Tag: family

What Made Me Laugh: Nov. 28

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My 2-year-old loves to wear his sister’s shoes that have sparkly toes that light up when you walk. They are 4 sizes too big for him but once he gets his feet into them, he somehow commits to keeping them on.

The other night he had them on when we were goofing around before bedtime. My daughter wanted to push the button on the side of the shoe that makes them light up even if you aren’t walking. My toddler emphatically stated, “Don’t push my buttons!”

Long before he knows about literal and metaphorical meanings, he nailed the delivery.

Thanksgiving

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“The longer I live, the more beautiful life becomes.” – Frank Lloyd Wright

Last year my daughter and I painted a little wooden box with the word “grateful” on top. I set it on a shelf in our family room and we created a ritual of writing down what we are thankful for on a particular day. And sometimes my son comes along, pulls out the drawer and dumps all the little pink slips onto the floor. Which creates a whole other practice of counting the things we are grateful for. 🙂

But I love Thanksgiving for the practice of making me think about what all those daily gratitudes amount to in the big picture.

I am thankful for my divorce. It brought me to a complete halt. But sometimes there is no way to go a different direction unless you stop going the previous direction.

I am thankful for that insistent whisper that I had to talk to my dad about his life and faith. But for that, I would have never broached the subject that opened us up to so many dear and delightful conversations because I was afraid that my views, my meditation practice and my faith were too different.

I am thankful for the gut wrenching desire to have a family even as an unmarried woman in her late 40’s. There was nothing in my previous life that would have marked me as a go-it-on-your-own person before that overwhelming guidance made it impossible to ignore.

I am thankful to the deep need to share with others that has led me to write. The daily practice of blogging has created a depth, thoughtfulness and perspective in me that has enriched my life. It has also enabled me to meet and read so many delightful and wise people whose paths I wouldn’t have crossed otherwise.

I am thankful that all of these things have come together in a way with my faith in God so that I KNOW this is my life to lead. On the many days that I’m so incredibly tired, I am just tired, not resentful because this is my path.

I’m grateful that my list of people, events and things to be thankful for is long and getting longer. I’ve known times in my life when it was getting shorter. It has made me appreciate the many blessings and the beauty of this world with deeply.

Happy Thanksgiving to all!

Uncertainty

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“Life was not meant to be easy…but take courage: it can be delightful.” – George Bernard Shaw

Often when I drop my daughter and our neighbor to school in the mornings, I see a man standing at the fence watching his child. He’s dropped his child off, they’ve run into the playground to stand in line before the teachers bring the kids in and the man stands there, sometimes watching, sometimes waving.

It’s an image that affects me deeply. Is he worried about the child being bullied? Or just sending him his love? Is he struggling with the separation? Whatever it is, it feels like the man is sending out his personal bubble of protection to encompass the child from afar.

And I understand it because sending my daughter to first grade in these pandemic conditions meant I had to send her off to a building that I’d never been inside of and to a teacher that I’ve met in-person once. It’s a little like sending her off to a black hole every day and then just being so thankful that she comes back out.

But that all changed last week when they finally processed my volunteer application and called me last minute because they needed help with lunch. The school has set up lunch tables outside and rotations so they can eat sufficiently spread out all facing one direction. They have hand sanitizer protocols and wipe down procedures and the kids seem to handle all these rules with such aplomb.

It felt like such a luxury to be with my child as she was playing in the playground, eating lunch and also to be able to chat with her friends. I met Will, the boy I wrote about in the COVID crush post. [He also lines up on heart number 15 next to my daughter and told her a few weeks ago that he has a crush on her.] He came up to me during the lunch service and also told me he had a crush on her. He was adorable!

In the middle of the seating our 3rd rotation out of 4, the loud speaker went off with a huge clang and announced that everyone needed to “shelter in place.” Kids had to pack up their lunches and evacuate the playground. Without any clear understanding of why, we helped these 2nd and 3rd graders return to their classrooms in a hurry.

[Eventually it was explained there was a tornado warning which is beyond rare in Seattle. Then the news came in that was intended for an area about 30 miles west of us. It was too late to get the kids back out to the lunch area so we just supported them eating in their classrooms.]

The man at the fence has come to symbolize uncertainty for me. The uncertainty that has been so acute in this pandemic era when we haven’t had access to check on our loved ones – whether they be elderly, sick, kids or even our pets as we sit outside the vet clinic. All that worry about how we can keep them safe when we can’t be involved in their care.

Finally getting to see the inside of the school helped resolve some of my uncertainty. Strangely it was the emergency that made me feel better most of all. I worked arm in arm with much of the school staff and got to see the people that make school happen every day. It was an honor and wonder to see their dedication, resourcefulness and care. I hope one day I can tell that to the man at the fence.

(featured image photo from Pexels)

Photo of the week: Nov 13

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Covid has brought us closer together with our neighbors. There are 10 kids on the block under age 8, median age 4-years-old and they’ve found a rhythm of playing in each others yards or in this case, when it was raining, in my garage. I know that the lasting effects of this pandemic have yet to be seen in full but locally, I love how these kids have bonded. When everything shut down, they all become less “scheduled” and have learned the art of old-fashioned play.

