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Archive for mother’s heart – Page 7

Christmas Gaze

Sometimes my kids just make me smile. You don’t have to hang out around here long to figure that out, and Christmas time is ripe for smiles. Drummer Boy, Bug and Baby Girl are getting to the ages when they can remember the traditions, decorations and fun activities from previous years. They are beginning to have their own memories of Christmas and their own treasured moments.

We have Christmas everywhere at my house. My mom shared with me the joy of celebration from a very young age and filled our holidays with memories and special decorations I looked forward to each year. I’ve tried to do those same things with my own kids and it’s very special to me to see their eyes fill with wonder and excitement as they see the traditions — and even remember some of them from last year.

Of course, my babies already seem to have their own take on the process of celebrating Christmas. I have several nativity scenes around the house — some I’ve gotten just so they can play with them. Most are inexpensive versions given to me or picked up from the dollar store for their particular kid-like cuteness. They each have the requisite super-glued parts — evidence that they have just enough combination of doll and action figure familiarity to make them attractive for playing and storytelling.

I always set them up in the same way. The way most folks do I guess. The baby is in the center, flanked by Mary and Joseph. The wise men file in from the baby’s left with the occasional camel in tow. They were, after all, from the East. The shepherds and members of their flock take their places to the right and the barn’s resident cow and donkey stand wherever available. An angel usually stands behind the babe overseeing the scene. Oddly, the people always seem to be facing outward — so we can see them, I guess. I’m not sure why they logically have those assigned seats in my mind, but they do.

A funny thing happened this year. One of the $5 dollar store versions sits on a table next to our couch. It’s a tiny porcelain collection of child characters painted with sweet smiles and pastel colors. A week ago I noticed that every time I walked by the table, the figures were moved to the same position. At first I didn’t really pay attention. The kids like to play with the set, which makes me smile. So, when I saw the rearrangement, I simply moved the figures back to their assigned spots and went on about my business.

Only, they caught my attention again later. The figures were again shifted from the standard positions I’d given them. And they were shifted to the same new positions. In fact, I noticed the same reorganization of players in some of our other crèches. Hmmm. Cue the mommy brain. I think my kids were demonstrating their own preferences for the nativity scene.

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So, I looked closer. Baby Jesus was in the center, to be sure, but the others weren’t stretched out in a pageant-esque tableau. No, the onlookers were standing shoulder to shoulder in a tight circle around the holy child. They seemed to be crowded in as close as possible with each animal and child-like character gazing at the newborn king. You couldn’t see all their cutely painted faces from across the room. The wise men didn’t appear to be traveling together — or coming from the East, for that matter. And, although I doubt you could even tell they were supposed to be a “manger scene,” I imagine in the thoughts of my Drummer Boy, Bug and Baby Girl, each little colorful porcelain heart had a necessary unobstructed view of the tiny Savior. Each was looking full-faced and undistracted upon the baby in the hay.

I haven’t moved the figures since. They are still staring, quite focused, on the Christ child. And I have to admit my own heart is a little more focused as well because of it. My attention is drawn to the baby birthed in such humble circumstances, yet carrying the seed of heaven in his tender chest. To the little hearts running around me, full of constant energy and motion. Somehow they are my very own heart looking right back at me. I’m drawn to the simple messages of loving and giving and hoping and unabashed gazing they seem to find so easy to comprehend. The messages that are so easily clouded from my view at times. What a pleasure to turn my own full gaze to the manger and see that wonder again.

Merry Christmas.

Hearing Thank You

12 Days of Thanksgiving: DAY NINE

“Thank you Mommy for saying these things.”

I don’t think I’ve ever really thought much about hearing “thank you,” and the impact it can have — the lessons it can teach. If you’ve read much in the EyeJunkie archives, you know that my children have taught me many lessons. My 5yo, Bug, is no exception and his lessons have their own brand of sweetness because he is so very passionate about his little life and everything in it.

I can’t believe I just typed 5yo, but it’s inexplicably true. Bug turns five today. He always has a place in each year’s 12 days of Thanksgiving series because he was born just two days before the holiday. He is responsible for one of my most powerful Thanksgiving memories because I brought him home on Thanksgiving Day. Definitely gratitude worthy! And he continues to provide those opportunities.

It was Bug who said the “thank you” that stopped me this time. It was just a normal evening for me. The bedtime routine was in full swing, and I had reached the point in the process when it was Bug’s turn. Bug is a man of routine, and his involves me spreading his blankets in his special way, reading a book, rubbing his back, singing a song and various answers to questions. I’m ashamed to admit that sometimes I do it mindlessly.

All too often I forget, but I do try to send their minds and hearts off to sleep with some reminders of just how special they are. Truths like “you’re so smart,” or “I love you more than you know,” or “you make me smile.” For something so profound, it’s funny how I can breeze by the words just as mindlessly as the rest of routine sometimes. On this night, I kissed Bug’s cheek and off-handedly mumbled “I’m so proud of you.”

Uh uh. With Bug, you don’t get by that easy. You don’t get by with simple flattery. He lives in specifics and usually demands them. And, true to form, on this night he did. He immediately asked me why. Why was I proud of him?

Now, it’s not hard for me to answer that question. I AM proud of Bug, and there are many daily reasons why. I think what surprised me was his desire to hear all those reasons and his boldness to ask for it. It had honestly not occurred to me be more specific. So, I told him. All the little success I could think of. The ones that are small in the course of the life I know he’ll have, but big in the scope of the moments he’s aware of now. And, when I was finished, he said thank you.

“Thank you Mommy for telling me these things.”

Bug rolled over and closed his eyes for sleep, apparently content with the answers he got. And he left me, once again, completely pondering what just happened. Amazed at how much I had to learn from that simple “thank you.” And from “these things.”

