Category: Parenthood

Tears Worth Shedding

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“Never apologize for showing feeling. When you do so you apologize for truth.” – Benjamin Disraeli

My mom was asking if my son still cries when I drop him off at daycare. He switched into a new class about two weeks ago and since the change, he’s had a harder time with that initial separation even though he’s perfectly happy after I leave. At the same time he switched classes, I also started taking him to Starbucks before school so that we could sit, look at cars and dogs and have a touch point for just the two of us after I drop his sister at school. My mom suggested, “Maybe he’s having a hard time at drop off because he likes the time with you at Starbucks so much.”

Which could very well be the case. But it begs the question if we should be distant with others so that they don’t miss us too much. Or we could be downright crappy to them. I know that my mom was not exactly suggesting that but it’s a little bit of a family tradition to be difficult when doing something for someone that you don’t want to have to do again. The unspoken strategy is to make it so painful that they’ll never ask again. Doesn’t that sound more fun that just saying “no”? 😊

I’ve consciously or unconsciously used this ploy for every guy I’ve broken up with. So I can say from experience, it doesn’t make the separation any easier. It just tinges all the memories with gray.

All of this reminds me of something I heard the writer Ashley C. Ford say, “I tried to live a disappointing life in order to not be disappointed.”

I understand the pull to stay very small in order to have a tidy life and never disappoint anyone else or myself. But I’ve learned that it doesn’t work to do anything but limit life experiences and connection to others.

This morning, my son and I went to Starbucks and had fun. We joked about who was going to school and who was going to work. He still cried when I left but I heard it differently. They were the cries of a huge love, the pain of missing each other and a big life. Those are the tears I think are worth shedding!

The Work of Friends

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“My friends are the beings through whom God loves me.” – Saint Martin

My six-year-old daughter’s friend called her bossy the other day. Oh-boy, did this touch a whole chain reaction of feelings in me, not many of them that I’m proud of. Judgment of the little girl, defensiveness for all girls who dare to live out loud, and an instinct to criticize the name-caller in order to reduce the sting to list a few. But more than that, an internal outburst at the insidious nature of learning so that just when I’ve finally figured out how to belong to myself and not worry too much about what anyone else thinks, life takes it up a notch so that I have to master NOT reacting on the behalf of my children.

Assuming (and hoping) that I have many years to go with this experience of supporting these children as they grow through self-acceptance and however they come to terms with the good and bad of other’s acceptance, I brought this question of how I was going to deal with it to the meditation cushion.

Here’s what showed up. I wouldn’t do my kids homework for them because it steals their opportunity to learn and grow. But I will answer questions, fuel their desire for learning, sit with them and hold their hands if necessary.

In the same way, I can’t do their social work for them. It also would steal their opportunity to learn and grow. So my job is the same – to sit beside them, help them uncover their own wisdom and hold their hands if necessary.

My daughter and I talked about how she felt. She decided to ask her friend if she had been called bossy, how that felt and talk about treating others the way she wants to be treated. I heard a little bit of the conversation and kept my mouth shut. As first steps in the realm of friendship go, it went okay.

Then I went and talked to my friends about this indirect experience of life that comes with parenting. More than anything, the fact that I’ve had these friends through many ups and downs in life and friendship, helped widen my perspective. I’ve never been able to solve their problems either. But through them I’ve learned to walk alongside others, letting go of what I can’t control and breathing in to the faith that showing up is what we are called to do with others and it works!

Big, Scary Dreams

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“The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.” – Eleanor Roosevelt

I got this fortune cookie “If your dreams don’t scare you, they are not big enough” when I was waiting on the results of my first ultrasound for my 2nd child. Since I’d undertaken the whole parenting endeavor intentionally as a single person, I could definitely attest that I was scared.

I carried in my purse all through that pregnancy and now it’s taped to my cupboard. I know that I’m not the only parent to wonder now that I have kids, do I still have the right to dreams that scare me?

Witty Remark

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“Against the assault of laughter, nothing can stand.” – Mark Twain

My kids and I were driving in the car up a long, gently rising hill when my son noticed a jogger on the sidewalk beside us. Here’s the conversation that ensued:

[My toddler]: What man doing?

[Me]: He’s jogging.

[My 6-year-old daughter]: Jogging is what you call it when grown-ups run because they are really slow.

Of course, I immediately burst into laughter and my daughter was delighted to have said something so witty that she has been trying to recreate the humor of it ever sense. Which is hard to do without the setup.

