Max was sitting on the couch this evening playing with my guitar.
“Mom,” he said, “Do you know why I danced so much when I was in your tummy?” He really did dance. Everytime that child heard music he got down and boogied. It was a crazy 9 months being pregnant with that child.
“No babe,” I said trying to pick up the chaotic living room. “I don’t know–Why did you dance so much?”
“I was in a rock band…you know…before I was born. I played guitar.” The guitar was in his lap and he was strummin’ along casually now as though to make his point. He is one with the guitar.
“Oh…” I said completely charmed with the direction this conversation was taking. “Were you in a rock band while you were in my tummy or before…”
“No mom, BEFORE…When I was an angel.”
“Oh, I see” I say “In heaven”
“Yeah mom…God set me up. You know…in the band. We broke up when we all got sent here to earth. I am trying to find ‘em now so we can rock down here.”
Indeed Max…Indeed.
This past weekend our dear housemate was out of town, visiting some friends. Max missed her terribly and so did I. The weekend unfolded slowly. By the time she arrived back home there was so much to share. She missed so much in just 48 hours.
Max greeted her at the door and bubbled with enthusiasm.
But despite his smiles and hugs for her he had some serious business too. His face grew grave. He told her he had bad news. Very bad news.
He had lost his TV privledges for the week. This was especially sad as the two of them enjoy a nightly Berenstein Bears epsiode. She didn’t ask him why–it didn’t matter. She knows how much Max enjoys his nightly ration and so she had nothing but empathy for this little boy. It was bad news indeed. “I am sorry Max” she said in her crisp lovely accent.
“But,” he perked up, “I have good news too. Very good news. Great in fact.”
“Oh?” she asked, her curiousity peaked
“Yes, ” he said sparkling as he spoke. “I finally learned how to make a star”. He then got a piece of paper and showed her how he could draw a beautiful, lopsided 5 pointed star–just in time for Christmas.
There is always a bit of good news if you have a heart innocent and light enough to see it. There is always a bright light somewhere. I am going to sleep now. Tomorrow I hope I wake up a bit more like Max.
Yesterday Max and I were hustling about, running errands. As we finished our final task, we crossed a bridge that connects an old mall to a new parking structure–a glassed in corridor that hangs above one of the more busy streets in our new downtown. Max (so much like his mama in this way) enjoys the people watching and it often takes a full 20 minutes for us to make our way across the bridge.
Max stood with his face pressed up against the window and called out to me the things that he saw…the things that made him stare in wonder. “Look mommy,” he said. “Look–a puppy dog. Look how cute he is in his sweater…Look at that funny man” And then something that took my breath away. “Look, ” he said his soulful eyes big and wide. “Its a mom with her son…and her daughter.” He then sighed a deep sigh that communicated all the sadness and heaviness of the world. “I wish I had a little sister,” he said as he shifted, indicating to me that his people-watching was over for now, that he was ready for the car. I ruffled his hair and spoke with great empathy.
“Yes,” I reflected back at him, “Its so hard to be an only child”.
”Yeah, ” he said with a voice so solemn. “I have no one to beat up.”
These are the moments when he keeps me on my toes.
Today was a bad day for all of us. Bad news and disappointment hung heavy in the air. I had another one of those brain foggy days where nothing got accomplished, time ran out while tasks piled up, and I felt so low and small and unexceptional.
It would have been bad enough if it had been just me, but when I arrived home to my little family I realized that we all had had this kind of days. They happen.
There was nothing to do but declare a trip out for icecream. Never mind that it is a school night. Never mind that I don’t need the calories. It is hard to feel frustrated or angry or sad when one is digging into an icecream such as this. When one is posing for silly photos. It is hard to feel defeated when the cool smooth icecream is dancing on our tongues and sliding down our throats.
Returning home the disappointments and frustrations were still there. The unaccomplished tasks were still piled up. But after this hour of silliness we were able to hold is so much lighter, breathe and try again.
Today was Juan’s birthday. Max planned a surprise birthday party for his dad. It was a small family affair. Just mommy, papi and Rosie the cat. Our housemate was an honored invited guest for the dinner and cake part. Every moment was orchestrated by this child who had dreamed of this party for days.
