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Exuberance, Part 2

· May 12, 2011

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.

Categories : mother's heart

Six

Posted by haley montgomery

· May 2, 2011

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!

Categories : mother's heart

McDonalds, Hands and Courage

Posted by haley montgomery

· April 6, 2011

It’s been a while since I’ve written an installment in my 2010-2011 theme word series on Courage. It’s a topic I’m trying to explore and an attribute I’m trying to cultivate in myself and in my children. One of the biggest questions of courage to me is where to find it. Are we born with it? If so, then what’s the use in trying to cultivate it. And, it’s not like you can bid on it on ebay or throw it in the buggy at the dollar store. So, where does it come from? As usual, my three gifts are teaching me a lot of lessons without even realizing it, and they recently showed me something: Confidence begets courage. The assurance and acknowledgement that we are, in fact, growing or learning those things we think we are and embracing that person we want to become somehow “encourages” us to step forward in those new skills or the new identity we’ve cultivated. It puts courage into us, as that often-used term, “encourage”, implies.

One of my favorite parts of early Spring is seeing tiny new shoots of growth emerge from what looks like completely dormant branches and earth. And, it seems to happen overnight! Where one day there is nothing but the same old brown or gray we’ve been accustomed to, the next appears a tiny spark of green, a new leaf or bloom that lets us know the season is changing.

I love when I see that in my children as well. Although I’ve seen the emerging signs of growth countless times in each of my gifts, it somehow still takes me by surprise each time. Even though their young lives have been a constant stream of changing and growing and learning new things, that moment when I notice it–or when THEY notice it–never ceases to amaze me.

It was Spring Break recently here, and the time (and weather) were ripe for some fun. Little Drummer Boy spent his first official “big school” Spring Break with special days at the daycare with his friends filled with bowling, skating and all the other fun they had planned. We weren’t able to take a full week to go somewhere, but I wanted to give them all at least a little outing and change of scenery. On Friday, we decided to skip daycare and work and take off on an adventure to see a museum in another city.

We started the day with much excitement (and energy) about our anticipated trip, so in my limited Mommy-wisdom, I decided that a trip to McDonald’s for breakfast and a stint in the “play place” were in order before settling into the minivan for an hour. One thing about our little adventures that I’ve come to predict is that one mommy plus three youngsters usually equals hands full, and a few accoutrements are required — namely extra juice, extra pull-ups, extra gummies, extra goldfish, extra chapstick and some well-placed extra instructions.

On this morning, those well-placed instructions were directed to Little Drummer Boy. He’s filled with excitement at being the “big brother,” emphasis on big, and it’s certainly a point of pride that he is the only one attending “big school.” When we walked into McDonald’s needing to order food, but ready to play, my hands were indeed full and I decided it was a good time to hand off some of those “big brother” duties. I asked LDB if he would take two-year-old Baby Girl’s hand and take her to the playground for me while I ordered. Bug was already half-way to the play place door because his sphere doesn’t quite include “big” duties. Little Drummer Boy on the other hand, seems to relish the reminders that he is growing stronger and smarter every day.

And, relish he did! When he heard my proposition, his face took on a new expression of “big-ness”, the countenance of responsibility. He had a job to do to take care of his little sister, and he took it seriously. It was an acknowledgement from Mommy that he was big enough to handle it, that he WAS the big brother, and that he was a good one. I could see his little heart fill with pride right there by the super hero prize display. A new courage to take on a fledgling leadership role was born. New shoots of growth popped out of the five-year-old earth before my eyes.

The wild card in the scenario was Baby Girl. Would she cling to Mama? Would she agree to the out-stretched hand of her newly minted “BIG” brother? It’s funny how confidence spreads. Once Little Drummer Boy adopted the confidence of “big brother” status and the responsibility that goes with it, Baby Girl adopted a new confidence that she had a big brother looking out for her. And, she had the courage to take his hand and walk (not run) to the play area. Now, each time we’re at McDonald’s she wants to hold her brother’s hand instead of mine.

