told him Santa didn't exist. This child told me to listen to the Christmas songs and that proved Santa was real) He got to thinking and talking, "I wonder when will the tooth fairy come? midnight? How does she get the money to give me? Does she turn into someone and then go to the bank to get the money and then turn back into herself? Does she buy the money? I bet her house is made of tooths, I mean teeth. I think her doorknob is one big tooth... I'm going to wake up early in the morning to see what I got."
I let him call his grandmother and she fueled his excitement by saying maybe the tooth fairy would give him a lot of money since he pulled the tooth out himself. She seemed to forget our most recent conversation about the energy bill.
I snatched a single from Elijah's birthday money that I had put away for him to spend in February and slid it under his pillow. He spoke unintelligibly as I lifted his head and felt for the Ziplock baggie.
I rubbed some ointment on his itchy skin, kissed him good night and felt blessed.
As we witnessed the first droplets of blood, I thought it was time. "If you keep wiggling it, it will come out." He did. And I was so proud that he was persistent, he was determined and was not afraid of the blood, was not afraid of hurting himself. I love these things about this little boy, in addition to the way his imagination works. He was seven! His new independence had come in full force..just like his two year old brother who insists on feeding himself, despite how little makes it to his mouth or pushes himself out of the chair and onto the floor when he is unable to assert and be rewarded for his new independence.
The parallels between these two ages is remarkable.
My seven year old's mind went to work explaining how his classmates wanted to know if the tooth fairy would come and how much money he would get.
Elijah took a trip into the recesses of his imagination and then detoured into logic-ville with his desire for rationale explanations he questioned the existence of fairies. (This same child insisted that Santa Claus was real when I told him Santa didn't exist. This child told me to listen to the Christmas songs and that proved Santa was real) He got to thinking and talking, "I wonder when will the tooth fairy come? midnight? How does she get the money to give me? Does she turn into someone and then go to the bank to get the money and then turn back into herself? Does she buy the money? I bet her house is made of tooths, I mean teeth. I think her doorknob is one big tooth... I'm going to wake up early in the morning to see what I got."
I let him call his grandmother and she fueled his excitement by saying maybe the tooth fairy would give him a lot of money since he pulled the tooth out himself. She seemed to forget our most recent conversation about the energy bill.
I snatched a single from Elijah's birthday money that I had put away for him to spend in February and slid it under his pillow. He spoke unintelligibly as I lifted his head and felt for the Ziplock baggie.
I rubbed some ointment on his itchy skin, kissed him good night and felt blessed.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
On sensitivity
"Mommy, which one should we get?" Elijah asked. "Whichever one you like," I replied. "I think we should get this one (the red, green and white snowflake one) because it has more color than this one (the snowman)."
I secretly smiled and thought, this is my child through and through. He wants to make the best decision. He responds positively to color and seeks it out. I didn't know I was teaching him these things, but I guess when I marvel at autumn trees or talk about the different colors on our dinner plates, I'm teaching him to be sensitive to color.
A gift, this sensitivity can be.
At times, it can be a burden. We walked to the children's workshop in Lowe's the other day and Elijah didn't want to build the featured item. He explained that when he walked near the working kids, his stomach started doing flips. I cringed that I heard myself in him. I hated that he inherited my burdensome natural inclination to flee uncomfortable situations. I would rather him not have the negatives that accompany this sensitivity.
However, who can resist a child who sits and drinks hot chocolate with his mother, finishes and says, "Thank you for making me hot chocolate, mommy. That hot chocolate made my heart warm."
Or when the current outdoor resident of our local Target asks for money for long johns, my almost-seven-year old, says "aren't you going to give him some money." When I respond "no;" he says, "if I was a man, I would go to the bank and get some money and bring it to that man."
I secretly smiled and thought, this is my child through and through. He wants to make the best decision. He responds positively to color and seeks it out. I didn't know I was teaching him these things, but I guess when I marvel at autumn trees or talk about the different colors on our dinner plates, I'm teaching him to be sensitive to color.
A gift, this sensitivity can be.
At times, it can be a burden. We walked to the children's workshop in Lowe's the other day and Elijah didn't want to build the featured item. He explained that when he walked near the working kids, his stomach started doing flips. I cringed that I heard myself in him. I hated that he inherited my burdensome natural inclination to flee uncomfortable situations. I would rather him not have the negatives that accompany this sensitivity.