When Juan arrived Max told him to stay outside while we hid in our assigned places. We jumped out on cue to sing the birthday song that Max had written.
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to you
We’re glad that you’re 39
And we love you now you’re 39.
And then there was the dinner. Max said the grace, but only after I had lit all 8 pillar candles he had placed in the middle of the table. He said his prayers over the candles as solemnly as at a Sabbath dinner and then blew them out. We urged them to leave the candles lit–they looked so pretty and festive. But he insisted. He claimed that your prayers don’t come true if you don’t blow the candles out.
Then came the toasts. We needed to clink our glasses 39 times–taking breaks every 10 or so clinks to offer up a toast to the birthday man.
Max carried out the football icecream cake. He had picked it out especially for Juan because of Juan’s love for the game, a love which frankly neither Max nor I can understand. Max’s love of Snickers Carvel icecream cakes of course had nothing to do with it. Cake was followed by a family art project and then the games. By the time it was all over we were all exhausted but blissed out.
It was one of the moments when we shined as a family. When all the awkwardness and sorrow of the last several years just disappeared. When we could be exactly and everything that Max needed from us, despite our woundedness and all the ways we continue to disappoint each other.
And for this, this moment which we will all cling to when it gets hard again, for this I am most thankful.
My newest baby, Ella. We have been doing a lot of late night struggling the two of us.
When Max was a few days old, Juan went off to work, my mother climbed onto an airplane and I was left all alone with a strange little person who couldn’t seem to get the hang of nursing and who screamed bloody murder whenever he was put down. I remember sitting with him on the couch, trying to figure him out, wishing he had an owners manual attached to his little foot.
Motherhood wasn’t going as planned.
I assumed I would be a natural at mothering. I had imagined that soon after delivery I would be sailing along effortlessly, nurturing and listening to my baby’s cues, managing the house, and taking a break from my stressful DC job, as good at the art of parenting as I was at everything else in my life that I had tackled. Instead, I sat sobbing on the couch frustrated that I couldn’t figure out how to simultaneously hold him and feed myself lunch. I was so hungry, he was so needy and we were both absolutely miserable.
Even weeks later, I beat myself up for not knowing what the hell I was doing. I was not effortlessly swaddling my little bambino in a sling as I arrived for my lunch appointment. Instead I was sobbing as I tried for the 5th time to tuck him in, an hour and a half late for an appointment with a friend downtown, yellow mustard poop smeared on my arm, my breasts leaking through my shirt.
It was then, at that exact moment that I discovered the art of baby steps.
I stopped trying to fufill my ultimate vision and dropped my standards to the sub-basement level. I would define victory in the smallest of ways. “Today I went to the bathroom.” “Today I made myself lunch.” “Today I combed my hair.” I remember how exhilerating it was when Max was three and a half weeks old I was able to pack him up all by myself and get to a friend’s house. Granted, I was so exhausted from the effort of getting out all I could do was sit in her hammock swing and nurse my son sleepily, but I had done it all by myself. For a Type-A, Washington overachiever, it seemed like a pretty lame accomplishment but to me that victory felt sweeter than anything I had accomplished in the previous 10 years of work.
It dawned on me as I was swinging there on her porch that this was the first time I had attempted to do something I wasn’t naturally good at. I really had no choice after all. But this was a departure from the rhythm of my life up to that point.
See, I was used to being good at things. As a child and young adult I was a classic overachiever. I was interested in anything I excelled at and so I chose my activities very carefully, filling my time with things I could sail through effortlessly and then focused all my energy at being the best. I quickly lost interest in anything that was hard.
Dance–I had been a natural since my first ballet class at 4. It stuck and became my major extracurricular activity all the way through college. On the other hand there was tennis and downhill skiing, I fell too much and had a weak swing. Swimming–I was slow and always behind the others, a little out of breathe. I left those activities in the dust (with a bit of regret) and didn’t look back.
As much as I sometimes wished for it, I didn’t have the option of leaving mothering behind in pursuit of something I could do so much better. So at age 32, I finally allowed myself to indulge in taking things slow, in fumbling along in a half-assed manner, in failing every day and in taking baby steps.