As I’ve been thinking about this simple experience from a few weeks ago, I’m so thankful for the little expressions of confidence I’ve received over the last year that have boosted my courage to step into new responsibilities and to embrace anew or reclaim areas of my time and space and efforts that reflect how I really want life to be. Thinking on the blossoming pride I saw in Little Drummer Boy reminds me that it’s important to acknowledge for myself the small, everyday milemarkers that reflect my progress. And it gave me a new commitment to give that inexpensive but invaluable gift to each of my children as well.

Categories : beautiful ordinary, mother's heart

April: In Defense of Rain

Posted by haley montgomery

· April 1, 2011

Rain is just downright misunderstood sometimes. It’s true. It gets a bad rap quite often. Somehow it gets lumped with Mondays as the ultimate of downers. It gets the criticism for too much or too little, and everyone has his own opinion of that sliding scale. It seems it’s never just right with rain. It perpetually takes a backseat to the all-loving sunshine. We have trouble understanding it sometimes. And we have trouble seeing it clearly–especially when it’s pouring.

For much of this week we got an early taste of April showers, or at least the threat of showers, and I’ll admit I was quite grumpy about it. When you’ve been basking in the glow of sunny, warm days, the sudden shift to partly drizzly doesn’t sit well. And, the random downpour is even less inspiring. The weather outside had decided similarities to my inner climate where I’ve been feeling the metaphorical downpour in several areas of my life as well. You know the feeling. When your already full hands get a few more organizational or emotional or even physical balls to carry. When you start to notice the leakage in the culverts holding your heart together in that sane and safe place you call your own peace of mind. It’s been one of those kinds of weeks for me.

Today I finally began to relax and pull my hands off the plugs in all those suddenly noticeable holes in my thinking. Oddly enough, this shift in attitude happened right about the time the sun started to reappear in the skies outside. It was at that moment I realized that I have grass.

Yep. The wayward plot that was filled with brownish dormancy just a few days before–the one I call my front lawn– had suddenly sprouted new and vibrant shades of green. It sprouted a seeming multitude of blades. And, it sprouted another multitude of those purple thingies I wove into necklaces as a child, that unknown vine invading a few shrubs and a very nice crop of dandelions. Yes, I have what may charitably be described as growth.

Now, lest this somehow turn into another rain-bashing exaltation of the power of sunshine, let me say this: Rain makes things grow. This week it rained. And just like that, I have grass now. Granted, I have weeds too, but it looks like the grass may still be winning. Regardless, the lawn is actually green, and I wholeheartedly attribute that fact to a few sporadic downpours and an annoying number of drizzles. Blade or vine, Bermuda or dandelion, green is good in my book.

Here’s the thing. The opportunity to see what’s growing is a good thing, even when it’s weeds doing the growing. A pouring rain–you know, the kind that really soaks the earth–sometimes moves the much-needed process of new growth along. It brings those shoots lying dormant just under the surface right out in the open. And, whether the produce is weeds or choice blooms, at least it shows us what seeds have been planted. It shows us what’s inadvertently taken root and what’s fortunately blossoming. Only then can we know what needs to be pruned or cultivated more carefully.

It’s the same with the things we train our lives to hold, with the plots of soul we till. Whatever really soaks us, good or bad–whether it’s the blessing of a busy work schedule or the tipping point in some level of frustration–that pouring shows us our limits. It shows us our possibilities. It shows us what we want. It shows us what we need. It shows us where we flourish. It shows us where we need to cut back. It shows us where we need to fertilize. It shows us where we’re already prolific.

I love the photo in this month’s desktop wallpaper. It reminds me of that odd shift in perspective that can happen with rain, with our view of the showers that seem to erode the banks of our soul’s delicate balance. It reminds me of that moment when you take just one small step back from the downpour and are suddenly able to see a glimpse of what was only a confusing pattern of droplets before.

