Happy Birthday

We spent the July long weekend in Kelowna at a soccer tournament.  As soon as the calendar switched from June to July, Yohannes started counting down the days to his birthday (even though he had already had his birthday party).

On the drive home, he asked me, “Mom, can you give me a hint about what you bought me for my birthday?”

“No, I can’t,” I said.

“Ahhhh…. Why not?” he pressed.

“Well, because we haven’t bought you a birthday present yet” I said.

“You haven’t?” he asked with utter astonishment.

“No, we haven’t” I soberly answered.

He has continued to count down the days to his birthday, and truly I had been hoping that we could just slide by it without any notice.  I guess that is too much to hope for when your child is turning nine.  He has already received so many presents for his birthday, though none on his birthday – it is hard for me to ponder buying or giving more.  Wasn’t the 18-speed bicycle that we bought to replace the one he had out-grown through the winter enough?  Wasn’t the $15/kid for his birthday party enough?  Won’t it be enough that I am going to take the kids to the Calgary Stampede (The greatest outdoor show on earth!) on his birthday?  I know the answers to all of these questions – but I don’t like the answer. 

Our kids have been born into the blessed - land of abundance.  Though I may momentarily pause in gratitude, between pauses, it feels a bit like a runaway train.  My kids, like many of their friends, do not need anything for their birthdays.  Moreover, the things that they do want are way beyond what a child their age should even be considering.  For Christmas, our then 9-year old daughter asked for a laptop.  A laptop! In a house that already has three computers!  Where do they get these ideas?  It is the society that they are growing up in, and I don’t know how to let them know that these are not the normal things of childhood.  Children need skipping ropes, soccer balls, sketching books, playing cards, dice, bouncy balls, bubbles, snorkels, and great storybooks. 

So, as I contemplate another birthday in our home, I am struggling to find a way to celebrate, but also appreciate, to be giving, but not indulgent, and to create traditions that are memorable because they are meaningful – not simply because they are extravagant and Disney- like.   But more than all of that, I want my child to feel that they are special and loved, by a family that gathers to share cake and candles.  

Relationships

I was sitting in the backseat of a taxi, in Addis Ababa.  We were winding our way through the Saturday afternoon traffic like a cow in a cattle drive.  Each time we stopped, there were beggars at the window trying to get my attention, vying for money, food, anything I was willing to give.

Yohannes and I had just had lunch with an Ethiopian-born friend of mine, from Calgary, who was in Addis visiting family.  It was my first trip to Ethiopia; it was the spring of 2006.  We had made the lengthy journey, from Canada, a week or so ago, to complete the final step in the adoption process - to bring our newest family member into our fold.  Yohannes was around two when we adopted him.

Yohannes was sitting on my lap, in the backseat of the cab; he was fascinated by the window crank.  He would roll the window down, look at me with his lips formed into a small ‘O’, and then roll the window back up and smile.  It was pure childish delight.  I was weary and tense.  This was the first time in our few short days together that I had ventured out with my new son, on my own – without my husband. 

Prior to joining our family, Yohannes had spent several months in an orphanage and then a (group) foster home.  He was little.  It is quite likely that there was only marginal variation in his days.  The concrete driveway, outer walls and buildings that contained him were dull in comparison to what he was witnessing now, in our midst.  His senses were likely tingling.  This was exciting.  Moreover, he had a consistent lap to sit in.

After a time, I wanted him to stop rolling the window down – particularly when the car slowed and was surrounded by destitute people hoping that this ferenge (foreigner) had something to share, something to change even a moment of their life.  I grew tired of being touched and beseeched by the never-ending stream of poverty-stricken men, women and children – despite my compassion.  I told Yohannes to stop.  He didn’t.  I used what little Amharic I knew to tell him to stop.  He didn’t.  I grabbed his hand and held it in mine, and told him to stop.  He didn’t, and in fact he resisted.

