Posts tagged Relationships

The Things We Used To Do

June 1, 2011 · Filed under Relationships, Unschooling · Tagged ,

. . . are good for us, it seems. Like watering the garden.

When my daughter was a little girl, she loved being outside. One of the things I used to do while keeping her company was water the garden. She would be busy inspecting odd leaves and aiding wayward bugs while I was busy sweeping the water wand back and forth, back and forth, listening to the sound the drops of water made as they hit the different kinds of surfaces.

When Stephanie stopped amusing herself in the front yard, I stopped watering the garden. My husband coincidentally put in some soaker hoses around that time, so the garden didn’t really need me, but I realize now that I needed the garden. I’ve started watering it again, and it feels good. The sun feels good, the sound of the water is just as lovely as it ever was, and the fresh air is wonderful. Alright, sometimes it’s humid, but mostly it’s wonderful.

I’ve started to think about more things I used to do when my kid was little that I stopped doing when my kid got big:

  • riding my bike around the neighborhood. On the sidewalk. It’s less stressful that way.
  • making coffee-table centerpieces out of pine cones and branches found on neighborhood walks.
  • using art supplies such as pastels and felt.
  • squeezing drops of food coloring onto coffee filters and watching the crazy swirls.
  • making photocopies of book illustrations I like and then decorating them with colored pencils.
  • listening to Beverly Cleary’s Ramona books on tape. No wait—I’ve never stopped doing that.

My point is simple: the things we used to do with our children never lost their validity or delightfulness.  If you can remember some cast-off diversions that gave you joy then, why not try them now?  The kinds of activities we pursue when we are full-heartedly intent on pleasing and enriching our children are most likely healthy, educational, and, most of all, fun. And people of every age need to be pleased and enriched. Most enjoyable activities are not rated G, PG, PG-13, and R. (And let’s not get into how I feel about the movie rating system.)

It’s a really hot day. I’ll bet the garden needs water again. Sweep, sweep, drop, drop, good.

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Mother, Smother

May 7, 2011 · Filed under Holidays, Relationships · Tagged ,

When I was a little girl, like all little girls, I had a special doll. I held her, I kissed her, and I made her doll clothes from scraps of my old flannel nightgowns. I used a piece of my mother’s crocheting as her bed, and I covered her securely at night with an old pillowcase. This solicitous behavior lasted a long time, perhaps three weeks, which as a portion of one’s childhood is quite a generous chunk.

In thinking back on those early days of motherhood, I recall that what made my heart full was being close to my doll: kissing her, hugging her, tucking her in, feeding her. Proximity. That’s what felt so good. I think I smothered the little cutie with my love.

Then I had my baby, Stephanie. Human babies are designed to be proximal. They need their mommies close by, and we are happy to oblige. Maybe that’s why it’s such a successful relationship; it’s win-win. The sophisticated young woman  becomes content to have a chubby-thighed little person sitting on her lap and eating from her plate. As a mother, I lost all sense of a boundary between me and my baby. Whose saliva was that? Who cares?

When little Stephanie was sick, I think I experienced the closest replication of my precious doll-love days. As she lay feverish on the couch, taking up less than one half its width, I would sit at her feet and tuck the cool sheet in around her, offer her sips of cool water, and take her temperature. Stephanie ran very high fevers as a child, which made her ripe for extra TLC. I think I smothered the little cutie with my love.

Now that my doll is in a big box with Stephanie’s dolls and now that Stephanie is as long as the couch, I have no little ones to (s)mother with obsessive care. Stephanie and I have boundaries now, created and sustained by her ever-growing sense of self and my acknowledgement and respect of that. Occasionally, though, the boundaries almost blur—when one of us is very sad or very tired—and then I feel it again. The love I had for that doll. The love born in proximity. The love that proclaims complete commitment in the all-too-fleeting present.

On Mother’s Day, remember the one who smothered you with her love. And smother the ones entrusted to your arms. Smothering doesn’t have to be suffocating. It can be pure unadulterated envelopment, just for a moment, just long enough to communicate that your love is boundless and timeless and as pure as the love of a little girl for a dirty-faced plastic baby doll with scraggly hair and the sorriest looking dress a seven-year-old mama ever made.

We grow and we change, but love is always the same. Happy Mother’s Day.


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Gather Ye Pizzas

October 7, 2010 · Filed under Relationships · Tagged

Robert Herrick got it right: “Old Time is still a-flying.”