I think I see green.

[Feel free to click and download one of these for your desktop, phone or iPad. Enjoy!]

Categories : free art + printables, on faith

Something to Hear

Posted by haley montgomery

· March 15, 2011

A few weeks ago I had one of those experiences with my children that stuck with me. It was a moment I’ve been pondering for a while, knowing I needed to take it to heart, to glean from it–a moment I knew was important and profound in its simplicity.

Little Drummer Boy was in bed. As I was closing the Transformer book and pulling the blankets closer around him, he inquired (as only a 5-year-old can), “Mommy, while you’re rubbing my back, can I ask you some questions?”

Can I ask you some questions? It was such a simple request, but there was also such a look of anticipation on his face that it stopped me. Normally at this time of night I might have told him to wait, or reminded about bedtime or even warned about waking up his brother. But, there was something about his face. This was important to him. This was something special to him. So I said yes.

How could I say no to that opportunity after all? He had a smile on his face in the request. He had a look of excitement when I said yes. Then, I could see him thinking, his little mind processing and scanning. It dawned on me that Little Drummer Boy didn’t have a burning question on the tip of his tongue. He was searching his mind for his best inquisitive response. On the fly. He just wanted the opportunity to ask.

So, I took the opportunity to answer. I honestly don’t even remember what the questions were. Except, I remember they were wholly ordinary–at least for an inquisitive, car chase-loving, story-telling five-year-old wonder. They were burning inquisitions like “what makes the water hot when you turn the faucet?” or “where did that picture on the wall come from?” or “when will we get to go to the zoo again?”. They were all the voices of his uncensored thoughts, the stream-of-consciousness of boyhood.

The haphazard responding and clear confirmations that Mommy does not, indeed, remember everything she may have ever learned about science and/or the animal kingdom, and that she most certainly doesn’t have all the answers (at least not the correct ones) may be a subject for another post, but the process also brought to mind my own burning question…. Why don’t I do this every night?

In the rush to teach and impart, how often do I shush those seemingly random questions–the ones that belie the much greater underlying truths of love and security and acceptance? In the journey of parenthood–in the journey of everything–I sometimes spend so much time having something to say, be it teaching, reminding, cajoling, distracting, correcting, admonishing, sharing or instructing, that I forget what a blessing it is to have something to hear.

Sometimes I spend all my time looking for the opportunity to speak, to talk to someone, to impart information. To influence. To offer my own point of view.

Sometimes the greatest opportunity is the one to listen.

And so I did on that night. I relished taking the opportunity to give Little Drummer Boy a simple gift–one so easy to give it’s almost embarrassing how often I withhold it. It was the gift of sending him off to sleep knowing he’d been heard. Knowing he had an audience of one. And a standing ovation. The gift of time. A listening ear. An easy explanation. Or a hard one.

“Can I ask you some questions?”

Translation…
Can I talk?
About anything I want?
Can I tell you what I’m thinking about?
Do you care what I think is silly?
Do you know what I think is confusing?
Can I show you my heart?
Are you interested?
Will you explain something?
Will you give me your undivided attention?
Will you listen?
Will you answer?
Am I important?
Do I matter?

Categories : mother's heart

Hello & welcome! I’m Haley Montgomery, and I’m the designer and owner of Small Pond Graphics. I sometimes fancy myself a frog kisser— a documentarian coaxing poignant moments from unexpected places. This blog has evolved from those moments.

The small Pond FIELD GUIDE is part diary, part sketchbook, and part wish list – an archive of ordinary wonders. For years, this space has housed my stories – creative ideas, vintage inspiration, our forays into curious places, and the simple artifacts of quiet of conscious living. Through watercolor, photography, and illustrated tales, these pages uncover the blessing of ordinary days and the wonder found in authentic places and pursuits.

I invite you to open the boxes.
Peek into the drawers.
Rustle through the pages.
I’m honored to have you here.