The Detailed Answer

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“Love is the beauty of the soul.” – St. Augustine

I was driving in the car with my kids when my 6-year-old asked me, “Mama, do you like being a parent?” I replied that I did and that I especially did because I was proud to be a parent of the two of them. Which is true but also a really broad answer that encapsulates all the specific things that go into parenting.

Yesterday was a great example of all the reasons why I love being a parent.

Since it was a holiday morning, I snuggled in my bed with my two kids and we watched a video that my daughter made. She was explaining grown-up teeth and it came out like this, “You know what grown-ups are, right? And well, they have teeth. And when you are little, you lose all of your teeth. EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM.” [insert expression where she gets really close to the camera and tries to show every one of her teeth] We watched that video over and over and laughed!

I can’t think of a day as a parent where I haven’t belly-laughed.

Then my daughter was asking me why we have Veterans Day. I explained it as if it originated as a celebration of the end of World War II. Later in the day I found out it was marking the end of World War I. Oops.

Every day I have to explain something that isn’t in my wheelhouse. I make mistakes and I learn.

Yesterday morning my daughter’s best friend, who is brown, came over and they were making art on the dining room table. My daughter said she didn’t like brown as a color. It offended her friend because she is brown. They had a conversation trying to solve both individual expression and systemic hurt.

There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t get some insight into all that comes with being human.

I had to take my 2-year-old son to the doctor for his flu shot. He flinched when he got it but didn’t cry. But 10 minutes later he pinched his finger when we sat down on a bench and started sobbing.

I’m reminded every day that being a safe place for others to express their hurts is a sacred job.

The three of us went over to visit my mom. We played the piano, explored all her toys, read books, fiddled with the water in her sink, found tiny places that only little people could hide in and laughed. We had the snacks in a routine that my kids associate with my mom and it’s easy to see how traditions are born.

There is some reminder every day that my kids and I are part of a loving, bigger family that holds us, helps us and hears us.

Tired after all the excitement and hurts of the day, my son didn’t want to eat the dinner I’d made for him and tipped it onto the floor. I too was tired and frustrated and said so. My son said for the very first time, “I lorry.” (I’m sorry) We picked it up together.

Each day comes with the need to forgive and be forgiven.

As I got ready for bed, I went into my kids room to check on them. The sound of their breathing and the precious shapes they make while they sleep renews every fiber of love of safety in my body.

Every day I am overwhelmed with my love for these beautiful miracles.

When my daughter asked me if I liked being a parent, I asked her if it seems like I do. She said “Yes. I mean you get tired and frustrated sometimes but, yes.” That about sums it up.

Imitation

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“Imitation is not just the sincerest form of flattery – it’s the sincerest form of learning.” – George Bernard Shaw

When we lived in the Philippines when I was growing up, we had two young women who helped us – one who cooked and one who cleaned. One day when the cook had a day off, my mom made toast and accidentally burned it. She took it to the sink and scraped off the burned bits before buttering it and serving it. The woman who did the cleaning thought this is how Americans made toast. Whenever she made toast for us, she intentionally burned it before scraping and serving it.

I thought of this story last night as I was sitting with my kids as they watched their shows. My daughter picked up her milk cup and accidentally banged it against her bowl of popcorn. My son, who even when he doesn’t seem to be is always watching his older sister, followed suit. He picked up his cup of milk and intentionally banged it on his popcorn bowl.

Imitation is such a natural way to learn. I know this from the last six years of seeing how children learn walking and talking just by imitation. As I watched my kids last night, it occurred to me that sometimes we copy people instead of asking.

In this week that mark’s the seventh anniversary of my dad’s sudden death, it’s no surprise he’s on my mind. But again and again, the thing I am so grateful for is that by following the Divine whisper in my heart, I found my way to asking him what was so important about his life and what he knew.

Imitation works fine for learning when how to make toast but doesn’t replace telling someone how much we admire them. Only by asking can we find out what are the important things they want to pass on to others. It feels more vulnerable to do it but it’s a precious gift that leaves us closer instead of at the sink, scraping off the burned bits of toast and wondering why we never asked.

(featured image from Pexels)

Emotions about Emotions

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“A gem cannot be polished without friction, nor a man perfected without trials.” – Chinese Proverb

The other day I was in my car driving my toddler out of a park. We’d met some friends, played a while but had to leave because it was his naptime. His older sister was able to stay because our friends were bringing her home.

He was crying “go back” and “no, no, La-la (his name for his sister).” I totally sympathized with why he’d be frustrated, disappointed and feel it was unfair. I was glad he felt free to express himself. But after a couple minutes of this, I felt miserable listening to him.

I continued to feel so uncomfortable listening to him continue to cry for the entire winding road up and out of the park, probably five minutes. I kept thinking, “ I am so done with this emotion. I can’t wait until you grow up and can deal with disappointment quietly.”

I want my kids/friends/family to express themselves. I also feel miserable sometimes having to witness these messy emotions. How can both things be true?

