Some people say that life is like a roller coaster. Mine is, or rather, what happens inside of me is like a roller coaster. One week content and satisfied and the next, not. As I journey through my life, trying to bring up confident children, trying to create a new career for myself as a coach or just manage to get through the day, I slip and slide between the two.
This week as been a “not” week so here I am On the Brink.
Standing on the edge of a very tall cliff.
Strapped to a glider.
Not knowing what I am doing, no one has taught me how.
Yet I am supposed to jump, leap, leave the safety of earth beneath my feet.
And my job is to NOT smash to the ground and crumble.
Stay in the air and get to my destination.
Navigate. Set a course. Live up to expectations.
I am scared to jump yet I have vertigo and standing on this edge is physically painful.
Nausea. Dizziness. Spinning.
It is unbearable to stay here and I must move.
The destination is too far away, I can barely see it.
I turn 38 this week yet for some reason I have already been thinking that I was 38 for a year now. I rarely feel my actual age (or even act it) and I like this fluid relationship I have with age. It allows me to avoid the “growing older” drama that society and the media tries so very hard to draw us into. I can find my own dramas all by myself so this is one area of my life where I don’t need any help.
So in honour of this occasion I thought I would try to write something about myself in 38 words. I think it only took me 38 seconds to do it so don’t get your hopes up. The point is, I achieved my goal: 38 words.
(for fellow pedants out there, the title is included in the word count and I count “that’s” as one word. What am I revealing about myself?)
My Life in Thirty Eight Words
Little feet, little toes
Bigger boobs and pointy nose.
That’s the way the outside goes.
Fertile soil for a brain,
Plant the seeds, let it rain.
That’s how I come alive again.
ok, you can’t google images for bigger boobs and planting seeds (well, you can but I wouldn’t) and I’m not very good at drawing so here is a Monet that caught my eye.
It’s a common occurrence that us parents take more photos of our first born than of all our other children combined.
It’s a combination of novelty, the undivided attention they can get and time (you don’t realise what little time you have in a day until you’ve got more than one kid).
I am no different than anyone else in this respect. My little S is growing up so fast and yet so little of her is captured in photographs or films.
We were going to the park the other day and she was running, her arms by her side and her hands flapping back and forth to help propel her forward. Enjoying her enjoyment I thought this would be great to have on film (then you could see just how cute her running style is) but I realised I didn’t have my phone. Yet another moment that will only be stored in my personal (and dodgy) memory bank, that only I can enjoy.
It reminded me of a clip I have of F as we walked to that same park. She pushed her toy buggy with a “sick” baby doll inside. She was the carer, taking this baby out for some fresh air.
I did have my phone with me that day and I have a great short film of it. In fact I have lots of short films of all the cute stuff she did.
Contemplating the difference in me regarding F and S, I have to acknowledge that in the early years with F it wasn’t just the novelty or time, in fact her care took more time than looking after 3 healthy kids. There was also a sense of urgency in me. An imperative to catch her on film because maybe soon that is all I would have left.
Phew, that was hard to say.
It was almost too painful to look upon her directly, without the filter of a camera in between.
I have always been dimly aware that I felt this way. It’s one of the reasons I crashed so hard when she finally started to be well for more than a few days at a time at the age of 3.
So little S I am truly sorry that I do not have more photos and films of you. Please know that I am not taking you for granted because you are healthy and expecting you to always be there. Because the future is not guaranteed and the angels could take you away just as easily.
You see, I am paying more attention to you. I am trying to focus on being with you now, joining in with you, no barriers. I have learnt something from you both about being a mum. When you look at me I want you do see me, not the camera.
I see you and you are great of spirit.
A clever clown who is sweet and kind.
A tough little lady who cries when she falls off the sofa and lands on her head (seriously, how can we stop this happening without tying you down?) Who then, with determination, goes back on that edge, carefully choosing a safe spot this time.
You are vocal about your displeasure (especially at the sofa for not being as wide as you imagined) and you shine brightly and shimmer with joy when you pat your tummy and say Yummy!
I have finally put photos of you up on the wall. It’s something that you have not noticed but has been a weight on my shoulders.
Last week’s post was about my “little leader of her own life”, F, who took charge and went off on a school trip for 2 nights. She’s 6 and a half and she packed her own bags and off she went to Elsloo. There wasn’t any of the faffing about that I sometimes do when I am nervous (do I have everything? what else should I take just in case…?) just methodical and fast.
So this is why independence is so important:
Hard truth: we will not always be there for them so they will have to get on with it at some point in their lives. Surely it is better to prepare them, bit by bit, rather than throw them in at the deep end when they are 18?
More positively: she had an amazing time! She loved it, was happy and felt confident. This is what I want for all my children.
In my work as a coach I see people who are courageously stepping up to live their lives they way they want to. In this journey, a metaphor I hold in my mind is that in these moments of choice, we are standing on a cliff edge, looking out to where we want to be on the other side of the canyon. It’s risky, stepping off that cliff and a great quote I heard once is this:
Little F was resolute, calm and practical. She prepared and leapt, without hesitation, knowing that she was going to get to the other side. She now wants to move the Elsloo.
