Meditations on Life and Parenting
Tenderness: kids and animals
Our friends gave us this cat as a 4-week old 1.4 lb feral kitten that had been living in a dishwasher on the front porch of a home that was being renovated. Miss O was 3-years-old and pretended to read to her until she became comfortable with us. Mr. D has been talking to and trying to train her. Mostly he shakes the treats bag and she comes running.
I am a dog person but my kids have done a great job making Simone into a pretty fun cat.
Another installment from my dad’s humor cards.
The backstory: My dad was a Presbyterian pastor for 40 years. He kept a well curated stack of humor cards – little stories or observations that he typed onto 5×7 cards. Then he wrote in the margins when he used that particular item. His humor was often an easy way to settle in to something deeper – by laughing and thinking about the buried truth in these little nuggets, it paved the way to an open heart.
When we cleaned out his desk after he died 7 years ago, I was lucky enough to stumble on this stack. I pull it out regularly to have a little laugh with my dear Dad. Now when I post one of them, I write my note next to his and it feels like a continuation.
After church of Sunday morning, a young boy suddenly announced to his mother, “Mom, I’ve decided I’m going to be a minister when I grow up.” “That’s okay with us,” the mother said, “But what made you decide to be a minister?” “Well,” the boy replied, “I’ll have to go to church on Sunday anyway, and I figure it will be more fun to stand up and yell than to sit still and listen.”
A heavy snowstorm closed the schools in one town. When the children returned to school a few days later, one grade school teacher asked her students whether they had used the time away from school constructively. “I sure did, teacher,” one little girl replied, “I just prayed for more snow.”
A Sunday school teacher challenged her children to take some time on Sunday afternoon to write a letter to God. They were to bring back their letter the follow Sunday. One little boy wrote, “Dear God. We had a good time at church today. Wish You could have been there.”
Adding to my dad’s collection, I have one from my daughter this week.
Miss O told me that she saw a mosquito in the school bathroom the other day but it didn’t nip her because God took care of it. She expanded, “Well, God or Jesus, whoever deals with that.” So I responded, “Really?” And she said, “Sure, they each have their own areas!”
Isn’t it amazing how spending time with the young gives us a dose of perspective? And a chance to consider what well-earned wisdom might be worth sharing. 😉
“Knowledge increases by sharing, not saving.” – Lyrical
My 6-year-old daughter’s best friend, who is 8-years-old and lives next door, came over this past Sunday with a secret. Here’s how it played out:
Sunday mid-day: “Oh, we’re…. <groan> Never mind. Forget I said anything. It’s nothing bad but I can’t tell you for 3 days.”
Sunday 20 minutes later: I heard her telling my daughter that they are getting a new car and then adding “Well, my dad just said not to tell EVERYONE.”
Monday morning carpool to school: “So I haven’t told ALL the kids on the block.” Then my daughter piped in “Yeah, and my mom doesn’t know.”
Monday evening: My 2-year-old came into the kitchen after playing with his sister and her friend. He ran to me and exclaimed “We have secret!”
Tuesday morning carpool to school: “It’s not too big a deal whether people know or not.”
Wednesday morning carpool to school: “In the new car, we are going to put a towel under my little sister’s seat because you know how messy she is. It should be here today. Or maybe tomorrow.”
Thursday morning carpool to school: “The surprise is going to be here next week.” I asked why it was a surprise now instead of a secret and she replied, “Well, we know it’s coming but not everything about what it’s going to look like so it’s a surprise.”
This must be why we don’t burden our kids with secrets, especially the ones that are heavier to bear!
Here’s looking at you, Kid!
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.
“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.
“The art of conversation lies in listening.” – Malcom Forbes
I’ve been discovering the joys of carpooling 6-year-olds this week. As we’ve driven the 25 minutes to camp, my daughter and her friend have been sitting in the back telling jokes and commentating on the things we see.
