Significance

Before I even start writing this blog entry, I feel as though I should put out the caveats that I wasn't even going to attempt to write it because I was anxious as to not showcase my quirky side.  I was worried that writing it would be opening the door to judgement.  There is a part of me that knows I am going to make myself vulnerable in telling the world some of the things I do which could be perceived as nothing less than odd.  I am writing it because I read a wonderful post about an amazing mama who is sewing her children's bedsheets in the cutest of cute flannel fabric. And to her (and so many other of my talented, amazing friends) I say "Eshet Chayil".

I'm not writing it to receive accolades or invite critique or, not that I believe that it's even a possibility, promote some kind of strange peer pressure where others feel obliged to do what I am doing.

However, all this aside, I decided to write it because it was an epiphany of sorts.  One that has come from the fact that because of this journey, I am a different person.  I see the little things as much more meaningful.  Even if the little things mean pulling out a Sharpie as I am preparing my eldest's lunch and drawing on a banana peel.  Really.

Five years ago I had a radically different outlook on my life.

Five years ago, I was working on a scrapbook layout for my little boy who was fourteen months old.  It was an enjoyable experience, scrapbooking.  I had two wonderful sisters-in-all-things-scrapbooking who encouraged me on an experience that became more about life art than simply cutting and pasting pictures on a page.

We'd get together and work, talk, eat, and laugh for hours.  I treasure those times. Yet one layout from that time had left me with the feeling that it was still incomplete.  This layout was made during a particularly challenging time of my life.  It was following my maternity leave and then another 2 month leave due to chronic post partum depression.  I was almost finished this labour of love of a layout and at the very end had stopped.  I never truly completed what I had started.  I stopped because I thought that this layout was indicative of a need for me to go back to work.  Here it was - a scrapbook page with photos carefully chosen, stamping for each letter in the subtitles, backgrounds to match the colours and even a font researched and cut out to go along with the Curious George signature.  I had spent so much time, energy and creative resources on it that surely, I thought, it was a sign that I was ready to spend that time, energy and creative resources in the realm of my career.  

I see now that those pages of the scrapbook - with a journalling page I also included about 10 things I love about this boy - indeed required much time, energy and creative resources.  But I have also seen how much that boy enjoys the experience of reading his story.  By extension, I am given the gift of joy.

What once was insane and a reason to divert creativity, I now see as a language of love, a creation for each boy.

It is not to say that my previous work at the college was not significant - I hope that it was resourceful for the students and faculty I worked with - but I have somehow gained a new perspective on day-to-day investments of my time, energy and creative resources.  

I have found through talking to others who have gone through a medical journey that they often come to a place of recognizing significance in the minutiae of their lives.  Significance of the momentary gifts that they are given - or simply the significance of the time that they are given.  There is a weight which comes following recovery and in a way, it makes me reconsider so many different elements of my daily life.  

This is a good thing. 

I am more intentional, more thankful, more joyful and more willing to do unusual things.  

Like drawing on bananas.  My nine-year-old loves when I draw him pictures, write jokes or wish him a 'purr-fect' day with happy-faced-cats on the peel of his bananas with a Sharpie.  Mentioning this to another mother, however, I was met with skepticism. I know that as a parent, I'm going to face criticism.  I feel like I do often when interacting with other mothers.  But, as Jennie Allen points out - being liked is overrated.    I think this applies to my interactions.  Not only for fear of the perceived criticism that they may direct my way but rather the criticism that I hold for myself. 

So when I'm misunderstood by another parent, that's one thing.  Yet there's an internal monologue occurring sometimes when I'm drawing on a banana skin or making a pair of mat men for the twins - a voice that is making fun of what I'm doing, sarcastically pointing out that you have a university degree and faculty position on your resume and you are currently employing your time doing what?  I know that I have to stop myself from undermining the significance of what I'm doing.  

There is significance. With boys - or at least in this household - a significant dialect of our love language is spoken through food.  There is significance to what we do on the small scale as much as the large scale.  There is significance to the individualized gestures we can bring to the lives of our little people.  

But, as with all things, there is a flip side.  

Its name is Pinterest.

For so many Pinterest is a wonderful resource.  For me it is a source of angst (and I don't even have an account... I merely survey the postings which end up on facebook).  I am sure that this is not the case for everyone, but in my case I know I need to avoid the lure of the polished perfectionistic projects.  I am concerned about a society that seems bent on seeking out perfection in all things.

For his sixth birthday, my son was given the game Perfection.  The kids have had a lot of fun with the game but I have seen it more as an illustration of something that eludes me.  The game came with the correct number of pieces but instead of a turtle shape, there were two of one piece.  Based on the way it's set up, this means that the player can never truly reach perfection.  More, the timer goes and prompts a boy to frenzy - placing those pieces in as quickly as possible only to have the whole thing to pop when the timer is over.  The pieces fly everywhere and the player is obliged to start again.

It seems like a perfect illustration of perfection to me.   And that's how Pinterest could be for me.  Case in point:

I saw a posting on facebook from Pinterest for an activity with kids where you go out in the early evening to plant jelly beans in your yard and the next day the children wake up to find a lawn erupting in lollipops.

Although part of me finds this a whimsical idea and I imagine it would be a great deal of fun, I am concerned.  I see how I live in a society bent on happy children where there's already an overabundance of sugar (why was it that my childrens' Valentine's boxes were filled with candy this year?) without having it bloom outdoors.  As a gardener, I have a bit of a problem with teaching urban kids that planting a bean produces an overnight harvest of lollipops.  I think that I am even more concerned that life is presented to these little ones with many, many unrealistic expectations (related to a great article called "Why Generation Y Yuppies Are Unhappy").

However, all this aside, possibly the thought that seemed the most revealing was the fact that in trying to manufacture magic, parents and children alike lose track of the magic – very real supernatural and natural beauty – which exists within (and in) our reach. The good, the hard, the real, the mundane – in the extraordinary and significant lives which we each lead.

As for me, I will keep on drawing on banana peels, fashioning cucumber arms for Mat Men and writing down memories in books for the boys.

There's a kind of magic in that... beyond a momentary sugar rush and a significance behind the gesture.  I am giving thanks for the food that I prepare, for the moment in which I am experiencing it and for the child it is destined for.   

What if we give thanks for the gifts that we already have?

What if I take the resources I already have (bananas) and make it fun?

What if I take the learning platform (for the twins it's been Mat Man from the Handwriting Without Tears program) and make it accessible?

What if I capture the moment by living it out with the child and then recording it for them, even in point form and cement a memory for the both of us?

What if each mother was able to determine what she could do which was significant for her little one and the ones she loves in a given day and find that she is supported in her endeavors?

What if I find the significant in the seemingly insignificant?

What if I count my blessings in a habitual way?

I have discovered that the "what if" questions answered lead to joy.

It is a wonderful place to be.

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“And when I give thanks for the seemingly microscopic, I make a place for God to grow within me.”
― Ann Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are