Jen writes

January 24, 2012

Memories to strive for

Sarah and I were talking yesterday about how lucky we are. There are so many reasons, of course, but our conversation centered around family. Our own childhoods, with engaged, educated, interesting, fun parents who each respected their children and encouraged us all to excel, to take risks, to grow. OK, we didn’t use those words during our chat, but that’s what it comes down to, isn’t it? Having good parents means so very much.

Now that we’re both in the thick of it, trying oh so hard to be good parents ourselves, we call upon our own childhood experiences more and more. We wonder how our own parents would have handled situations that we’re going through with our own kids now. We realize how very rare our own experience was——that our house was the house everyone wanted to be at. Sure our friends came by to eat the good food that dad always made sure stocked the kitchen: ice cream, chips, a dozen kinds of cereal, bagels, soda. And they came to swim in our pool or play basketball out back. But our friends also came because our parents welcomed them. And let them be who they were, just as they let us be who we were and who we were becoming.

There is so very much more to this topic. It is never ending, really, as we all try to offer our kids the best of all possible childhoods. After having another talk with Sarah about how our kids are so lucky to have their siblings and their cousins and a large extended family of love and tradition, I received a link to this video. It’s the same message in a slightly different——and slightly more sad——delivery. But there it is, loud and clear: Enjoy. Thank. Appreciate. Share. Do your best. Live together and with great appreciation for all that you have.

Today isn’t a “significant” day in the loss of our dad. It’s not his birthday or the anniversary of the day he died or Valentine’s Day——on which I always remember him and the year we sat at Pizza Hut as a family and he gave me and my siblings each a Valentine-themed pencil. But sometimes it’s the days that aren’t supposed to be significant that are most memorable.

We were lucky to share so many days together.
And we’re lucky to have so many memories to share.

But some days are still difficult.

Even as we children are lucky still, each with our own families of five now.
Even as a doting grandmother, who has so very many reasons to be proud.

Because I wrote this quickly. Because it’s Tuesday. Because I haven’t joined up in a very long time, I’m linking this post to Heather of the EO’s Just Write #19.

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Jen writes

January 20, 2012

Processing

Too many words
Too little time

Instead of progress
There is procrastination

Waiting for opportunity
Accepting the impossible

Creativity and mothering:
Stop and go

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Jen writes

January 13, 2012

Needing to need

“You might want to say awesome.”

Words straight out of my 3-year-old’s mouth. Apparently I didn’t praise her quickly enough–in this case for getting herself dressed.

Or maybe it wasn’t the getting dressed itself, rather the choice of clothing: A fleece pullover of dinosaur print that, not so incidentally, has a matching fleece dinosaur-print hat, complete with stegasaurus-like spikes. She was getting dressed for school–an event that happens only twice per week–and I gathered that she’d been planning the ensemble for some time.

Sweetie and I have laughed about this particular sentence spoken by our spirited and strong-willed daughter, who provides us with plenty of entertainment in the way of her expressive storytelling daily. But what has resonated with me, even a week after her announcement/request, is the truth and simplicity that young children don’t hesitate to ask for what they need. Whether it’s more juice, help tying a shoe or a hug, my kids are experts at letting their needs by known.

I am not good about asking for what I need. Not good at all. And although I’ve always felt this way, as far back as I can remember, I’m quite sure that when I was a child (at least before age 5, according to my mom, the esteemed GG), I was like any other kid, demanding attention or help any number of times in a given day.

As mothers so many of us remark on the number of times we hear “Mom!” “Mama!” “Mommy!” in a given day (or hour). Depending on the number of kids in the house, these demands come at increasing frequency and increasing decibels. Most days I crave silence.

But since this sweet, innocent remark from my precocious 3-year-old––my youngest and last child: “You might want to say [the briefest of pauses] awesome,” spoken while raising her eyebrows just the slightest bit, her huge dark brown eyes full of expectation, I’ve been thinking about how it happened that I lost this trait. When is it that I not only matured enough to be a little more resourceful but also withdrew excessively so as not to feel the right to need anything at all.

I recognize that even just a few years ago I might have laughed at my daughter and gone on with my day, jotting down her cute sentence on a scrap of paper nearby, intending to transcribe it in a more important place but ultimately losing it. I recognize that I’m changing. As I come out of the babyhood of my children, I’m spending just a tiny bit more time on me. And while I still don’t shower as often as I’d like or get enough sleep or have many clothes that fit, I do have more self awareness. I do have a few minutes to really think about how I feel. And why. And to try my best to express both, to myself and to the people I love.

I’m getting better. The awareness is continuing. I know I don’t need to do everything myself. (These three kids have had everything to do with this clarity.) And that it’s OK to ask for something without worrying too much about inconveniencing someone else. And while I still could stand to speak up a little louder when I need a pat on the back, I also know that I will always have a hard time putting myself first. Fortunately for all of us I don’t foresee myself changing my firm belief that the kids should come first. And I want my children always to be able to tell me what they need, even if I can’t always be the one to give it to them right away.

As it turns out, I’m not doing so badly.

I said, “Awesome!”

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