One of the things that fascinates me about witnessing my kids and their friends grow up is the development of their story-telling capabilities. Knowing that narrative shapes our inner lives as well as our interaction with others, I love talking with my daughter about the stories we read and see.

So when Mitch Teemley published this great post Hitting the Creative Bullseye, I thought about my daughter’s witty remark to see if his breakdown of the hallmarks of creativity helped analyzed why we laughed: is unexpected, feels right and surprises them.

Ticking through the points:

  • Was it unexpected? We were just chit chatting in the car so no one was primed for a joke and so yes, it was unexpected.
  • Did it feel right? Yes. There is so much undeniable truth to the remark “jogging is what you call it when grown-ups run because they are really slow.”
  • Did it surprise us? I think the benefit of being 6-years-old is that no one expects you to come up with observations that hit the mark so when you do, it’s both surprising and memorable.

Of course the problem is in repeating it. But that’s why we practice — so that we can access both wit and wisdom, the “Feels right” insight in the moments that are both unexpected and surprise us. Because after all, wit is often how grown-ups deliver wisdom so that others will remember it.

Happy Families

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“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” – Maya Angelou

My mom told me that one of her friends from her retirement community keeps asking her about my kids. He’s 98 years-old, never married and has no kids, and he asks repeatedly about how I conceived them as a single mom and what I tell them about their parentage. As she was telling me this, I thought “Given that they didn’t even invent invitro-fertilization until he was in his 60’s, I can’t imagine what he thinks.” But in this most recent conversation they had, he started telling her about the traumatic childhood he had — his father’s abuse of his sisters, his mother’s nervous breakdown when she discovered the abuse and his mother’s instruction to him to make sure he never left his younger sister alone with his dad. At the end of relating the story he simply said to my mom, “I would have been a lot better off without a dad.”

This makes me so sad. First of all because I had a great dad. Nothing about what I’ve done is a commentary on dads in general. It was simply a matter of not having the right one for my kids and running out of time.

Secondly because of the shame he still seems to carry. The answer to his question about what I tell my kids is that I tell them whatever they ask but I don’t complicate it with more than they want to know at the time. The first time my daughter asked she said, “Did I have a dad when I was born?” and I said “no” and then she followed up with “Did I have a dog when I was born?” and I thought “that’s where you’re going with this?” and answered “yes”. We’ve had more in-depth conversations since then about me going to the doctor to become pregnant and a little about sperm donors but she’s not all that interested yet. I have no way of knowing how she or her brother will come to feel about this (and it’ll probably be many things) but whatever it is, I will do my best to make sure it isn’t shame. My primary tool to combat that is not to have any secrets about their origins.

I’ve been thinking a lot about a Tolstoy quote I recently came across, “Happy families are all alike, but every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” Given that Tolstoy lived long before invitro fertilization and also gay marriage, I’d say maybe in his time happy families were all alike. But they can look pretty different these days.

But I think Tolstoy was right that unhappy families have many possible reasons that can echo for a long time. I hope that we see my mom’s friend again soon and somewhere in the telling of his story and the grace of being interested in my happy children since he never had any of his own, he finds peace for his inner child.

Oh My Dog

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“There’s no psychiatrist in the world like a puppy licking your face.” – Bernard Williams

I was texting with my friend, Eric, the other night about a dinner party I had that was fun but difficult because I couldn’t listen very well. Listening well, serving food and minding two young kids is hard, or maybe nearly impossible. Eric’s reply was, “I can’t imagine trying to have a conversation with John while trying to make dinner, hold a baby and answer the many questions of a six-year-old. The only way to make it easier would be to get a puppy.”

Eric doesn’t think I should get a puppy and he frequently uses humor to tell me so. And I don’t disagree with a single reason he’s given me. Yep, it’s a lot of work. Definitely true that it’ll disrupt my sleep. And sure, I already have a lot on my hands given that I’m a single-mom of two kids trying to work, parent and live some semblance of an individual life. All true!

But here’s the thing. I don’t think life is supposed to be easy. I’m surprised he hasn’t figured this out about me since we’ve been friends through all my parenthood. I mean after I had the first kid it might not have been obvious how much work it took to sustain young life but when I chose to do it again, I think that might have been a clue that I’m willing to go all in the game for love.