I was out running errands yesterday afternoon and ran into a friend and her two beautiful children. They were running errands, too, and stopping off for pizza and ice cream along the way. They reminded me of Stephanie’s little-girl years: a flowered dress with matching leggings, excited exclamations about the moment’s discoveries, small hands clutching a big water bottle. Nothing earth-shattering going on, just life. But it’s not my particular life anymore.

So, to my friend, I say, “Gather ye pizzas while ye may! Old Time is still a-flying.”

My life as a mother is no less beautiful than hers, but the time of having little ones trailing your steps like leaves blowing in the breeze is so short! The time of being breathless over the prospect of ice cream, while it may persist, is sweetest when the voice is impossibly high-pitched and clear. And tiny hands grow larger. Little legs get longer. And so quickly.

Please go hug your child, right now. That’s what I’m going to do.

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People Have Humps

June 22, 2010 · Filed under Relationships · Tagged

I’ve been thinking about people who have dysfunctional, messy, sad lives. I’ve been thinking about how nobody wants to have a life like that, how nobody wakes up in the morning and says, “Ah, another day filled with confusion, addiction, despair, and disconnection!” Everybody wants to hum along with just their fair share of discomfort and no more. Everybody wants to be “normal” and “happy” and “well-adjusted.” But, I decided, people have humps.

No, not camel humps. Humps meaning bumps. Like speed bumps. Bumps in the road. Humps to get over. And some people get over their humps more easily than others.

Some people have lots of humps, some only a few. Some people have humps they manage to get around or pass over safely. But some people have hump after hump after hump, and they can’t get over them. They try and fail, and try and fail, and some of them decide to just sit down in the dirt and not try any more. They’re the sad, confused, dysfunctional ones—the ones that often get judged as lazy or self-destructive or bad or crazy.

People have humps. I wrote that on a Post-It and stuck it on my computer monitor to remind me to write this post, and my daughter saw it. She drew little hills on the Post-It. Here’s a picture of my words and her drawings:

Now imagine those humps as obstacles in your life. If you’re feeling healthy and positive, they might not look scary. Some of them might even look fun, in the sense of being challenging and invigorating. But if you’re feeling insecure or depressed, they might look very intimidating. And sometimes an unscaled hump produces a new hump—for example, an addiction to alcohol (hump) might lead to loss of a job (hump). And that would lead to poverty (hump), which could lead to crime (hump), and you see what I mean.

So, I guess the point of all this is to say that when you’re tempted to judge someone, to think “Why doesn’t he get out that situation? Why is he so weak?”, think about how people have humps. This nameless “he” might be trying really hard to get over the hump you’re pointing your finger at, but maybe he just made it over three other humps, and he’s really, really tired. Or maybe he’s so sick of so many humps, he’s decided to set up camp in front of this one instead of crossing over it. Or maybe this particular hump looks so huge to him that the possibility of getting past it never even entered his mind.

Look at the person, and try to see the humps.

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Rainy Day People

May 18, 2010 · Filed under Literature, Relationships · Tagged ,

I love, love, love The Random House Book of Poetry for Children. I turned to it today because it’s rainy and cold and I wanted something to “chair” me up. (Stephanie used to say “chair” for “cheer” when she was a wee thing.)

I found this:

Some People

Isn’t it strange some people make
You feel so tired inside,
Your thoughts begin to shrivel up
Like leaves all brown and dried!

But when you’re with some other ones,
It’s stranger still to find
Your thoughts as thick as fireflies
All shiny in your mind!

—Rachel Field

Luckily, even though it’s wet and windy and dark and gloomy outside,

I’m inside with one of the “other ones,” full of shiny thoughts.

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Mother’s Day 2010

May 8, 2010 · Filed under Holidays, Relationships · Tagged ,

If you’re reading this and you’re somebody’s mother, I wish you a very happy Mother’s Day. I can’t quite believe how much I’ve learned since becoming a mother, and I don’t mean how much I’ve learned about getting food stains out of clothing or baking decent chocolate chip cookies. I mean how much I’ve learned about the tenacity of the human spirit, the value of patience, the perils of selfishness, the swiftness of time, the destructiveness of negativity, and the healing power of love.

Thank you, my Stephanie, my own, for teaching me all of those things, and many more.

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My Mailman Wears Earphones

May 4, 2010 · Filed under Relationships, Voluntary Simplicity · Tagged ,


A few days ago, I happened to open the front door just as my mailman was approaching. I smiled and said hello, but he didn’t respond. That’s when I realized he was wearing earphones. I was in one world, and he was in another, even though we were occupying the same physical space.