There was a man in the front seat, a cousin to my good friend.  He turned to me and said, “Hit him.”  In confusion, I replied, “What?” He explained to me that children in Ethiopia would only stop something when they were hit and therefore, this child (my child) would not respond to me unless I hit him.  It was profoundly uncomfortable.  Clearly, I was not going to hit him, but moreover I wanted to communicate that there was another way.  I simply and quietly said, “That is not how we do it.”  He gave me a smug look as if to say, Suit yourself, it ain’t gonna work. 

Years later, perhaps for the hundredth time, I watched as Yohannes resisted our commands and in fact continued (time and time again) to do the very thing that he had been asked to stop.  (It is like watching him roll that window up and down all over again, first with glee, and then with fixed determination).  Intellectually, I know that simply telling a child to stop something that they are enjoying is not enough.  When Yohannes was younger, I used distraction to get him to move away from an incessant and irritating behavior.  And though that may still work, we expect more of him as he ‘grows up’.

Truly, the words that were prophesized back in Ethiopia, over six years ago – often haunt me.  It seems at times that Yohannes, through his behavior, is begging for a good old-fashioned smack.  There are times when he will dig himself into such a deep hole of trouble that one would need a crane to pull him out.  But even a crane would not work because he is so busy complaining and carrying on, that he wouldn’t notice that help had arrived.  If he is in trouble, he will deny that he has any part in it – even if he is the only person there.  Next, he will argue and talk back until you feel as if you might pull out your hair.  And finally, when you ask him to leave (in pure and utter frustration), he will not leave.  He roots himself to the ground to plead his case, to frustrate and cajole the adult in charge and to give plenty of his ‘do whatever you want to me, I will not give’ attitude. 

It is in those moments when we truly get to know ourselves.  Yes, ourselves.  These children are most definitely the best teachers that we (will ever) have, for they will bring us to our wits end, and then see how we respond.  They are not doing it on purpose – they are just intrinsically gifted. 

In those moments, there have been times when I have used physical force to remove Yohannes from my presence.  I have pushed, shoved, and prodded him, in order to get him to do as I have asked. In those instances Yohannes always acquiesces.  However, we separate with our heads hung low; there is a loss of dignity.  Fortunately, I have learned a lot over these years about repairing ruptures and I always make time for reconciliation, once we are both calm. Furthermore, the majority of time, I walk away from the impending rupture or adopt a spirit of inquiry and compassion with my emotional son.

But the bigger question that comes again and again on this journey is: How do you discipline, negotiate and reason with a child who is used to having boundaries defined through physical means, how do we teach them that there is another way?  After our second adoption, I was walking out of our community school with our then ten-year-old daughter, who had been in our family for less than a year, when she told me that there are some things that she liked better about Ethiopia. 

"Of course", I calmly said, "like what?"  

“We-ll”, she began, “Canada - you do something wrong, you lose privileges. 

“Uh-huh”, I mused. 

“Ethiopia - you do something wrong – thwack”, she said.

“Oh, I see”, I said, somewhat sadly, “Which one do you like better?”

“Ethiopia”, she said, matter-of-factly.

“WHAT!?” I asked, “Seriously? . . .  “Thwack is better?”

“Yes” she answered, “make mistake, thwack – then go back to playing. No lose privileges.”

“Oh, I see”, I said. 

I was thoroughly baffled.  In a million years I would not have expected to have this particular conversation with a child who had ‘grown up’ being hit.  It was enlightening. 

But the illumination was that consequences for our actions and behaviors, when the consequences are something that the child enjoys and desires, are far more upsetting to our children and therefore will provide the motivation necessary to change.  In the same light positive consequences when we catch our children ‘doing good’ will also give them fuel to continue to do good.

In the end, we are all human, so there is no perfect way to parent – not here, not in Ethiopia.  I have plenty of opportunities to grow as a person while parenting my kids; I only have to find the pause button and chose which pathway to take.  And when I, in my flawed humanness, cannot locate the pause button and therefore stumble headlong into a place that I did not intend to go, I find the courage and integrity to step in, apologize and repair.  Relationships are the outcome.

Mysteriously More

“Try as we will, we cannot escape the making of mistakes.  But fortunately, the ever humbling cycle of growing strong roots comes from eating what grows from our own shit, from digesting and processing our own humanity. […] What we trample and leave behind fertilizes what will feed us.  No one is exempt. […]  We evolve in spite of our limitations, and though we break and make mistakes, we are always mysteriously more than what is broken.” 

