My lesson hour

I had the privilege accompanying my daughter to her classroom last night. I along with a handful of somewhat willing parents were lead around by our child from one station to next. The teacher adamantly made it clear that the night was the students. There were no instructions except to the student and that was that they can show their parent anything they want to as long as they’ve had a lesson on it. What struck me the most wasn’t the neatly laid trays or the washed linens that the children had hung but rather the intense discipline it took for the adults in the room to constrain themselves. It was almost sadly entertaining.

In a 24 hour period, a child’s day is typically completely dictated by an adult whether a teacher, parents, daycare worker etc. They are told what to do and how and when. They’re told how to behave or what to say. They’re even told how to apologize when they’ve done something “wrong” that they can’t comprehend to begin with.  Little toy soldiers marching about in accordance to adult world standards. It must be exhausting. Sadly, it seemed even more exhausting for the parents to not be in control.

I was silent while my daughter sheepishly looked about the room. Despite the on-going conversations about what she will do and how she will teach me days prior it appeared the adrenaline was quickly lost when adults were hovering over and I waited silently. Finally after much thought, she chose the bead wall to be the venue in which she’d reveal her vast amounts of skills and knowledge. I watched as she fetched a small rug and laid it down decisively. I started to scoot towards it when I was abruptly stopped by her hand straight out in the air as she shook her head saying “No, no no. You can’t sit on it” with an apologetic tone. “Oh” I said “Ok, thanks for letting me know.” She began laying down a strand of beads and placing small arrows with numbers at the bead it correlated with. “One, two, three, four, five” she’d whisper and then lay down the tiny gray “5” arrow. The other arrows were set in a neat row above her bead strand as she began to count again. “one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten”. Then she paused and surveyed the other arrows that were labeled 10, 15 , 20 and 25. She grabbed the 20 arrow and placed it down and began to count again from the very first bead. “One, two, three” and so on. When she arrived at bead 15 she searched for the arrow. Realizing that the previous was incorrect, she fixed it and finished the bead chain.

I found it interesting how extremely difficult it was to constrain myself in pointing out her mistake. Furthermore, as she returned to the first bead every time she started to place the next arrow I wondered how long I was to endure her counting the beads from the beginning instead of simply starting at 5 or 10. I wanted so desperately to impart my witty and easy tip as it would make her little mind expand twice as quickly! If only she had my help! I’m so important you know. After all, isn’t her classroom my personal space of expertise as well? But despite my instinct to guide, train, correct, “teach” her. . . I sat. Waiting. Waiting is so difficult yet we ask it of our children everyday. As well as our friends and family for that matter. It’s simply who we are. We ask for patience and grace yet it all of a sudden becomes a complex dilemma when we are to grant it ourselves. She rolled up her mat and carefully picked up the beads correcting me on how to hold them as not to accidentally hit another student in the head while I was walking (a sure sign that this observation had taken place earlier in the year). I told her that she really seemed to know her numbers and the order that they go. Then I asked her how long it took her to learn all of this stuff. “Well, the blue chain is really, really, REALLY hard” she replied not answering my question. But it wasn’t about me. I couldv’e asked her again how long it took but I realized – she doesn’t care so why should I? BINGO!  She had brought me to a lesson that has been the most difficult for her and she started with the hardest chain to show me as an example. That takes some serious guts. She couldv’e shown me anything but the bead wall let alone picked an easier chain to start with. But it was her night. She was the teacher and given enough silence and patience on my part, had taught me a difficult task with grace and precision.

Meanwhile I observed other parents talking to one another as their child tugged at their shirt. “Ok just wait a minute honey, I’m talking to Mrs. Harris” they told their kids. Unknowingly requesting them to wait in a situation that they shouldn’t ever have to. But of course, if a child tried to tell their parent “no, I want you to see this” then they risk the label of talking back and the punishment that follow. I had the luxury of not knowing many parents and my own husband was out of town so my focus was able to be on my kid. But what if that wasn’t the case? I wonder if I’d make the same observations. I asked the teacher as we were leaving if they ever instructed the kids to begin at bead 5 or bead 10 and then count up from there versus beginning with the first bead everytime. She said that they didn’t need to instruct them because after enough repetition, the children learn this naturally and it’s much more beneficial for them to come upon that discovery by themselves. If a child asks, then they would reply something like “that’s a good question, how about we find out?”.

It’s so difficult to wait. To think that maybe. Just maybe – I’m not the expert in my children’s lives. Or even WORSE! My family or friends. YIKES! I don’t know everything? I don’t have their solutions? That they might have something valuable in from their perspective to show me and if I talked or instructed, I completely destroy that beautiful encounter that could have taken place.