Her friend, a boy she went to both co-op preschool and now elementary school with, isn’t as quick with words as she is. So early in the week, we were playing a game where we were naming things in a category (like name how many places you’ve been to on vacation) and I found myself continually jumping into the conversation to remind him of words and answers he might have been searching for. I was afraid he wouldn’t ever get a fair chance given my daughter’s ability to rapidly pounce into any silence.
This phase of parenthood where I don’t always have to be the entertainer is both restful and fascinating to me. It seems so sudden that it’s upon us even though that’s probably just because we missed a good part of a year and a half being with other kids. As I pondered this, I realized I was struggling to just listen to my daughter figuring out how to listen.
It’s taken me a good part of 50 years to learn how to listen and I’m still working on it. To delay that part of myself that wants to jump in, ask questions, prove I’m listening, prove I’m worthy, or tell my story long enough to let my heart soak in what the other person is saying before responding. And also to find the quiet in myself so that I can hear the small insistent voice of the Divine when it speaks. Now, in the insidious nature of life taking lessons to the next level, I have to learn to just sit back and listen as my kids figure out the same knowing it could take them equally as long.
Yesterday as we drove, my daughter came up with this game where she put a ring in each of her hands and her friend had to guess which one was in which. After she’d done a couple of rounds, I so badly wanted to jump in and tell her to give her friend a turn but I stayed quiet. And a little while later her friend spoke up that he wanted to a chance to do the hiding. I’ve found a new delight in the art of listening: creating space for others to find their voice.
“The cure for anything is salt water – sweat, tears or the sea.” – Isak Dinesen
I’ve been listening to an On Being podcast where host Krista Tippett interviews humorist and story-teller Kevin Kling. He told the story about the moment that tears came after a terrible motorcycle accident. His wife had come to the hospital and brought him an apple. At first he refused to eat it because he had no taste at all since the accident but she insisted. He bit into the apple and it was the moment his taste came back to him. The juicy sweetness brought with it all this gratitude for being alive and he started crying. Tears, he insisted, are a great way to clean out the body’s toxins. And for anyone who can’t cry, he said that’s what sports movies are for.
It reminded me of my young daughter who once told me in a moment of pulling herself together, “I kept my eyes from dripping.” And on the other end of the spectrum, my dear father who’s eyes would leak so easily in his older years. I’m intrigued by all the work we do when we are young to gain composure and then at some point realize that we carry so much, we have to just let it go. Or let it flow, whichever is most apt.
Kevin Kling also described having three different phases of prayers in his life. When he was a kid, he prayed to get things. When we was a young adult, he prayed to get out of things (like the time he stowed away on a boat). Now, after the accident, all his prayers are of thankfulness.
I think about my own inflection points and the most recent is having kids. Before I had them, even as I was pregnant with my first, I worried about what everyone else would think and I assumed it was a story that I was not able to find a husband and so had to do it alone in my 40’s. Now that I’ve had them, I’m too smitten with them and too busy to worry about that. But what I notice most is that each period of growth has brought a new vibration so that it does change what I pray, think and talk about. I’m slowly discovering life seems to be as deep as I make it and the more I wade in, the richer it gets.
“Freedom is not worth having if it does not include the freedom to make mistakes.” – Ghandi
Last night we were hanging out in front of our neighbor’s house. My toddler had laid down his strider bike in order to play with their toys and my daughter was climbing trees wearing the tennis shoes I’d just washed for her that day. I was intently talking with my neighbors about how much neighborhood freedom we should afford our older kids when my daughter slipped and fell from the tree she was climbing. She didn’t fall far but her foot got stuck in the fork of the tree so she was hanging upside with her hands on the ground, scared and crying. I picked her up and her foot came loose, then I turned her over so she was cradled in my arms.
Through her tears she breathlessly choked out, “I think we need to…” and the neighbors and I hung on the next words (go to the hospital? get a band-aid?) “…wash my shoes again.”
It was hard not to let out a big snort of laughter and relief. She’s fine.
Surprised By Joy 