Excerpt from, The Book of Awakening, Mark Nepo, 2000, pp 183-184

I know that my life experience has made me into who I am today.  (But, let’s be clear, that does not make the hard stuff any easier!) And I understand that the mystery of living does not lie in fixing all that is broken.  Sometimes it is simply sitting with the broken and learning to live with it. Broken might be the path.  But broken doesn’t feel very good.  It doesn’t fit with the achievement-based society that we live in. 

What I feel drawn to in this reflection is the phrase, “we are always mysteriously more than what is broken”. 

Broken, as in a broken arm; it will heal. 

Broken, as in broken hearted; time will soothe. 

Broken, as in imperfectly made; it will continue to meet our gaze through our whole lives.

Not even strong relationships can always manage brokenness.  Admitting to feeling broken, whether fleeting or long term is to risk being vulnerable.  Being vulnerable takes courage as well as wisdom.  Not everyone is going to be a good audience for your stories, which is why we most often answer the question: How are you? with the inconsequential: I am fine, how are you?

Feelings of being broken can courageously be managed from within, but to risk enough to include a trusted other, will calm the soul.  We can cultivate roots by embracing the mystery that is our lives, and stepping forward with faith and grace, knowing that we are infinitely more than that which is broken.

What would a good mother do?

 It was not even 8 o’clock.

Yohannes had set me off – I had set him off.  Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Minutes after the initial infraction, I could not remember even a piece of what started it.  But I could remember what he said, and how it made me feel.  He muttered, under his breath, just loud enough so I could hear “A real mom wouldn’t do that.”

The comment had hit its mark.  Not that he had any particular motivation for saying it.  My triggers are mine, and mine alone.

The immediate anger that gripped me, took on a life of it’s own, and I was at Yohannes’ side in two swooping steps.  I loomed larger than life over top of him.

“What - - did - - you - - say?” I asked.

He looked at me and with fear in his eyes and said, “Nothing.”

“Please remove yourself from this space!” I spat, while pointing my arm into the air to reveal a space, just over there, that might welcome him. Like a tank readying for battle, he hunkered down and shot back, “NO!”

I gripped his broad and bold shoulders and dug my fingers in to guide him out of the kitchen.

He yelped, “Ouch! Let go! I can do it myself!”

So, I let go, turned on my heel, took a deep breath, and simply shook my head back and forth, wondering how I could be so affected by the simple words of a child.  When he had rounded the corner to go upstairs, he turned back, peering around the wall that now separated us, and sneered, “You are a bad mother.” As I turned toward him, he took the stairs two at a time, and hurried into his room.

I continued making lunches and getting things ready for the day.  But not before I screamed up the stairs at him,  “You don’t even know what a good mother you have!”  Reflecting back, it seems like kind of a ridiculous thing to scream at a moment like that. 

It did however give me an idea.  I took a moment to calm myself, and then I grabbed a pad of paper and a pen.  I took it up to Yohannes.  When I opened the door to his room, he was huddled in his bed, with his blankets pulled up around him.  As I write this now, I am filled with compassion for my son, but in that moment, I was feeling hurt, and somewhat indignant.  I approached and handed him the paper, as if he had simply been waiting for it all along.

“What is this for?” he asked sullenly.

“I would like you to write down your thoughts about what a good mother would look like.” I answered simply.  And then I left.

Truly, I did not expect him to do it.  The fact was, I knew it had not been a stellar parenting moment for me. But I felt wounded, and I wanted some kind of retribution – and that was all I could come up with! 

He came downstairs a little while later, holding a sheet of paper in his hands. His whole demeanor had changed, softened.  He asked me to look at it, but I was feeling rushed at that point to get everyone out the door and to school on time, so I told him we would talk about it after school.  Looking back, I wish I had stopped and taken a brief moment with him to reflect on what had happened between us and repair the damage.  But, I didn’t.