It’s difficult to be silent. It’s hard to wait. Maybe it’s because it requires a smidgen of humility. And humility is in low demand these days. . .

Gone

I feel uneasy. It happens quite a lot. It’s difficult to talk about without sounding sad. I’m not sad. More anxious. Unsatisfied but not ungrateful. Like having a craving that you can’t satisfy or an itch that you can’t quite reach. Deep down inside I wonder if I’ve denied my gypsy tendencies. . . chosen a road that I enjoy but a selfless one that any parent might understand.  Laid down roots that bind me. I don’t like to feel bound. It’s claustrophobic. It’s like choosing what routine you want to dance for years and years. Sounds morbid doesn’t it? I don’t mean it to (look, see – I’m apologizing). It’s just me. I feel like “just a wife and mom” and not so much like myself. Many times I enjoy the cadence of my family's life but one can still want more while enjoying something.

I’ve been distracted. Pre-occupied looking around my life instead of actually living it. As if I’ve been fixated on the view from my window instead of the one I’ve always hoped to see. Meanwhile feeling like an outsider. While standing around talking mommy talk or observing myself in a conversation with a neighbor. I’m a fraud. I think –Who the hell cares about what swimming lesson is better than the other or why you won’t go to a certain theater. Don’t they know there’s more to life? Is something wrong with me that I think the people next to me at Costco are superficial? After all,  I’m in line with them! Am I judging them that their loading up on destructive paper towels and pre-packaged baby carrots that in all reality don’t even resemble a carrot? I couldn't keep track of how many, myself included, loaded up on things they didn't know they needed until they came upon the coveted shelves at Target. It's a sickness.

I’m not sure what’s changed but I feel a shift in perspective. I’m almost indifferent about those things and irritated that they’ve been distracting me for so long. I enjoy my safe little life but I fear it’s become a drug. It’s not something that this mother of three brain of mine thought would ever be appropriate to say but I don’t want any roots. At least not deep ones. Is that strange? All I’ve known of home has now become a collection of dear people and irreplaceable memories.

I just want to GO! Go Somewhere. Go anywhere! Into the world that’s been waiting on me and I on it. To get lost. Eat "strange" food, be uncomfortable, make surprising connections, meet God on the altars of inconvenience. Outside of this blinding western perspective. Apart from the debt-driven machine of suburban life. To quit ringing that darn dinner bell in the kitchen but instead to tell my family “I don’t know what’s for dinner, let’s see where the train drops us at next.”

Am I selfish or just honest? I suppose most of all . . . I feel free. Free and now eager. One day I'll tell someone that I can't meet with them because I'll be gone. GONE. I'll be out of the country. They'll ask where I'll be going and I'll reply with some fuzzy idea but all I know is that I'll be gone. Long gone. One day. . .

The world is a book and for those who do not travel read only one page. ~St. Augustine

Two wheels and a bump.

My family and I have engaged in the delicate dance of teaching a child to ride a bike without training wheels. She'll sway and bump her way down the street with the tips of her toes awkwardly jerking down towards the concrete. She hasn't figured it out yet and is still in the mode I refer to as: Completely Terrified. I was thinking. . . she hasn't fallen yet and it's the fear of the fall that's daunting. What if I fail? The questions can stop us in our tracks. Or worse: What if I actually gave it my all?

Luckily, I have it under my belt and behind me whereas she, a 6 yr. old is still learning. Right?

OK, so picture this: Once upon a time (this afternoon) I decided to ride my bike down to the park. I took in the warm sun on my shoulders and listened with a child-like wonder to the wind whistling fiercely through the wheels. I thought of my daughter and how one day she and I will take rides together much like the one I was enjoying. I'd be a savvy Urban ROCK STAR Mom who rides to the grocery store! YES! That's it. And with a bunch of little green-granola-tree-hugging kids following behind me like little ducklings. Happily and merrily we'll take on suburbia before we venture into real biking that's only done on trails. These memories will give them tales to tell their friends for years to come. I'll be awesome....coolest Mom on the block! Wouldn't you know it right in the middle of my mommy nostalgia moment I rode over some loose gravel, the back wheel spun, pebbles flew up and PLOP CRASH BOOM BAM! Into the center of the road I went! About as graceful as Bambi slipping on ice. I brushed myself off and swiftly drug my bike out of the way careful to not bend more pride than was needed. Hmm. Maybe I'm not as cool as I thought. It had never dawned on me until then - Oh yeah.....Maybe they won't want to ride with me?

I guess I better practice riding my bike with my 6 yr. old because I think she's the Rock Star and hopefully if I get the hang of it she might let me come along.