I learned the pure joy of sticking with something I was bad at, of toughing it out and struggling through. Getting through the muck and surviving. And while I still daily make classic mistakes that would lead many a social worker shake to her head in dismay, I have really become a pretty decent mom,. It was a bumpy ride l to get here but looking into those big brown eyes of Max’s I know that every second its been worth it.
Max helped me discover the pure joy of doing something because I love it not because I am going to be good at it. And this beautiful little angel, he has opened up doors for me. I am now free to do things for pure and utter joy of it. There are so many beautiful things that I cant do well! Giving myself permission to plunge into all of them has been liberating. And it has been the biggest creative gift the universe has ever passed along.
Since Juan left, I regularly practice doing things I am bad at. I know longer crave the praise from doing the things that I naturally do well. Instead, I fill my free hours struggling through with no hope of ever being great, striving to be good enough. Despite the often poor results I keep going–an addict now to the adrenline rush of the tiny victory.
I was thinking about all this this evening because I have a bunch of new projects on my plate now that really do not play to my strengths. Struggling through them could be the understatement of the year. I am spending hours with little results, taking my baby steps, one by one and relentlessly congratulating myself on the smallest of successes.
I am so proud of myself to be doing so much so badly. For finally choosing to do things for the joy of them and not for the flashy results.
Max and jake en route to the white house
When I am called to account for my success or failure as a mother, there are only three things that will matter to me:
- Is my son a kind and compassionate person? Does he treat all human beings with respect and gentleness regardless of their skin color, gender, economic status, nationality?
- Is my son comfortable in his own skin? Is he comfortable with the full range of his emotions? Does he value himself and honor his own feelings?
- Does my son stand up for what he believes in, even when it is hard? Will he confront authority in the face of injustice? Will he stand for others?
Today was one of those wonderful days when we had a chance to practice all three things.
Nine million children without health insurance
It is hard for me to believe that in this country, the wealthiest and most prosperous land in the world, there are 9,000,000–nine million–children who do not have access to healthcare. Children who have to forgoe medicines, children who will die because simple illness goes untreated. And it angers me that President George W Bush, a man who calls himself compassionate, has decided to veto a bill that will fund the expansion of health insurance for children. He will veto that bill, all the while asking for more and more money to fund a war in Iraq, a war that has been mismanaged and has lead to the deaths of so many, including many innocent children. While I love my country and am grateful for the freedom to speak my mind in this land, sometimes when I consider these policies I just want to hang my head in shame.
Along with Andy Stern and Dennis Rivera, Max and a handful of other children delivered petitions with some one million signatures to the White House. The petitions, collected by health care workers all over the country, asked President Bush NOT to veto this bill supported by Democrats and Republicans alike and to fully fund a program that will make it possible for so many children to live healthier lives.
On Friday, Max was invited to participate in this action. Although I was tempted to just sign him up based on my own values, I decided to leave it up to him. I explained to him the situation and asked him if he wanted to participate. He was thoughtful, considered what he would miss in school and the friends he wanted to play with. But then he said, “Yes mommy. I want to fight for healthcare for kids–and I want to tell President Bush to end the war.” If that was not enough, he then completely independently convinced two more friends to join him.
And so today we headed downtown into Washington DC for an adventure. The children pulled red wagons filled to overflowing with mailbags stuffed with petitions. They pulled them down the street to the park in front of the White House while strangers looked on and while some grown-ups even jeered at them. They kept going, even though it was hot and scary, even though strange reporters were in their faces with cameras and microphones. Even though the wagons were heavy and hurt their hands.
The stood in the hot hot sun with Congressman John Dingell and Senator Ted Kennedy. And then they held hands and crossed the street and piled the petitions at the gate in front of the White House. They chanted and shouted and stood up against the injustice of little children left to suffer and even maybe die in the wealthiest country in the world.
Tired kids at press conference
After it was all over Max and his friends were exhausted, grouchy and spent. ”I am sad” he confessed to me. But tonight when I asked him how he felt about the day, he said he felt good. He was glad that he did what he could to help kids who can’t see the doctor. He was glad he got to yell against a war that confuses and scares him and he was glad that he got to help stand up for the kids who couldn’t be there today. I asked him if he would do it again, even though he felt tired and his hand hurt.