Pride is a powerful thing. It fulfills our desire — our need — to be seen. To know our efforts have been noticed and commended moves us. It pushes us closer to good habits, to the confidence required to accomplish more, to that resting place in our own minds where we know we’re doing a good job. Bug’s “thank you, Mommy” reminded me again how important it is to communicate these things. In specific. In real terms and descriptions they can understand and hold easily in their own hearts.

Bug’s request for specifics and his “thank you” showed me how very valuable and needed the reminders are for his heart. For all our hearts. How our hearts awaken when we hear “I’m proud of you.” How we want to know more. How we treasure that affirmation of our efforts and our good work. In specific. How it motivates us toward bigger and better things.

Today I’m grateful for that little sleepy, heart-felt “thank you,” the privilege to hear it and the encouragement to let each of them know how uniquely special they are.

Trumping Digital

I hope you’ll allow me a little personal indulgence this Friday morning. I’ve vacated the Pond taking my kids to the Memphis Zoo during our Fall school break. We’re having a blast so far, and I’ve been watching (and shaking my head a little) at how much the digital sphere has meshed with all our lives.

When I say I’ve vacated the Pond, I’m sure you understand that I haven’t abandoned it for three days by any means. I’m tethered to it through all kinds of digital media. I’m pretty mobile during a normal week anyway, with the technology to do my job at a client’s office, my fave local coffee shop, my office couch or the back patio.

So, during our drive to Memphis yesterday and our first night here, I checked and responded to email, browsed some favorite websites for possible Plop! post highlights, managed some client social media accounts, and now I’m writing a blog post on my iPad 2. I let my kids pass the driving time with Leapster and Nintendo games. I presented them with a newly kid-outfitted iPad 1 (my old one) complete with movie shorts, digital storybooks, and apps for games, music, math, reading and all the fun they could handle. As you can see, it took them all of five minutes to master the iPad system and become engrossed in it — even the three-year-old in the mix. I even used my iPhone google app to locate the original Corky’s for dinner last night and give us moving directions from somewhere on Perkins Road. Whoa. It’s a digital world! And, yes it’s great to be so connected to the world at large.

But, last night at bedtime with my boys piled up in a hotel bed with their favorite items, it hit me. Their bedtime companions were the old-fashioned kind… bears and lambs and dark-haired dolls. And at the end of the day, it’s still the people stuff that really moves my heart. It’s the opportunity to hear the voice of someone who matters, even if that voice comes on the phone. It’s the opportunity to inconspicuously stare at them while they fall asleep. Trumps Google every time.

This weekend, I hope you’re enjoying your digital life and making it count. And I hope you take some time to stare. I’m sure enjoying that opportunity!

Happy weekend!

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Exuberance, Part 2

It’s that time of year again. The daycare end-of-the-year program is tonight. Back in December, I wrote about the last installment of the daycare touring show — the Christmas program. And just like that experience, exuberance has again been rearing its head around my house.

Granted, exuberance comes standard where Bug, the four-year-old is concerned, but it’s so much bigger and well, exuberant when there’s a performance involved. Especially a performance he’s been practicing for.

So, this morning I was informed, “Today is next Thursday!”

There’s been quite a buildup to “the program,” as we’ve come to call it. His teachers instilled in Bug the idea that “the program” was happening on Thursday, and ever since, I’ve been asked to explain all things relative to the particular Thursday in question.

Today’s the day. Exuberance struck this morning in full force with major jumps around the kitchen, speed chasing through the hallway, volume set firmly on ten and umpteen questions about who’s coming, did we realize it was tonight, wait is it tonight, my teacher said it was tonight, and so forth.

I found myself saying, “Bug, we need to calm down.”

“Bug, settle down.”

“Bug, we need to lower our voices inside.”

“Yes, Bug, I know it’s Thursday.” (insert sigh)

“BUG! You’re too excited! You need to calm down. RIGHT. NOW.”

He stopped. He searched my grim face for a moment. His giant grin dropped to a blank expression. He looked away for a moment. His face colored slightly. Then, he smiled at me again. Maybe a little weaker, but a smile.

That’s when it hit me. WHAT am I doing? I’d rather see his vibrant grin than a blank stare any day. Any moment. Every moment. This was something he had worked for. Something he had practiced. Something that was just his. In a year of big firsts for his older brother becoming a kindergardener and his younger sister learning to talk and do so many things, this was HIS moment. He was the only one of us in “the program.” This was HIS program.

And he was excited about it.

Dare I say, exuberant. And I want him to be. I want to celebrate with him. I want him to know that I can’t wait to see him shine. And I told him so. I grabbed him for a big hug — the kind mommies give when they know they’ve handled it all wrong. The kind with the prayer under my breath saying, “God, please don’t let him remember this.” I told him I was SO excited about his program. That I couldn’t wait to see it. And he bounded off again with exuberance somewhat in tact.

Yes, I understand self control. I understand appropriate. I understand time and place. I understand how frenzied those exuberant moments (and days) can be. And, I understand how they stretch even the most patient mommy (which I am not) during the daily morning routine. Still, in a world where folks pay big money to attend seminars devoted to helping them find the motivation to do things they already say they want to do… In a world where the self help aisle is burgeoning with ways to get yourself on target with that next big idea… In a world where it seems to take an inordinate amount of effort to defy the inertia of lives plugged in to this technology or entertainment or the other… In that world, I WANT to see exuberance. Blinding, unfiltered, self-generated exuberance.

In my Bug, I want to mold it. I want to season it. I want to train it. I want to channel it. And, yes, at times I may even want to contain it. But I never want to squelch it.

Instead, I want to celebrate it. And tonight, I will.

Six

Six years ago, I never could have imagined just how much you would light up my life with your every smile — with your every everything. Happy Birthday, Little Drummer Boy!

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