Life of Wry

Was walking in this very spot this morning, having a soul-searching conversation with a friend and fellow mom about kids, about letting go of our own ideas about who they are, who they might become, what their interests, tastes and values are, how they view the world.

We talked about how much we know, how much we can teach them, how great our choices are for them.. and yet, how determined they are about choosing their own paths, if lacking judgment or missing the big picture. There can be a lot of heartache in that, even loss.  And lots of questions about whose needs are being fulfilled, or not, as parents’ desires go one way, and kids’ go the other.

She said, “the buddha taught that human suffering is caused by the desire for life to be different from the way it is… and so the key to peace and happiness is letting go of the desires, the longing…  it’s also in paying attention to what is sweet and precious and insanely beautiful in the kid right in front of us, right now.”

Smart girl.

I found myself achingly in love with my kid this afternoon.  Happens sometimes, today after: an uncharacteristic phone interaction and two icky pratfall-like incidents:

1. I tried not to listen, but heard every word of a phone conversation–actually, just his side –with a woman who will tutor him in spanish for the rest of this school year. He’s not taking spanish this year, but doesn’t want to lose all the proficiency gained during his seven years of spanish immersion.  (Don’t get me started about his experience last year in his first non-immersion spanish class, which lead to his opting out altogether from spanish this year).  In any case, he was having a phone interview of sorts with this tutor to determine if she would be a good fit for his needs and it was as though I was listening to somebody else’s polite, mature, and respectful child.  The conversation lasted about twenty minutes, during which time I heard thoughtful answers to hard questions, careful consideration of logistical details, and even some good humor and laughing.  He was focused and self-aware, offered reflective analysis of his experiences with spanish, good and bad, and clarity about what he wanted. (Wow, I thought to myself.)

2. Later this afternoon, he was standing just outside my office talking to me (about the spanish thing, actually) and began to do pull-ups on the bar that hangs in my doorway.  He got a little overzealous and the bar dislodged, sending him crashing to the floor, back first.  It was a horrible thing to watch, but he scrambled up quickly, like a cat that doesn’t stick its landing, saying he was alright.  But he wasn’t.  He agreed to lie down and seemed suddenly shaken and near tears.  For the next half hour we talked on the bed and pretty soon he felt okay. Nothing makes a kid more endearing than an injury, right? Or being brave in the face of an injury.

Then he wanted to do his homework. Not the usual. I think it was the conversation with the spanish tutor that made him feel responsible.

Now he’s endearing and responsible.

3. After dinner, I was doing dishes and he came up with a load from the table.  After depositing them in the sink, he turned abruptly to leave the kitchen and fell, a la Dick Van Dyke, right over the open dishwasher door.  It was an even more spectacular crash than the fall from the pull-up bar, and again he quickly got up and this time disappeared into the bathroom.  Came out a few minutes later with an embarrassed smile, saying he was ok.

All I wanted to do was hold him …and keep him from hurting himself yet again.

It was all funny, but not so funny. Painful, but okay in the end.  He’s earnest, independent, finding his way. Clumsy. Awkward. Embarrassed, yet okay with a little mom attention (definitely not always the case, but sometimes you score). He’s so in transition, so unrecognizable sometimes.  But so crazy lovable.

As my good bud said this morning: our “sweet and precious and insanely beautiful”  kids..