He looked at me with a startled expression: “Of course” he said than turned back to his game.
I have seen the future. It looks very bright indeed.
Yesterday was a perfect fall day. Bright blue sky, just a little nip in the air. The beginning of sweater weather–so rare in our area in September. I cast aside the chores I had planned to do that day and informed everyone that I intended to go apple-picking. It is a ritual that soothes me, reminds me of new beginnings and tells me the nesting season of fall is upon us.
Max, his best friend Jake, my friend and I climbed into my car and drove 40 minutes out of town to Homestead Farm. There are other pick-your-own places that are closer but I am so fond of Homestead. I found them just over two years ago, the spring Juan moved out. It was a place I could take both my frazzled mind and my wild boy and let them both just go…It was the proverbial port in the storm raging out on the sea of our life.
Max would scamper off far ahead in the fields. No matter how far he ran he was always within spotting distance. I could amble slowly behind soaking in the sunshine and the energy of growing green things. The smell of the soil and the feel of the wind like bandaids on my aching heart. When we were done we would plop ourselves on the ground with an icecream or wander among the barn animals, petting them and feeding them food the farmers provided. We could spend an entire afternoon there.
We went to Homestead almost every week that year. We picked more strawberries than I thought humanly possible but we ate or baked or gave them all away. As berry season moved into apple season we traded in our berry boxes for bushel barrels and learned to recognize different types of apples.
We have returned now every year, usually just once or twice a season. Everytime I go, however, I am instantly transported back to a feeling of peace, of being centered in the center of chaos, of knowing that hope is abundant and just ready to be harvested.
Jake and Max with real big apples
And so yesterday we landed there on the most perfect of apple days. Armed with baskets and a wheelbarrow we wandered into the orchard far away, where most of the people had not yet dared to go. Many of the apples were still young, just a few had been kissed by the sun long enough to ripen. Even though we were picky, careful to only take fruit that was ready we still filled three baskets in almost no time. Max and Jake would scamper up to find the best ones, still light enough to climb without damaging the trees. We wandered among the trees calling out to each other: “Look at this beautiful one! Have you ever seen a more precious apple?”
When we were done, my friend bought them each an icecream while I paid for our 65+ pounds of apples, as well as some other produce from their farm stand. Then we wandered down to pet the animals and let the boys run free. I breathed in the country air which smells to me like hope.
On the way home we talked about what we would do with so many apples. We talked about recipes for wheat-free apple crisp and pork with apples and apple salad and oatmeal with apples. But then we decided we would fill up bags with apples and give them away to neighbors and people we loved. Jake decided we should tell everyone that the apples were fresh picked just for them “for a sweet new year”.
That evening, just before suppertime, two beautiful dusty boys ran from house to house, supervised by a mom on the curb. At each home, they proudly handed over a Spiderman lunchbag full of apples. The smile of delight on each recipient’s face was something I wish I could capture, that I wish I could bottle to remind Max about the joy of giving. A perfect end to a perfect day where we harvested more than apples… we harvested a little community and a bit of hope too.
Max trying out his brand new six year old scooter that Grammy and Grandpa brought for his birthday
Dearest Maxidoodle,
Today you are six. Its hard for me to believe that six years have flown by so quickly. It seems like only yesterday I was holding you in my arms for the first time, marveling at your long fingers, your sweet face, your chubby legs. At the same time it is crazy to think that it has only been six years. You are such an integral and precious part of my life, I can’t imagine what it was like before you came into it.
You are a bright hot white streak of energy. You run fast as a baby cheetah and will sprint if you can. You like to be out ahead of any of us when walking or hiking. You no longer want me to kiss you at school in the mornings–you are too grown and too impatient for that–but you will hug me with spirit as you leap into your day. You are independent that way.
You have a contagious giggle that can turn any foul mood around. You are really good at snapping your fingers and proud to show anyone how you can do it. You are always climbing on something–scaling walls, rocks, trees, the kitchen counter, the fridge, me and we cannot stop you for you are twice as happy when you are hanging upside down. I wish I had your energy– I know that you would loan me some if you could. You are so good at sharing with others–you do it without thinking (most of the time).
