Chris and I have a ritual of going out to the backyard and talking every night after Bowie goes to sleep. Sometimes we chat briefly, other times we spend 3 hours out there, playing Scrabble or swimming. We share our experiences throughout the day, remind each other of upcoming events, make plans, talk about movies and books. It is our connecting time and I LOVE it so.
Last night, I heard about a conversation Chris had that day at the office with a co-worker. Talking about refinancing, Chris mentioned our home's square footage, a modest 1,300. His shocked friend said what a close family we must be. Our reactions both were, "Yes, we are." And we both smiled hugely and went on to talk about how well that suits us and how happy we are, so close. We certainly all long for a bit more personal space from time to time (sewing room, recording studio, second bathroom, mudroom), but at this time with Bowie, we want to be close. We want to be able to hear him if he wakes and wants us, able to talk to each other while in separate rooms doing our own things, aware of each others presence. Physical closeness is a part of emotional closeness for me. And we've got both going on, joyfully.
I took this photo to show my friend how the sweet banner she made looks hung over Bowie's bedroom door. She decorated his birthday present so beautifully, the banner wrapped around it. And tonight, thinking about our home I see our bedroom door right there, touching his and it makes me so happy and at peace.
An excerpt from my letter to Bowie about his fifth birthday (I mail them to our home and store them by their postmarks, one day to give to Bowie):
"At 45.5 inches, you are almost 6 inches taller than the average 5-year old boy. You are such a big boy. Not only in your size but also in your mind. You are so smart, Bowie. Your use of language is astounding. You stammer as you create these complex sentences, full of adverbs. You tell jokes and laugh with heart-shaped smiles, making joy infectious (whether the joke made sense or not, it's impossible not to join in). People are won over by you. I love that you see each person as a potential friend, inviting strangers over, "Would you like to come sleep over sometime?" I often think back to one day at Zilker Park, before you were talking much, but signing lots. As you watched the swarm of field tripping big kids run past you, you signed "friend" over and over. You have not lost that, my boy. You may sometimes edge into people's private space, touching their faces, hugging and sitting in laps...some people aren't sure how to respond to that. As adults most of us have had decades of training about keeping away from people, but you are retaining that primal trust in people, in connection. It is such a lesson to me, your introverted, reserved Mama. My life, my community is widened as I now chat with many people who previously I would have only communicated with by a smile or glance. So at five, you are still my baby and my teacher...growing larger and more powerful each day."
My dear Bowie is now 5. His birthday was watery and full of new risks and joys. And lots of cheesecake and presents too.
His party at home was loving and fun. Every year I cry when the people that love Bowie sing to him.
He decorated this own cake this year! Delicious devil's food cake and buttercream icing made by Chris.
A friendly and talented neighbor made this spin art bike and let us borrow it for the party. I got 8x8" canvases for each child to make. So beautiful and fun!
After dinner I asked Bowie if I could take one last picture of him before the sun went down, one last picture of him as a 4-year old. He agreed first saying he wanted to do a silly photo, then saying a sweet one. I got a sweet one. His smile is a bit unnatural as he is posing, but I found it so darling that he was willing.
Today we went grocery shopping and got supplies for his birthday dinner- escargot, artichokes, crab legs and turtle cheesecake (a close approximation of the dinner he wanted when he turned 3). He told everyone that would pause for a conversation about his birthday dinner, our plans to go to a waterpark, how he shares his birthday with my mom, what he "knows" he's getting for a present (spy transformer that turns into a police motorcycle; I hope I got that right!)- such a charmer he is, and I can see it there in that smile for me.
It's been almost a year since my last post. Bowie was just barely four. I decided to take a break from blogging. Wanted more actual, less virtual. Wanted to think more about living authentically and publicly. Wanted less time at the computer.
I felt both relieved and lost without blogging. So I think I'm back for another try at sharing my mothering journey and our family's adventures and evolution, but with perhaps less frequency. Hello again!
Last night while taking a spontaneous drive to Zilker park, we were listening to the new My Morning Jacket's "Highly Suspicious" which I have grown to love. Bowie and I sing along to this song a lot. But tonight he asked what suspicious was. So Chris said it means that you don't trust someone. I googled it and read the definition "openly distrustful". Bowie asked what that meant, and I said that it meant that you make it clear to someone that you don't trust them. Bowie's response was surprising to me, "That's mean." Oh my sweet, loving boy trying to learn how to "be nice".
I paused and said, "You know, there are some people that don't feel trustworthy. They make you feel bad or scared or worried." Silence. I continued, "The people we feel safe with, the people we feel good with are people we can trust."
He said, "I trust you Mama." My soul filled, I turned around in my seat and looked at him saying, "I trust you Bowie." I turned to my husband and said, "I trust you Papa." Bowie said with certainty, "I trust you too Papa." And Chris told us he trusts us too. For the next few minutes, Bowie continued on and on, "I trust our whole family. I trust you."
The evening continued on...gorgeous sunset on the downtown skyline, hours of crazy fun frisbee ending long after dark illuminated with glowsticks and a tiny flashlight, delicious P Terry's burgers at 10pm (a long nap preceded this outing) . As wonderful as that all was, that conversation in the minivan was what I am still glowing with.
My favorite daily digest of sorts...The Daily Groove. Every morning there is a short message that inspires, comforts, challenges me in some way. I often forward it Chris. They sometimes get discussed late at night over beer in the backyard. These little tidbits for the soul and mind don't always speak to me, but they almost always resonate with me in a deep way affecting not just my parenting but my whole life.
A couple of weeks I pulled out of a foul mood/insomnia with the help of a recent tip...keep a little list of small things/acts that help you feel better when you want to go up the emotional scale. My hubbie was trying to help me but could do no right. I finally thought, "What would be on my list? Listening to Nick Drake, of course." So Chris put my favorite Drake tune on "One of These Things First" and the funk just seeped away. Here is a recent one that I think of often in my day:
Virtually all of us "lose it" with our kids at some point. Then later we say, "I didn't want to yell at my child, but I couldn't stop myself."
If you want to avoid these parent-child "collisions," you have to pay more attention to your "inner stoplight": stress.
Suppose you're worried about getting your child to an appointment on time. Worrying is stressful, so it's a red light telling you to stop and get centered before moving on. But long ago you were trained to tolerate stress, so you don't notice the red light. You're on a collision course!
Which parent is more likely to end up yelling, the one who's centered or the one who's stressed?
Today, pay close attention to your subtle feelings. Decide that even "mild" tension or irritation is a red light. Stop, breathe, reach for better-feeling thoughts, and wait for the green-light feeling of *relief* before you take action
Feel free to forward this message to your friends! (Please include this paragraph and everything above.) Copyright (c) 2008 by Scott Noelle
Simple stuff like that. But not easy stuff. Not for me. Not yet. The more intentional I am, the more present, I recognize my emotions sooner and the relief comes sooner. But I run a lot of red lights still.
