Tag: Fact
Scenes
Snapshot: By the general store
He’s slouched in a red adirondack chair, mirrored sunglasses banded over his black bandana. Gray ponytail draped over his shoulder. Denim shirt, jeans, black biker boots with silver buckles. He looks like he’s sleeping but he laughs when the hummingbirds descend on the feeder, flitting like children.
Scenes
Snapshot: At the airport
Good-looking, nicely dressed guy approaches the boarding line. Tailored jeans, gray sport coat, shiny black shoes. Dark hair, graying at the temples, short beard.
His fly is down. Nice.
Snapshot: At lunch
Thoughts on Father’s Day
There’s this guy I know. He’s a single dad. Until recently I tried not to pay much attention to him because he’s hot. But it’s hard because it’s so obvious what a great dad he is.
His daughter shares a teacher with mine. The girls are not friends, but that’s another story. She struggles, that’s clear. She wants more attention, special attention, from her mom.
Her dad is crazy about her, though. He carries her cowgirl boots when she gets a blister. He drags her bike on foot all the way to school so she can ride home. He remembers all the little things for her, he braids her hair. He dresses up in crazy costumes for the Halloween parade. He’s so happy to see her when she runs out of school that his face lights up.
She knows he loves her. But it’s not enough, and she always seems needy. She bosses the other girls and she begs for special treatment from the other moms. Maybe that’s because she only sees her dad for half the week. Maybe it’s that her own mom is distracted, too busy to give her undivided attention.
And I’m struck by this: Why do we sometimes squander the love that we have in our search for the love that we don’t?
But that dad is an inspiration.
Let’s go to the donut shop
“Mom, I’m sweating,†my 5-year old whines. We’re walking through the neighborhood on our weekly trip to the donut shop. It’s about 75 degrees outside.
“It’s hot out,†I tell him, “but there are plenty of shady spots.â€
“Noooo!†He screams,â€I’m burning! It’s too hot out here. It needs to be air-conditioned!†he demands.
“What, outside?†I laugh.
“Yes!†he screams, puts his hands over his ears, and shrieks at the top of his lungs.
“Listen. If you want to walk all the way to the donut shop, you need to cheer up,†I tell him. “Go ahead, smile.â€
He does, grudgingly.
We continue walking in silence for a few minutes. I’m struck by the thought that in a few weeks he will be at school all day, and I won’t have these chances to help him cheer up, to spend time with him, and to teach him how to handle life in the moment. In these last few weeks I want to help him learn to cope with discomfort. It’s super challenging for a five-year old. I mean, it’s hard for me. But this will be an exercise for both of us.
Back before I had kids, when I was pregnant with my daughter, Geoff and I took Bradley method birthing classes. They were a little crunchy granola, but I’m telling you, this works. The Bradley method teaches you how to cope with pain. It teaches you relaxation. It shows you how to stop fighting against the pain and instead let the pain come and go. You learn to focus your attention elsewhere – on a photograph, or a part of your body that is not in pain.
It takes practice. You build up your tolerance to pain months ahead of time, training your mind by squeezing your partner’s hand, then by holding an ice cube, then finally by focusing through your early contractions. Then when you must, you lie down. You relax. You breathe. You feel the pain come and go. You think of your photograph, or of your feet, or whatever you choose, and you remind yourself that you will soon be free of the pain. The discomfort never becomes part of you, it is always separate.
And fighting it? Does that work? No more than my son’s shrieking made him feel better. Relaxing and succumbing to the pain was the only way that I found to get through it. Pain has its own rhythm and pain has its own language. Coping with it demands all of your attention and all of your submission. It doesn’t appreciate snark. It wants to own you; it demands your compliance.
And if you comply? If you ride out the pain? I found that after giving birth, after the pain had passed, I experienced the most profound feeling of happiness that I’ve ever experienced. It is truly spiritual. It’s a time not only for being with your new baby, but for experiencing your body, and the world, anew.
My son and I made it to the donut shop. Along the way we discussed Iron Man and Scooby Doo. We bought donuts and sat outside in the sun to eat them. He took a long time eating his, finally oblivious to the heat and just happy.
I think that we will keep up this weekly trip, even in July and August.
Why all-girl triathlons rock
I competed in a triathlon yesterday. Now, I’m no athlete. If you know me, you know that’s true. In fact, for some of my readers, who do know me but have not seen me in a while, this might come as a shock.
So let me explain. I competed as part of a relay team. I swam half a mile in just under 20 minutes, and ran on hard pavement to pass off our team’s ankle bracelet to my best friend, who was biking 14 miles. I did it all for her. Earlier this year she became diabetic, and the year has been such a struggle for her to come to terms with her new identity. Biking is something that she loves. It reminds her of how strong and healthy she is. So when she asked me to swim on her triathlon team, I immediately agreed. Half a mile in the pool was no big deal for me, athlete or not.
The thing is, the triathlon really impressed me. All the athletes were women. They came in all ages, shapes, and abilities. There was a small group of elites who completed the whole race in under an hour. There were cross-generational relay teams with moms and daughters. There was a large group of cancer survivors. There were moms, there were teenagers. There were die-hards and there were slowpokes. What I noticed the most was that everyone was there to support each other. There was an unspoken (and sometimes spoken) message that “we can do this!” It was so inspiring,
My daughter was very concerned about who won. At her age, winning matters. But the thing is, yesterday wasn’t about winning. It was about personal strength, determination, and health. There was energy up for grabs everywhere, and even more than that — sisterhood. It was awesome.
My five-year old has a third eye
Last week, my son signed up for the summer reading program at the library. The library provided a thoughtful prize: a third-eye tattoo. My son loves his. He put it on immediately and has been religiously careful not to wash it off.
I have to admit that I don’t know much about the third eye. My Google search revealed that the third eye offers perception beyond ordinary sight, and that it leads to a higher state of consciousness in which images have spiritual or psychological significance. But how does one get a third eye, aside from a kiddie tattoo from the library? Do we all have a dormant third eye, or is it a special gift? I think that I need to do some more reading on the subject.
In any case, my son has been asking about his third eye. I’ve tried to be honest without giving him too much information, you know? He’s only five, and I don’t think he’s ready to grapple with the full question of paranormal reality. So I told him that his third eye will let him see his Mom-Mom in heaven. He likes that a lot.
On the way to school today he told me that Mom-Mom is doing great in heaven and she is happy to see us. That made me smile. I’m glad for the link to the afterlife. Right after that, he licked my arm and then ran ahead to do his new happy dance, in which he sticks out his butt and wiggles it around while shaking his arms behind him.
There is nothing quite like a five-year-old boy.