However, who can resist a child who sits and drinks hot chocolate with his mother, finishes and says, "Thank you for making me hot chocolate, mommy. That hot chocolate made my heart warm."
Or when the current outdoor resident of our local Target asks for money for long johns, my almost-seven-year old, says "aren't you going to give him some money." When I respond "no;" he says, "if I was a man, I would go to the bank and get some money and bring it to that man."
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
On "Nigh-Nigh"
One of my favorite moments of the day, is when Elijah and Ezra say "nigh-nigh, kisses, and love you" to each other just before retiring. It is filled with such love that I feel so blessed to witness.
And just a little while later, I cherish holding my growing-too-quickly baby boy while his breathing retards and his chubby hand touches my bare skin, either on my neck, chest or face. His head becomes weighted and rests perfectly on my bosom. He has shown a preference to my left side; it must be more cushiony. Elijah once told me, "I love you mommy, you're soft." Sometimes, Ezra is giddy before drifting off; he'll laugh or talk in a sing-songy manner. Every now and then, he predicts that I'll sing to him and will begin, "Geeee,...." and continue to sing as he expects me to sing "Jesus Loves Me."
I try to inhale his baby-ness, the amazing-ness of those moments. I just want to hold him and rock him because one day I'll turn around and he'll be 7 asking why he has to pick up food from the floor, telling me "I'm not the janitor."
And just a little while later, I cherish holding my growing-too-quickly baby boy while his breathing retards and his chubby hand touches my bare skin, either on my neck, chest or face. His head becomes weighted and rests perfectly on my bosom. He has shown a preference to my left side; it must be more cushiony. Elijah once told me, "I love you mommy, you're soft." Sometimes, Ezra is giddy before drifting off; he'll laugh or talk in a sing-songy manner. Every now and then, he predicts that I'll sing to him and will begin, "Geeee,...." and continue to sing as he expects me to sing "Jesus Loves Me."
I try to inhale his baby-ness, the amazing-ness of those moments. I just want to hold him and rock him because one day I'll turn around and he'll be 7 asking why he has to pick up food from the floor, telling me "I'm not the janitor."
Sunday, October 10, 2010
On being...
Elijah has been playing with friends all weekend and Ezra has had 3 hour naps and I have had some stolen moments just to be. As Ezra watched Elijah and a neighbor play Hungry Hungry Hippo, another neighbor gifted me a homemade candy apple. I chomped away at this childhood treasure loving that the hard candy refused to break down between my teeth. Some of the sweetness melted and landed on my arm, shirt, chin.
I took in the Halloween decorations on the windows,the lit acrylic pumpkin and the red roses, yellow mums and daisies I bought myself yesterday. The children's laughter and childhood became background music to my delectable moments on the couch with my front door wide open as fall ripened before me.
I took in the Halloween decorations on the windows,the lit acrylic pumpkin and the red roses, yellow mums and daisies I bought myself yesterday. The children's laughter and childhood became background music to my delectable moments on the couch with my front door wide open as fall ripened before me.
Friday, October 1, 2010
On My Birthday
Last year, I was obsessed with cleaning my closet. Little did I know what my personal new year would include. One item that I kept in my closet while I was de-cluttering had grown simultaneously so misshapen, shrunken and over-sized that it slunk to the floor of the closet. The fabric frayed and faded as I held on hoping it could be fixed. The article took on a life of it's own and therefore determined when it had enough of being in my life.
Year 32 is over.
The decade of when I arrived in Maryland at 22 and 10 months has trudged along in so many ways, but last week it trudged right past me and I waved gleefully. I'm grateful for the 10 years, but am thrilled they are gone with more painful memories than I care to recount.
I feel a certain freedom from all of the different articles that tried their best to dress me into a woman I would never be. I am excited to enter into a time period where I am free to be me in every aspect.
Year 32 is over.
The decade of when I arrived in Maryland at 22 and 10 months has trudged along in so many ways, but last week it trudged right past me and I waved gleefully. I'm grateful for the 10 years, but am thrilled they are gone with more painful memories than I care to recount.
I feel a certain freedom from all of the different articles that tried their best to dress me into a woman I would never be. I am excited to enter into a time period where I am free to be me in every aspect.
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