I've been thinking about this plant a lot, lately. It's a Golden Currant, a shrub native to the Pacific Northwest. When my son planted it, it was a delicate stem, about as tall as my pinkie. It was crowned with two, tiny, wrinkled, leaves. I didn't hold much hope for its survival. A few seasons later, it's a couple feet tall, boasts multiple branches, and it's decked with lush green leaves and dainty yellow blossoms. I'm impressed and delighted by its growth. It's flourishing and soon it will bloom. I think about this plant because of how beautifully it illustrates the development of a living organism, well-established in an appropriate climate, rooting into the soil where it is planted, sustaining each season's shifting resources, to then stretch, leaf, and ultimately bear fruit. It's the metaphor I return to when reflecting on our family. We are a well-established plant that began as a tenuous little sprout. The three of us have been in this house for six years. In recent months, I’ve recognized the depth and breadth of our growth and the benefits we produce together. The first place I see it is in N. I know that a lot of the changes I see in N are due to his own maturing with age. But that growth is supported by the place that we have reached as a family and the parenting that J and I practice. N is open with both of us about his feelings, concerns, goals, and successes. I used to worry about N’s relationship with J. I felt like I was bridging and mediating the two of them and all of their communication ran through me. Now, I overhear conversations and collaborations between them that have nothing to do with me. They have trust and rapport all their own. I also see changes in how J and I relate. A little over a year ago we thought our marriage was done, but N didn’t want us to separate and break up the household. So we each dug a little deeper into ourselves, as individuals, and our communication and connection as a couple. We have new habits that keep us talking about our inner, personal stuff, along with the day-to-day pragmatics of running a house and raising a young man. My favorites are the groggy early mornings together over coffee and the evening chats before bed. It’s as if that liminal state, between awake and asleep, we can be more honest, authentic, and sometimes silly, than during the more alert hours of the day. I’m savoring this new, established phase of our growth as a family. I love that N will choose that we sit at the kitchen table for dinner together, rather than hovering over the coffee table in front of the tv. I relish the days when we all play hooky from school and jobs, and we’re all at home working on projects or hanging out. I look forward to our vacations, exploring new places or revisiting familiar favorites, and photographing the requisite family selfies along the way. I’m grateful. I’m pausing to acknowledge and celebrate the attention, intention, and deliberate work that brought us from being three people occupying a house to an established family, engaged and responsive to each other, co-creating and sharing life together.
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Now is a sweet spot in our home and family life.
It's been just over a year since my last "now" posting. This is now:
Today is Mothers' Day and, as celebrations go, it was a dud. Kiddo was out with his dad. J was digging a foundation for the new shed. I went grocery shopping. The store was crowded, despite going at my usual Sunday morning hour, and everyone appeared to be purchasing flowers, plants, cards, gifts, and ingredients for festivities with moms. Driving home I was surprised by a wave of sadness. Mothers' Day has rarely been a big deal for me. N's dad wasn't really into it, and it's awkward to take your own young child to purchase a card or gift for yourself, so I accepted it as a flimsy excuse for a Hallmark card event. But, ugh, no event for me and my motherhood. This year, I am keenly aware of my relationship with my son in a different way than prior years. Partly, it's because he's 12 and relates to me in a different way than he did as a smaller child. Partly, it's that we're under a stay-at-home order so we are together, each day, more than we have been since he was a newborn. I enjoy his company, (most of the time... he is a tween). I welcome his ideas, interests, and developing perspective. I'm surprised by his vocabulary. I'm laughing to tears from his comedic timing. If you know me well, then you know I wasn't planning to be a mother. I was a newlywed anticipating a two career household, with a cat, and no children. I looked forward to fulfilling work, out there, in the world, and hopes for comfortable compensation in the future. But kiddo came along and everything changed, as they warn you it will, and now it's 12 years into this mothering gig and I'm missing my kid on Mothers' Day. And that's a good feeling. I'm grateful for this darn kid and I'm grateful to be his mother.