After school, the first thing that Yohannes did when we got home was to go and get me his written work.  He was excited to show it to me.  I turned my full attention to him.  He wanted to read it out loud.  I could see that he had written a whole page, and drawn some pictures at the bottom.  Here is what he wrote, word for word (colors and all).

           

           What would a good mother do?

   .   A good mother will find a safe school for me.

   .   A good mother would not smack or pinch her child.

  .  A good mother would pretect her child.

 .  A good mother would have pride in her child for trying a new thing.

 .  A good mother will keep me helthy.

 .  A good mother will meet her child’s needs.

 .  A good mother makes her/his lunch.

            That’s what a good mother would do and that exactly what you do.

Mom I am sorry for saying that you are a bad Mother.

Do you exept my aplagy? check yes or no.

thank you

Mom you’re the best mother in the World! And you do all of that stuff!

After he finished reading it to me, I have to say, I was feeling several things; but most of all, I felt complete and utter shock.  I could not believe that a human could come up with that after being spoken harshly to, after being shepherded gracelessly from the room, and after being admonished harshly for even having the completely unjustifiable notion that I was a bad mom – let alone speaking it out loud!

Here was a great teacher.  And I felt quietly humbled.

He had not only taken the paper and (multi-coloured) pen I had offered and done what I asked, he had done it with thought and tenderness.  As he asked for my forgiveness, he had already forgiven me.  I was amazed. 

We talked a bit about action and reaction.  I took responsibility for my own part in the rupture, and said that I too was sorry.  The current of life moved on, and I am still in awe of his ability.  However, I know that he did not stumble upon this ability to repair a ‘falling out’ all by himself; I realize that there are moments in my own parenting journey where I make myself look bad, and there are also moments in which I model compassion, understanding and forgiveness.  At times we mirror each other, and in that moment I saw the possibility of goodness that exists in all of us.

Crazy!

My kids are driving me crazy.  Full moon?  Contaminated water fountains at school?  Hormones running amuck?  What? 

            Mom, where’s my snack?

            Mom, how do you spell Crowfoot?

            Mom, have you seen that hairband, you know, the one I really like?

            Mom….. Mom…. Mom….

I am thinking of changing my name. I might change it to Dad!

I know - that’s not fair.  But truly, when both of us are home, it is still “Mom, where is the blah, blah, blah”, “Mom, can you do blah, blah, blah”, and “Mom, I need help with blah, blah, blah”.  I suspect that even when I am not here the kids still call out for Mom, but I have no proof of that. 

When the kids hear the garage door opening, a clear signal that Dad is about to walk in, they all hide.  (It is the only moment of peace I have!)  And then one by one, they jump out trying to scare the life out of him.  Once that is over, they all laugh and throw themselves at my husband to welcome him home.  That is where it ends.

It is as if my husband comes in, greets the kids, changes out of his work clothes, and then dons Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak!  It is remarkable.  Sometimes I even say things like, Don’t you see your dad sitting right beside you?  They just look beside them, shrug their shoulders and carry on with their incessant demands of me.  Or, I am more direct, and I say, Go and ask your dad!  They simply look at me and raise their arms and shoulders, in the universal Huh? gesture. I can’t stand it.

My kids are no longer young.  In the realm of a kid’s life, they are middle aged.  They could be doing more for themselves – and truly, more for me!  In many developing countries, families are large.  There are three reasons that I know of: high mortality rates, to help with the work of the family and to increase the likelihood that parents will be cared for in their old age. We are not the beneficiaries of a large family – in those same ways.  There are days when I wonder if I am going to make it through their childhood – intact. 

The problem is, I feel somewhat responsible.  When I became a full time mother, it became my full time job. I began parenting with the naïve belief that what I do makes a significant difference in the lives of my kids.  Moreover, I quickly established the bad habit of doing more for my kids than what they really needed. There are, however, mitigating circumstances that have shaped my motherly role.   For instance, when Lauren arrived, she couldn’t do anything for herself, she kind of unwittingly relied upon me – and I complied.  And further, when Yohannes joined our family, he did too much for himself (and us) – that was hardly an acceptable trait in a two year old!  And Faven, arriving in the family at age ten - well, she is a mix of competence and incompetence; she needs us and she doesn’t need us all in the same moment.  Moreover, her personal needs had quite possibly been ignored for years –doesn’t she need someone to answer to her neediness? 