I’m going to get a puppy because I love dogs. But I’m also going to get a puppy because I think for families that want them, they are an incredible companion. All your secrets are safe with a dog. Also, once you’ve established the bond, there is no end to the unconditional love of a dog. And finally, to be in charge of an animal, you have to first learn to be in charge of yourself. In the years of growing up that we have to come, I think a pet will be a great source of comfort and joy. Because yes, I just want to be the person that my dog thinks I am and I want my kids to be that person as well.

What’s so funny about this is that Eric was texting me about the party because he couldn’t come because he was home with HIS DOG! A little surgery and the meds had thrown his dog’s system off and Eric didn’t think the dog could come or be left alone. Ha!

But I’m going to wait about six months until my toddler is potty-trained because dealing with poop from more than one household member at a time seems crazy. I’m committed but not insane!

Theology

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“A child can ask questions that a wise man cannot answer.” – unknown

We were driving in the car the other day and my six-year-old daughter asked, “Did God make the word orthodontist?” She was wondering because her new friend at rock climbing camp had to go see one. I responded that God made people and people who speak English made the word orthodontist.

This question is the latest in the wonderings about God and how the planet works. Last week’s topics were: Why did God make homelessness? And why did God make drugs? This is one of the many times I wish I had a more rooted theology so I didn’t have to think so hard when faced with these interesting questions. Theology like my father’s Presbyterianism which kept him so grounded in his 40 year career as a pastor. Sometimes I wish my heart would settle for just picking a group and joining so I could hide under the collective cover.

But I’ve found some consolation reading Holy Envy by Barbara Brown Taylor where she recounts her time teaching World Religions at a small college in Georgia. What struck me is not only how she came to love all the religious traditions but also that she came to see that none of us believes in exactly the same way. I resonated with both of those sentiments. No two people believe exactly the same way even if they do pick a particular camp. And I’m an equal opportunity pursuer of wisdom – after eschewing religion for many years because I couldn’t do Presbyterianism in exactly the way my parents had and then coming back to it via meditation, and adopting some Buddhist, Christian, Jewish, Hindu and other faiths. I’ve come to walk a path that isn’t just obedient to what my parents did, nor rebellious against that but reflects my inner life. For me, sitting in meditation to find that center again and again works to experience Truth and recognize it in others.

In my conversations with my dad when he was in his late 70’s, he said he’d become a big tent person – someone that believed that it didn’t matter what door you came in as long as you had faith. That to me feels like the sentiment I want to convey to my kids. As my daughter tries to puzzle out this key issue of what God does and does not control in this world, free will and the ills of the world, I say as little as possible so she can start to own her answers. She piped up a little later after considering the question of drugs and said, “I know why God made bad drugs, to give us choices.” Not wanting to wade into the complexity of addiction, I just complimented her for making her own deductions about the experience of life. And I smiled inwardly because I believe God does give us choices starting with how we choose to believe.

The Magic Within

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“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” – W.B. Yeats

Yesterday I picked up a board book that I used to read my daughter in her youngest years and read it to my toddler. I hadn’t read it in years since my 6-year-old daughter has moved on to more complex plot lines. As I read the beautifully illustrated pages, I was inspired by the words that seem to me to be part poetry and part prayer for the sacred inner child. They brought back that feeling of infinite possibility and boundless love that came with each of my kids as they were handed to me in the hospital. Here is part of The Crown On Your Head:

With your crown made of glittering, high-flying things,
you’ve got wind in your pocket, your wishes have wings.

You can run like you mean it…so, let the wind blow…
There’s just no telling how high you can go!

Whatever it is you choose to do, no one can do it exactly like you.
Ride on the big slide! And if you fall down, remember your glorious, marvelous crown.

It won’t flicker or fade. It won’t dim. It won’t leave.
ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS BELIEVE.

Do you, my child? I hope that you do.
The world is a wonderland waiting for you.

And you get to share it with all your friends, too!
They each have a crown that is faithful and true.

No one’s is brighter, no one’s is duller.
It’s only a crown of a different color.

So sometimes, just every now and then, whisper “I believe” again.

Your crown is your best friend forever, by far.
It tells the true story of just who you are.

That’s why every night, when I put you to bed,
I’m careful to kiss the crown on your head.

The Crown on Your Head by Nancy Tillman

And I wondered, when did I stop believing in this about me? I don’t mean that in a self-pitying way but in a way that has forgotten that there is a sacred inner child within me.

It strikes me that somewhere in the transition between my parents wishes for the beautiful life I would have and coming to care for myself, I have mastered the practicalities but forgotten the magic. And while I am more or less fine with that because I get along well enough, I wouldn’t wish that same pragmaticism-only for my kids.