When Aidan and Olivia moved to Colorado you made them cookies for the road. Because Papi always tells us the most important cooking ingredient is love, you blew kisses in with each stir of the wooden spoon and made happy wishes for them like “I hope you get a nice teacher. I hope you like your new school. I hope you have lots and lots of friends” with each handful of chocolate chips. Your compassion and empathy at that moment floored me.
Max at the fancy dinner at Kilkea
Your favorite game is hide-and-go-seek and you have frequently left us baffled with your creative hiding places. Who would have ever thought to look for you in the box inside the front closet? If it wasn’t for those giggles that eventually gave you away, we would still be looking for you.
You are also particularly fond of dance contests where we blast music and take turns coming up with routines. Your moves are unbeatable. Really, there is no contest but we have fun anyway. Lately you have been learning African dancing and love to listen to Rwandan music turned up really really loud.
When you aren’t playing Pokemon or Playmobil with your friends you are trying to trick me into letting you watch TV or play on the computer. You are so clever that you frequently almost get me.
You love to try new games and will jump into any new activity with excitement. Ice skating and karate are just two new things that make you jump for joy. If only we could capture some of that adventurous spirit and pass it on to your pallet. You don’t like to try new foods and really could live for years on macaroni and cheese and strawberries.
When it comes to snuggling, I think you are a champion. You have bear hugs that raise the sun every morning and sweet, tender hugs which make the wind blow.
I am completely and utterly wrapped around your little finger. Whether you are saying things like “Could you pass the water, best mother in the world” or stomping your feet and telling me that you are “really really frustrated” with me or sharing that “actually I am very scared”, I am lost in the sweetness of how you express your feelings.
Watching you sleep I don’t know how I got so lucky to be your mom. I won the mother lottery, really I did.
I could write on and on forever telling you all the ways I love you and singing the praises of a boy so kind and sweet, but that would be “really embarrasing” and I seem to do that alot these days. So instead I will simply say you are the love of my life, best son in the world and I love you more each minute you are alive.
Happy birthday my big boy. May each day be as precious to you as you are to me.
Love
Your mommy
Max’s First Day of Kindergarden: A little nervous
This was the photo I took of Max right before we headed out to school on Monday. Like kindergardeners all across America on Day 1, Max was a nervous wreck in this photo. He knew he would be OK but he had spent the weekend worrying about everything that could go wrong. We would be driving along in the car and suddenly out of nowhere a question would pop up: “Mom…What if I am sitting at a table and it is quiet reading period and we are not allowed to talk or even raise our hand. And I am sitting next to a bully. And he keeps hitting me whenever the teacher isn’t looking? What am I going to do then?”
Each time I tried to help him develop strategies to face his fears he seemed to get more and more frustrated. It was clear he just wanted to be heard. I saw how clearly torn up inside he was and I very much wanted to distract him, make him laugh, make him forget, tell him all the stories he heard about kindergarden weren’t true that it was the land of milk and honey. But I didn’t. Instead I hugged him and told him that it was OK to be scared. It made no sense to try and talk him out of his nervousness. Most people are scared before setting out on a big adventure and nothing spells adventure like K-I-N-D-E-R-G-A-R-D-E-N.
It is a challenge sometimes for me to remember that it is not my job to fix Max’s feelings. When he is scared I do not need to make him not scared. When he is angry or sad it is not up to me to make him happy again. I can offer support, listen and help him process what he is feeling. Its not up to me to rush in with solutions but it is my job to hold the space so he can search for his own solutions. If he wants my advice I give it. I will wait patiently and wait for my in. It always comes eventually. But damn that is hard…and I frequently screw it up.
When Max came home on Monday, he was full of excitement and joy. He faced a big fear and survived and that is a victory. He felt so good about himself because it WAS scary but he DID do it. For all my desires to kiss away his hurts on Sunday and tell him there was nothing to fear I was thrilled I didn’t because to do so would have been to minimize his triumph. I am so proud of him but more importantly he is so proud of himself.