Quite recently, through attending parenting seminars, I learned that when kids say help me it is our job is to help them ‘just enough’.  It turns out that helping my kids is way harder (and more time consuming) than simply doing it for them.  But then, they don’t end up being able to stand on their own two feet, and they are constantly standing on top of mine.  Even when they have the skills, they lack the confidence (at least in my presence).

Maybe crazy is simply part of motherhood.  For even a day without the constant clatter of family demands, makes me stop and think about all the reasons that I love these mid-sized people who drive me crazy!  I may not be keeping up in the race, but at least I have the capacity to limp along, pull over when I am beat, and ask for directions when I have taken a wrong turn.  

This is Yohannes, at age 2-3(in 2006) happily washing the dishes.

Puzzling

Completing a puzzle takes persistence.  The more pieces there are, the harder one has to work and the longer one has to keep coming back to it.  It is, presumably, more enjoyable to share the work with others.  If we only focus on the whole, we will not see the necessity of each piece, but if we only focus on certain pieces, we will inevitably get stuck, maybe even frustrated. 

What if our lives are simply a puzzle, the pieces making up bits of who we are?   To fully live each piece is to complete the puzzle, only we do not know where we are, in the puzzle.

Puzzles involve a healthy dose of faith, which is overlaid with mystery.  Living each day with wholeheartedness also requires faith, and letting go of certainty.  All we have is this puzzle piece, right now; the past is already laid and the future sits just out of reach. 

In life, there are certain opportunities for growth; pieces are illuminated that were previously dull. Not every piece is pretty.  Not every piece makes sense, in its shape, its timing or its feel.  Not every piece will be regarded as complimentary.  Growth rarely takes place when all the pieces fall together without thought, or effort.  Each experience contributes to the whole.  When several pieces fit together in succession, there is a momentary revealing. 

When components of our strength are revealed, we rejoice and we share it with others.  Conversely, when our challenges are revealed, we try to cover them up and we isolate ourselves from others. If we try to eradicate the pieces that are hard to bear, from our personal inventory – we will ultimately live without wholeness.  There will be a gaping chasm that we will be unable to cross.

It is easier to choose only to look at the good within us, but life will be incomplete.  How unsatisfying it is to get near to the finish of a puzzle and realize that one of the pieces has gone missing.  Recognizing AND accepting all aspects of our personal puzzle is courageous work. 

I know myself very well.  It hasn’t always been that way.  It is a choice.  I am challenging some of my earlier beliefs, ones that were formed by my interpretation of experiences.  In a way, I am peeling back the pieces of the puzzle to look and really see what is underneath them.  And then with a new understanding, slowly and thoughtfully putting the pieces back into place.  It is hard work.

As I started to do the inner work, I started to see more clearly what the pieces were, and how they fit together. My awareness grew.  Sometimes, knowing is much harder than ignorance.  For example, I have been engaged in parenting seminars this past year where we have learned about nine different temperament traits.  Early on, I learned that I am high in the sensitivity trait, meaning that my environment affects me through all of my senses, to a high degree.  Clearly this affects my behavior in certain circumstances.  Prior to knowing about this trait, I simply excused my behavior – as habit.  However, once I knew about it, and particularly how this trait mixed (or didn’t) with others, I had to attune to it. 

Attunement does not mean putting this trait aside, and choosing a different (easier) one; it means admitting the challenging aspects of it and learning new skills to live with harmony and respect for self and others.  Moreover, I wanted to resist the implications of having this trait; I knew that it was not valued by society (She’s so sensitive), therefore making it more difficult for me to navigate the world that I live in.

As sometimes happens, the more time you spend building the puzzle, the harder it is to live with the incompleteness.  Impatience takes its toll, particularly when one challenge leads directly into another. There will come a time when your staying power, your persistence will be tested.  Are you going to stick with the complications of a puzzle that won’t form, as you want it to, or are you going to tear it apart?  Are you going to dig deep and accept the scene as it unfolds and pause to seek the guidance that you need, or fall hopelessly into the chasm?