And beyond my kids, is it possible for me to recognize the magic in you if I don’t recognize the magic in me? There has to be a maxim here that if I’m moved enough when I read it to my kids because I have witnessed their magic then I must believe it just a little bit – otherwise why read it at all?

There must be a way that doesn’t leave them narcissistic, spoiled or entitled to remind my kids of the magic inside them. Believing in our inner magic doesn’t mean we won’t do our chores and go to work, but possibly we’ll whistle more and find deeper joy when we do. Or hopefully we’ll listen to our own inspiration more if we do.

I’m considering reading this board book to them at tough moments all the way until they are 52 years old and beyond if I happen to be on the planet. If it reminds me of the flame of possibility that burns within me for as long as I live and love, all the better.

Love Language

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“At some point, you have to realize that some people can stay in your heart but not your life.” – Sandi Lynn

“I probably won’t see you tomorrow,” my friend Rachel text me, “I’ve got this door project with my dad.” Reading that, I felt a deep ache for my dad because doing projects with him is one of the things I miss most. My family’s love language is projects. I know that’s not exactly one of the five from the love languages book but it’s some combination of acts of service and spending time together combined with getting stuff done!

Our project time was when we got to hang out without great pressure to talk and go to the neighborhood hardware store to get something and chat with all the folks that worked there (I think if my dad hadn’t chosen to be a pastor, he would have loved to be a hardware store guy). I miss the way I always learned some little trick from Dad and most of all the way we’d envision what we were doing together and my dad would throw his arm around me and say, “It’s going to be great, Kid.”

Even though he died unexpectedly in a bike accident, he left me with a list of things we’d always do this time of year. Seal the grout in the tiles we put up along the sides of my driveway, clear the drain field at the base of my driveway, and stain the deck. I do these things and feel my dad with me. We did these things together so many times that I can practically hear his light banter and feel his joie de vie. In fact I went into the hardware store yesterday and Marty, the guy that always consulted with us on projects, was there and I felt this shiver pass through like my dad was right there with me.

Since he’s not here, I do the next best thing and teach my kids the family love language. I’m amazed that the longer he is gone, I don’t miss him less, I just become him more. As we clean the drain field, I can practically hear my dad laughing with my son as he tries to use the cordless drill to get the screws out. I channel his oohing and aahing with my daughter as she pulls out the worms and slugs that having been living in the rich dirt that collected in the drain. He might not be here but this must be the way that love and warmth are passed from generation to generation. We remember the things they love, feel the glow of being together and then pass the spirit on.

It’s going to be great, Kids!

Substitutes

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“Sell your cleverness and buy bewilderment.” – Rumi

The other day my 6-year-old was uncharacteristically quiet so I asked her what she was thinking about. She said, “I’m counting the number of times I’ve had a substitute.” Given that she only attended in-person Kindergarten for about 10 weeks last year, the number is low (four but it was the same one twice so I count it as three 😊 ) but this is the scares her about school.

It makes me think of all the times when I’ve either expressed my fears to someone else or been the person listening to a loved ones fears. It seems like there are three possible outcomes for me when I communicate what scares me: I can feel better, feel not heard or feel worse. Generally speaking, I feel better when I can tease out what is really bothering me and see it in a bigger context, I feel not heard when my fears are dismissed and I feel worse when the person I’m talking to adds their crap to the pile.

On the other side as a listener, I feel like I’m on the tip of understanding something monumental about how we hold each other. I’m pretty naturally and also by profession a good problem solver. But if I go to that, I often miss the point when someone expresses a fear. Because aren’t our fears often teaching us something about what is coming next for us or what we are presently learning? Like when I fear a bogeyman, it’s because I feel powerless and when I fear failure it’s because I’m taking a meaningful risk.

So when I’m listening these days, I try to imagine being a lake. Big enough so that when someone adds their load, it doesn’t overflow the edges. Clear enough so others can see the bottom. Accepting enough to hold someone when they need to float.

School starts tomorrow for my daughter. Given that COVID it brought added awareness that when we are sick we need to stay home, she’s probably going to have a substitute more than 4 times this year. Knowing that, all I could do was listen to why she doesn’t like having substitutes and tease out what it means. It’s the unexpected, it’s a fear of having to prove herself to someone new, it’s the fear that there might be expectations that she might not know. Put like that, it’s what I fear too, so we made an agreement to hold hands and face our fears together.