When I was a little girl, my mailman didn’t wear earphones. He was Mr. Novak, and he had gone to school with my mother. He knew my aunts and uncles, and he knew me. If I happened to be walking home from school when he was delivering mail on our street, he would call to me, “You walk like your mother.” (I do.)

I don’t expect my mailman today to know that my daughter walks like me (she does), but I must admit, I do expect him to be in the same world I’m in. I guess that’s expecting a lot, considering how high tech some people’s worlds have become. But I want social exchange with the people who cross my path, and my mailman crosses my path regardless of wind, or rain, or hail . . . you know what I mean.

James Collins knows what I mean. He wrote a recent New York Times article about doormen, in which he said, “they provide an extra layer of face-to-face social connection that is not strictly ‘necessary,’ but is tremendously gratifying nonetheless.” That’s what I want from my mailman. Do I need the mailman to say hello to me? No, but a hello is a good thing. It’s a little extra insurance against depersonalization, and I want all the insurance I can get.

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Feeding Our Children

April 6, 2010 · Filed under Progressive Politics, Relationships, Unschooling · Tagged , , ,

Mothers and food. To babies, the two are synonymous. And the idea that mothers provide food remains a constant while there are children in the house. Mommies make meals. Mommies buy food. The mom is the one you ask what there is to eat around here.

As children venture out into the world, they begin to eat at places besides home. One of a kid’s first social experiences is often that of eating at a restaurant—and being carried outside when he starts to fuss, or falling asleep in the booth while the grown-ups are still finishing their coffee.

Kids who go to school have the experience of eating lunch in a cafeteria. I was reminded of this fact by an editorial in today’s New York Times. It calls for Congress to reauthorize the Child Nutrition Act, thereby making school lunches healthier for the kids who have to eat them.

One of the nicest things about homeschooling  is the way it blends so well with home-cooking and eating at home. For several years, from about age seven to about age ten, my daughter ate soup for lunch while I read Beverly Cleary’s Ramona books to her. Talk about nutrition—for the body and the soul.

It makes me sad that there are children who associate lunch with vending machines. I think vending machines should be a novelty—something you encounter at the rest stop on Route 95 when you’re on vacation. I think food should come from a loving hand, not a metal claw, especially when it’s food for children.

Feeding our children is primal, intimate, social, and special. It’s a communication of love and trust: a mother saying “I am here, and I will give you what you need. You can count on me for that.”

I know that some children need to have school lunches, and I hope they get healthier ones in the future. But I’m glad my child had homeschool lunches, that took as long as she wanted them to take, that had as much or as little food as she wanted (and therefore, needed), that came with a willing reader of whatever she wanted me to read, and that made me feel like a mommy in the truest sense of the word.

You’d better go now. There’s probably a hungry child in the house somewhere.

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Morning With the Squirrel

March 26, 2010 · Filed under Relationships, Unschooling · Tagged ,

9:30 a.m. Our house. My daughter and I sit on the loveseat in front of the big window. We notice the squirrel on the front lawn. The fun begins.

We watch the squirrel find things to eat and then stand up, in that delightfully anthropomorphic way, to eat them. We watch him climb our big sugar maple and, because the branches are still bare, we can follow his every move, from branch to branch, jumping, higher and higher. We watch him reach his nest at the tippy-top and say “Aww . . .”

Then he’s on the move again. He shapes his body into that pretty little arch when he jumps. He skitters under a parked car as he crosses the street. We sit together, giggling and pointing. He’s way better than TV. He’s live entertainment, and we have great seats for the show.

Thank you, God, for the squirrel and the girl and the window and the yard. Thank you for this morning.

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Talking About Ideas

March 22, 2010 · Filed under Relationships, Things People Said, Unschooling · Tagged , ,

Here’s the quote:

Great people talk about ideas. Average people talk about things. Small people talk about other people.

I don’t remember where I first heard it, but it’s stayed with me. I’ve seen it attributed to both Eleanor Roosevelt, with whom I am quite familiar,  and Tobias S. Gibson, with whom I am not familiar at all. I’ve also seen Fran Lebowitz’s take on the quote, which associates small people with wine.

Anyway, I think it’s a good quote. We all talk about other people sometimes, and we all talk about things sometimes, but the most important conversations are the ones we have about ideas.

And, a few days ago, the New York Times agreed.

According to the article, “human beings are driven to find and create meaning in their lives,” and having deep conversations helps us achieve that goal.  So, maybe a conversation ratio is in order: have one deep conversation for every exchange about your brother-in-law’s out-of-control spending or the new shoes you just bought. Sounds good to me. In fact, skip talking about the brother-in-law altogether and just tell about the shows twice. : )

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