There is a tremendous amount of discomfort at the edge of the chasm.  It is the uncertainty of knowing what the pieces are, but not knowing how they go together that is hard to bear.  Moreover, for me personally, it is the self-doubt that enters my mind as I wonder if this piece of myself can ever by accepted or loved. 

When the completeness of the puzzle deludes us, and the pieces magnetically repel one another, we simply need to walk away.  We cannot force it.  Knowing, or seeing is only one part of our completion, a step in our journey towards wholeness.  Living wholeheartedly, with truth and connection requires a joining and a separating.  Ultimately there is a point of surrender, so that the pieces that are laid, the parts that are known, will coalesce to form something new, while the rest remains a mystery. 

All or Nothing

Acknowledging my personal limitations has been a necessary (yet difficult) part of my journey in recent years.  One palpable limitation is winter.  Therefore I proactively and very intentionally booked a holiday to California so I could take a break from the demands of parenting and get a much-needed dose of warm sunshine.  I returned home this week after seemingly endless days of healthy eating, lots of sleep, long daily walks and hours of sitting, reading and writing.  I returned home not only relaxed and refreshed but also with motivation and passion for my life.

It has been unbelievable then, to realize that the space between quiet and calm California and chaotic and crushing Calgary is less than sixty hours!  I can’t sleep.  I have emotions to manage every moment that the kids are with me (or not with me).  And the incessant work gnaws at my consciousness like a dull saw grinding through an aged tree.  I feel like a set of bagpipes that the air has been squeezed out of, with no breath to fill back up again.  How could this be happening?  Did I not take the break, so that I could come back with a full tank and embrace each day – as if it were a day at the beach?

Portions of my adult life have been filled with All or Nothing living.  I would either celebrate my success, or mourn my failure.  I either over function, taking control of everything and everybody and flying through life without truly stopping to see what was passing, or under functioning, wondering who I can dump everything on (my husband?) and how I can get out of all the things I have committed to.  Life is a pendulum, however, we are not meant to stay at the outer edges; the majority of time is spent moving through.  I have wasted a lot of energy swinging toward one thing or away from another. I crave getting it right and am often disappointed by my mistakes.  Why?  Because our society values and encourages the capable and is uneasy with those who are struggling. 

However, the last season of my life has been about learning to embrace and celebrate my flaws.  It is teaching me to live with more honesty and to take responsibility for my mistakes, instead of using them as a character assassination.  Through parenting I have faced things that I truly believe would not have otherwise come up.  There have been many challenges, eye-opening gifts and hard realizations. Personal growth has become part of my formula for living wholeheartedly and so I have people in my life that can support me in that area.

There have been many ah-hah moments; I have learned things about myself that have always been there and yet I could not see. I didn’t have the information or perspective to understand the footprints that followed me to here.  Now I do, and it is creating a fundamental shift, mainly in the areas of acceptance and compassion. Moreover, knowledge together with practice has given me many skills that I did not possess any natural ability for.  I have learned that there is no truth to the myth that if we were meant to do something, it would come naturally.  Never has this been more obvious in my life than it is in my love relationships. 

The gulf between success and failure, between good and bad, between perfect and flawed is the place where we live; it is the place where our flaws reflect back at us, revealing that flawed is something that binds the human race together.  We are all bits and pieces of a whole, that when examined too closely, somehow feels raw.  No one enjoys that feeling.  However, risking vulnerability and being raw is our only path to human connection. 

So as I realize that less than three days have passed since I walked on the beach, heard the rhythmic surf, felt the warm sun on my bare skin and felt completely at ease, I know that I cannot live exclusively on the beach or in the confines of my family.  I simply need to let the pendulum swing and sway at a speed that I cannot control. But more importantly I need to allow it to stop and come to a complete rest; in those moments, I need to surrender all that I have (and don’t have), all that I am (and am not), and all that I want (and lack) and rest in the knowledge that I am not alone.