Two years ago, this very weekend, we saw our house for the first time. I was enchanted immediately by the open living room, large windows with So Much Light, and perfect number of rooms. The backyard felt huge and just what my apartment-raised son needed. I had to have this house. We had to make this home. Two years later, complete with a pandemic and stay-at-home order, and we are home all the darn time. It's perfect. Which is to say, it's got its quirks. We don't entirely understand why the former residents did many of the things they did to the house and yard. They had an abiding love of plywood and fake-wood paneling, not to mention corrugated plastic, chunks of petrified wood, and an overabundance of small lava rocks. Some of the wiring puzzled us, but we're pretty sure J resolved that. The house, itself, has good bones and the structure teems with life since we occupied it. Four cats, three humans, self-propelled dust bunnies... podcasts, laughter, music, Super Smash Bros, neighbor kids, friends with kids... The yard was all for N, in the beginning. Even before we moved in, he was spotted and befriended by the neighbor kids over the back fence. Conversation quickly turned into playdates and birthday parties. With a little vision and J's muscle and sweat, the yard became something we could all enjoy. Garden beds were built, filled, planted, tended, and harvested. I honestly couldn't believe J's willingness to submit green lawn to boxes of dirt for my amateur agriculture. The front of the house looks largely the same as when we purchased it. We did removed the metal moon and sun thingy from the front wall. J replaced the mail box post and added two new garden beds on the front lawn. But, in general, you might not recognize that a different family resides here. However, inside and out back, it's all us. Pictures, paint, books, games, noise, cooking smells, cat fur... hammock, raised beds, garden starts, overfilled-and-half-disassembled shed, flowers, barbecue smoke, and a wheelbarrow boat. Today, I am grateful for the house, yard, and neighbors. The family we are becoming. The time and place to inhabit together. I am grateful to be home.
I found a surprise in my inbox, this week, and I've appreciated it. A blogger I used to follow sent out a "Quarantine Planner" with kind and quirky suggestions for organizing and inhabiting time at home. Here are a few of my favorite pages. Spring emerged boldly, this weekend, with warm sunny days and lots of color. I started planting our garden with zucchini in the bed by our front door. Other savored signs of Spring included "opening the pool." It was 48 degrees that morning but kiddo would not be swayed from the maiden voyage of his wheelbarrow boat. The weekend included the usual cleaning, tidying, and puttering (that I secretly enjoy) reestablishing our cosy order and lived-in clean. I made a few colorful and practical changes to my "office," since kiddo and I will be inhabiting more time there. Framed pictures went up, a drape over the gaping closet of random containers, and a new keyboard tray and mousepad. My wrists and back are already thanking me. I am especially grateful for this guy for his pragmatic support, easy company, and all-around silliness. We make a good home, together, all the more apparent by the extra time we're home, right now.
I ugly cried, last night. I'm grateful for a partner who comforts me. I'm still a little shaky, today. I'm grateful for a quiet house and softly snoring kitties. I look out over the computer monitor, now, to see patches of blue sky and a brightly lit backyard bearing signs of spring. The pandemic, the changes in our routines and movement, the people falling without a safety net, the essential workers on all fronts, the powerful accepting collateral damage in exchange for wealth and security... the situation is so BIG. I am so small. I am ineffective. I am isolated and meaningless. These facts and feelings spin and rage in my mind and my emotions. My sleep is one long nightmare. My body is aching and tired. The storm inside me will pass. It has before and it will again. For now, I tend myself gently with nutritious food, a warm shower, napping in the sunshine, and so much gratitude that I can tend myself in these ways. Making some meaning of the BIG storm, for me, is not contained in taking care of myself, my family, my home... Making meaning is reaching beyond my yard. I am small. I am not ineffective or isolated. I do see both people in need and people in power. I am not content, not really. I'm looking for ways to make a difference, make daily life different, liveable, in the midst of crisis, and between them. This is not the only storm.
Tonight, I am grateful and content. This weekend felt...normal. Like the former normal. Kiddo went to his dad's. I cleaned and organized the house. We purchased more seeds at the hardware store. There was time together and time apart. I napped, twice!, today. While grocery shopping, I picked up some stuck-at-home toys for kiddo. He was grateful and we played together in the late afternoon.
Practicing social connection in the time of social distancing... We're adapting to, and grateful for!, varied ways to maintain social connection during social distancing. Texting, chatting in the driveway, "elbow-bumps" and "air hugs," and hollering over the back fence to the neighbor kids. How are you staying connected in these strange covid-19 days? |
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Out of the Attic
This blog started in 2006
on Blogger as Out of the Attic. I began posting here in April 2014. Please visit the original site for the rest of the story on topics like: |