I asked my meditation teacher. We talked through a history we both share of childhoods where “suck it up, buttercup” was the rule of the house. And we talked through the feeling of wanting to shut down and run away when someone wants to emote. I’d like to problem solve, move past, read it in a letter, whatever it takes not to just have to sit and bear witness for as long as they’d like to go on.

My teacher pointed out that this IS the practice of meditation. Observing what arises, not attaching, not resisting, not judging. Not piling on with feelings about feelings.

Damn, it’s hard.

I remember when my sister spent a month staying with my mom just after my dad died. She texted me something about my mom along the lines of “I can’t tell if she’s crying because she misses him or she feels sorry for herself.” It seemed so unfair to me to read that about my strong mother who is so put together and also allowed to grieve. But I’ve come to believe my sister was feeling that same need to escape someone else’s emotion.

The other day, I never mastered my emotion driving out of the park but did manage to sit in silence as my son worked it out. Once we drove through the park gates, he quieted down and shifted to observing trucks, pumpkins and being his usual affable self. Thank goodness. But next time, I aspire to not adding my emotions about other people’s emotions to create more misery.

Dispelling Shame

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“What you cannot turn to good, you must make as little bad as you can.” – Thomas More

We bumped up against shame a couple times this past weekend. As always, it left a mark.

The first time was when a group of young kids, including my 6-year-old daughter and her friend were looking into a stream that’s on the way to the salmon spawning grounds. They weren’t doing anything wrong and I believe the grown-up that was with them was making sure they weren’t going to but an activist yelled at them in case they were thinking of stepping into the water.

The second was when my daughter dropped an old iPhone that I’d given her to play with. It’s so outdated that it doesn’t have any value to a grown-up and can’t connect to the Internet but it does turn on and take pictures. She’s old enough now to understand the cachet of a phone and was so excited that she even put on jeans so that she’d have a pocket to carry it in.

But when she discovered that after dropping it a few times the screen had cracked, she followed suit and cracked. Her melt down was in part because she accurately assessed that I wouldn’t replace it. But more than that, she was ashamed that people would know she was a person who couldn’t take care of a phone.

Shame reminds me of an incident when I was 18-years-old. I was with a group of guys in a bar in Idaho. We were too young to buy drinks so we were just standing around when someone who we’d helped tow his boat earlier in the day offered to buy us a pitcher of beer. I was the closest and because I didn’t drink, I said, “no thank you” even though I meant “not for me.” The guys I was with could have killed me. But no one said anything.

This incident still marks me more than 30-years-later because I’ve never talked about it. I felt like a goodie-two-shoes even though I didn’t care – I just misspoke. Even typing it makes me feel that burn all over again. It’s because it’s so trivial and yet I still remember that I know how powerful shame can be.

After the incident at the stream this weekend, my daughter and her friend bumped into each other and they got into a kerfuffle about space. As an observer, it was clear it had nothing to do with who bumped whom and everything to do with discharging the shame of being yelled at by a stranger when they very much like to follow the rules.

The night the phone cracked I sat with my daughter at bedtime and we talked about shame. About how silence and secrecy are the things that shame feeds on and if we want to stop the shame spiral, we have to talk about it lest we give it the power to make us feel unworthy.

As we talked, I realized that I was confused as a parent about which message to emphasize because I think taking care of the things we own is important. But making the distinction between it was bad to drop the phone and being a bad person because she couldn’t take care of the phone was more important to me. Because shame leaves a mark. But how deeply etched the mark is depends on how quickly we can pull out of the shame spiral.  

As a postscript, when my mom came over last night, my daughter pulled out the phone she had hidden when she was ashamed and talked about what was on the phone, how it got cracked and what we need to do to take care of our stuff. It was like getting immediate feedback on a test and we passed. Phew!

Day of the Dead

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

I’ve been thinking a lot about my dear dad lately. Not surprising since today is the Day of the Dead and next week is the 7th anniversary of when he got on his bike one sunny afternoon, collided with a car and died suddenly.

In his eulogy, my brother said about my dad, “He met you where you were without leaving where he was.” Which rang so true that I’m still in awe of it. As a pastor, my dad stood with so many others in times of crisis and grief – tragedies, accidents, divorces, mistakes. He had this way of being non-judgmentally empathetic without leaving his beliefs or values behind.

When I asked him about it, he said, “Let’s face it, everyone is on their own journey and we don’t get to see everyone at the top of their game.  Some are just getting started.  We only get a glimpse of them at one point in time, some maybe longer, and our job is to love them so they move forward, closer to the Lord and closer to those God has placed in their lives.”

And then my dad added a bit about what an honor his job had been, “One of the unique things about ministry is that you are able to be with people in some of the most precious, important, holy moments of their life . . . birth, death, baptism, marriage, funeral, crisis. A pastor steps in to the middle of someone’s life at those unique times and that is pretty rare.”

There’s something magical that has happened in the years since his death. Our conversation has continued. Maybe because we talked so much about his life before he died or maybe just because we loved each other so much, but there are moments when I feel him “just beyond the veil” as he put it.

And the more it happens, the more I think about what he’d advise, the more he becomes entwined and embodied in me. Our relationship has not ended at all, it’s just become even more true that he meets me where I’m at without leaving where he’s at.