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Triptych
Michaelangelo's PietaI wake up to a small sound at midnight, my Miss Clavell-like mother sensors detecting something is not right. There it is again--a soft sniffle, a low moan. Is someone crying? I shuffle into the hallway, blurry from the scant hour of sleep and still half in my dream.
Maddy is crying--a soft, forlorn sob that breaks my heart.
I scoot her over a bit to make room for myself under the covers of her twin bed. I fit my legs into the angle of hers {and note fleetingly how her legs have stretched longer in the last few months} and wrap my arms around her. She spills out her worries and disappointments that have been building under her cheerful 12-year-old exterior. Loneliness, jealousy, fear, nostalgia already for her simpler elementary school days, friend troubles, sister troubles, dashed expectations for the glorious experiences she thought would be hers at 12--these are all soured by their proximity to each other and by the late dark lonely hour.
There was a time when my midnight ministrations were easier, when, blurry eyed, I could provide milk and nearness and that was enough to satisfy her nighttime needs. Now my role isn't resolving or satisfying but simply witnessing & waiting while she resolves for herself.
Brueghel's Child's Games
Most of my interactions with Sam are still instrumental. Where are my church shoes? What are we having for dinner? Will you help me with this song? Will you play a game with me? Comb my hair? Check my homework? These things I can do, can check off as positive indicators for the parenting balance sheet.
Although yesterday, when he hollered up from the kitchen "Can you cut my bagel for me?" I admit I weighed the probability of a lacerated palm (if I had him try it himself) versus a few more peaceful moments of reading before I replied a delayed "okay." Even the simple things are hard some days, their grinding dailiness overpowering my ability to rise to the occasion.
Modigliani portrait
"I'm supposed to have a conversation with you."
Distracted by Jon Stewart's Oscar banter, I register her request but fail to respond.
"Like, by tomorrow. It's due tomorrow in Health."
"Okay...let me see what it is."
The form lists five questions that students are supposed to discuss with parents about sex and birth control: How should teenagers show affection for each other? Should a couple have sex if they love each other and are going to get married? If a teen is sexually active, what kind of birth control should she use? Etcetera.
This is not the conversation I want to have, on demand, on Oscar night at 9:30. Keep in mind we have had nine unscheduled, unhurried days of vacation before this. I sigh.
"I already know the answers to most of these. We've talked about this before" she says hopefully. "Maybe we don't need to talk about it and you can just sign the sheet."
This is true, although we haven't explicitly discussed birth control. I imagine a pregnant child, blaming her parents' cluelessness: They couldn't be bothered. The Oscars were on.
So we talk, our glances not quite meeting for most of it. One commercial break, Greg screamingly silent on the other sofa.
As she heads for bed, she says "don't worry, I'm not planning on doing anything like this anytime soon."
Silence in the wake of her departure.
Greg asks, "Did she say 'not anytime soon'? Because I was hoping to hear 'not planning on anything like this ever'." I'm just thinking why didn't I turn off the t.v. and spend a little more time? What's so difficult about that?
***
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Reader Comments (10)
This post really touched me. My children are all age 5 and under. This line from your post, "blurry eyed, I could provide milk and nearness and that was enough to satisfy" made me cry because that is the mom I am right now, and I treasure this. I am dreading the complicated parenting that comes with older and teenage children. I'm lucky to have older sisters that are great mom examples and who I can call for advice, and your post reminded me of something I might read from one of my sisters. Thanks for writing such a sincere post.
Wow, Annie. That was so thoughtful and beautiful and I loved your illustration choices. Deep.
I agree with Sally. Potty training and runny noses aren't so bad after all.
Now that Laura is 12 and we are dealing with a lot of the same issues, I often think I would take the crying for milk at 3 am over the trauma of adolescence. The story of Lauren made me chuckle. I can totally feel her agony of when the right moment would be to approach you about her assignment. I know I still have that agony about having similar conversations with Laura, and I'm the parent...
Thanks for the fantastic post. I have always respected your parenting insights b/c you've been a step ahead of where we are.
Jen
I love this post. It's so tender.
Woah. Are you in college or something? Because I haven't written that well since someone was grading me. Probably not even then.
LOVED the art. Loved the comparisons. Beautiful.
Thanks Annie, a welcome bit of insight, and a welcome expression of my own feelings that I could never have written so perfectly. I always look forward to your posts for a beautiful bit of writing. And although I would love the chance for a sweet little girl, I'm grateful that for now when that conversation comes my way I might be able to get out of it with a one sentence, "Just keep those pants on."
Oh, your writing. So beautiful, so poignant. Picturing you cuddled up with Maddy just brought me to tears. I'm not ready for that place yet. Makes me appreciate the little princess for what she is and isn't right now. Laughed out loud at Sam's. I can SO relate. And poor Lauren. You know she put it off until the last minute because she had no desire to have that conversation either. I feel most sorry for Greg, sitting there in the awkward silence.
I so love that I know you. You are one of the coolest people I've ever met. Keep 'em coming.
Wow. I loved this post. I can just imagine the scene. Also the reference to Miss Clavel was just brilliant. Great images too. I give this an A+ you never fail to let down your audience.
This is a heartbreaking, tender image, this middle-of-the-night scene of comforting and listening. Mostly, that is what we do as mothers - listen and acknowledge, cuddle and reassure. That what they are feeling is important, but that we will always be the safe harbor away from middle school worries. Night time, though, is when everything looms large and floats to the surface. How do you not think what you think, and how do you not feel what you feel, in those dark hours? You write about the common worries and pulls of motherhood so well. I think we have middle school so that we won't ever wish to go back in time. Your children are blessed, though, with parents who are patient and will help them navigate. I loved hearing about Sam and Lauren, too. And I agree that Lauren's timing for the interview may have been strategic and the Oscars helped to deflect and lighten. So, thank you Hollywood! Love, love, love, Ma
Annie you once wrote that you were aspiring to be a writer. You ARE a writer. Thanks for this beautiful piece.