Update on last week:
We received this card from F last Thursday and I love it because it is full of her character:
Fairness – everyone is included and named on the card
Love of patterns and order – alternating the colours of the letters
Love of variety – not all names follow the same pattern
Use what you have (my favourite) – the foam letters for her name: they didn’t have all the letters she needed so she made them herself using whatever foam letters were available
Accuracy!: below you can see she corrected the card when she got home:
She didn’t miss us so with an exclamation “Oh no, that’s not right!” she crossed out the words “Ik mis je” (I miss you). I burst out laughing. Sometimes this need for such precision drives me nuts but this time, it was wonderful.
She had a fantastic time and that makes me incredibly happy. She will be ok.
I actually wrote this last year but it feels relevant again. After this hectic last 6 months and completing my exam (for those who want to know, I passed!) I really feel like pootling for a bit.
In the Netherlands there is a motorway that is 5 lanes wide, called the A2. It was widened to release congestion and the speed is limited to max 100kph.
At non-peak travel times it is funny to see 3 lanes with traffic and hardly anyone is tempted to speed along in the 4th and 5th lanes. I’m sure the traffic cameras and the speeding fines have something to do with it but I also think it is a part of human nature to follow rules and guidelines.
There is common sense in them. Slowing down reduces congestion at hot spots. It’s safer, you’ll get there around the same time anyway, etc. I kept to the speed limit, I thought I was being a good citizen.
But actually, those aren’t the reasons I kept to the limit. I kept to the limit because I liked it, it was comfortable and quite frankly, after the series of mega unfortunate incidents in my life in the last few years, I have a very great appreciation that it can happen to you.
I’ve seen death approaching and I don’t want to meet him again any time soon.
Hospitals aren’t much fun either and I have had plenty of opportunities to sample their delights on a regular basis so I don’t need a car accident to bring me there too.
So I mosey down the A2 highway and it feels good. I’m glad they set that limit because actually I don’t want to go faster than that anyway and the government gave me permission to drive slowly.
On roads where the limit is 120kph I still only want to drive max 100 but somehow I feel pressure to go faster.
One day I was struck by how funny that is. I am opinionated, decisive and really don’t like being told what to do. Yet I feel like I should go faster than I want to, just because of a road sign. That’s when I realised that the reason I like the A2 so much is that I am relying on someone else to give me permission to be how I want to be. How ridiculous is that?
I could just give myself permission. I do give myself permission. Permission to cruise when I want to, to race when I want to, to stand still when I want to.
So the next time you see a slow poke cruising down the road, it might be me. I’m not trying to get in your way or make you late. I’m feeling good.
I have written before about bringing up kids who are independent, make their own decisions, are self sufficient. It’s a good thing. Yet sometimes it’s not.
As other MoBs (mothers of bartterskids) know, we are also teaching our children how to manage their illness. This can involve life or death decisions.
We know that one day we need to let go and let them make their own choices. They need to strike out on their own, solve their own problems and not involve us in the process. We hope that when that time comes, we have done enough that they know how to make good choices for themselves.
Yet humans do not always make good choices. It is always at the back of my mind that one day F will stop taking her meds. This terrifies me and the for the sake of keeping her well, alive even, I could violate her right to choose and force it on her. But that only works short term and legal independence comes at the age of 18 and what do I do then? Or what happens when I am gone? I want her to look after herself so that means she has to do it. So I need to let her make her own decisions.
So what if she does something stupid and ends up in hospital? What if she hurts herself?
I do not know what I will do but it is inevitable that both my children will make choices I don’t agree with, do things that I think (and know) will hurt them.
This dilemma that we face drives me nuts – we want them to be independent but we want them to do what we say!
What do we do?
Whether your child is ill and doesn’t take their medicine or is in trouble and doesn’t accept the help that is offered; or you think their friends are bad for them or you just want their jeans to actually cover their butts (both girls and boys), this is what I have realised:
These lives are not ours. We are only guardians. Only they are the kings and queens of their lives. And a King or Queen is an absolute ruler.
So I hope that by preparing them for independence and, when they are almost ready, letting go, that they will rule their kingdom wisely. And if they don’t, give me the compassion to forgive myself for letting them choose.
My second hope is this: that when they have tried it on their own, made mistakes, given us grey hair (ok, in my case, more grey hair) let’s pray that it doesn’t take too long for them to realise that it’s ok to seek advice, that they don’t have to do it all alone. All rulers need an advisor. Let’s pray that our act of letting go makes it easy for them to turn to us when they need us.
So I’m going to keep doing those little things to prepare both my girls; get them to tidy up their own toys, let F administer her own meds, let S brush her own teeth. Then as they get bigger, let them do bigger things.
I hope that when the time comes, I can let them go (without giving them a long list of instructions of what not to do).
Dedicated to my parents who brought me up to be smart and gave me the freedom to make my own choices. Some have been brilliant and some have been spectacularly stupid. Thanks for praising the good and being there during the bad.
amber rahim 