Do Over

Hey there-

Last week I had the pleasure of attending an all district strings concert in which Henry, the 10 year old, played the cello.

It was an amazing night.

Not because of the music.

The music was fine but, to be honest, I was bored out of my mind half way through. Plus, my back hurt from sitting on the plastic bleachers too long and I thought I might pass out from the heat at one point. (1000 children and their significant others are too many people for a smallish stuffy gymnasium)

The amazing part of the night was looking out from the audience and seeing two of the girls that Henry was in play group with out there with their string instruments and their white tops and black pants and their hair done up with pretty barrettes. I watched all three of them as they intently read their music and moved their bows over the strings and waited semi-patiently, fanning themselves with their sheet music, as the other classes finished their songs. As I watched them I recalled our play groups that began before the children could sit up on their own. I remembered the wooden puzzle pieces and blocks that were strewn about the house after everyone left. I remembered the banana bread I liked to make when the group came to my house and the camaraderie I felt with all the other new parents.

At some point during the concert evening I saw the two dads of these two girls notice each other, I watched as they slapped each other on the back in a "guy hug" and chatted for a while, periodically looking out towards their girls and nodding their heads and smiling. The scene brought to mind the earnest discussions we parents had during those play groups regarding sleep habits and eating habits and disciplinary habits.

I was enjoying this concert moment and the awe and wonder I was feeling regarding our 10 year old musician children and the two dad's bonding over them. I wondered how we could have gotten to this place, this concert, so fast. Weren't we just at some one's house debating the merits of attachment parenting and wondering at what week would they begin to sleep through the night?

As much as I was enjoying the moment I have to admit my old familiar question reared its ugly head, creeping into my consciousness.

Why wasn't Bob down there with the other dads, slapping them on the back? Why don't I get to see his proud face light up a little bit when he looks out across the crowd and catches a glimpse of Henry?

A lot has happened since those early days of the play group: divorce, illness, death, financial struggles, career ups and downs, more babies, no more babies, moves, second marriages.

If we knew then what we know now......

I want a do over.

Some of those earnest discussions we had back then seem rather silly to me now.

I want to go back to those play group days and I want to worry less about things like sleep habits. I would give up a lot of sleep to be able to see Bob walking and rocking a fussy newborn Henry in the middle of the night, with the light from the moon framing the both of them, just one more time.

A line from the Peter Himmelman song "Kneel Down" runs through my mind;

"Erase all trace of apprehension,
there is time enough to have no time at all."

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Perspective

Hey there,

I am working on perspective with Henry.

He has none.

If he forgets his lunchbox at school (which he has done exactly one time) he storms around the house throwing things and yelling about how stupid he is and that he does not deserve to be in the third grade. If he forgets his library books (which he has done exactly one time)he, once again, beats himself up, crying about how embarrassing it was and it was “all his fault” that his class didn’t get any cookies because he was the ONLY one to forget his library books. One time he forgot to do his math homework (one time) and the whole house had to hear about how much he hates to forget his homework and how stupid he is and now his teacher was going to SAY something to him.

The horror!

Come on. You would think I punish him with a branding iron if ever forgets anything. When in actuality I go the other way, trying to explain to him that these events are not that big a deal in the grand scheme of life. It is only third grade and it was only one time. Much worse things could happen; we could be living in Haiti and have no place to live or running water, we could be living in America and have no house and no running water, our house could burn down, your dad could be dead.

Wait, that one really happened. Oh dear.

Therein lies the problem for me. I believe Henry should have some built in perspective meter due to the fact that he has survived much worse. Forgotten library books and lunchboxes seem rather trivial compared to your dad dying. Am I right? Really, if Bob’s death has taught us anything let it be not to sweat the small stuff.

Enjoy the small stuff, but don’t sweat it.

But apparently that is not the way it works, at least not for Henry. Maybe the opposite has happened. He knows that bad stuff does happen, and for no apparent reason. So why not freak out about small stuff like forgotten homework or library books? Next thing you know your dad might be dead. Life is a precarious event.

But that is not the lesson I want to be taken away from Bob dying. I want the lesson to be that we should be grateful for what we have and enjoy people while they are here and that your lunchbox is not that big of a deal. There is always a paper bag.

I know I have lost some of the clarity that comes with being so close to tragedy. I have blogged about it before, that feeling of being stripped of everything but the most basic necessities, and the clear knowledge that nothing matters but love, affection, nourishment, and safety.

Over the last six years the layers have built up again and I find myself getting agitated about being late to swim lessons or to a dinner date with friends, pretty small stuff in the grand scheme of things. If I want Henry to gain some perspective I need to gain it back myself. I don’t want to be living another tragedy, but I long for that stripped down feeling that made it so easy to know what was important and what wasn’t. Where can I find that and how can I teach that to my children, without someone having to die that is?

Thanks for checking in-

Irene