Lunch language

unrelated picture but I love how they ended up posing just the same, down to the shape of their hands

Saturday morning.

We divide to conquer the day's list. Greg takes Sam with him to the barber (both need trims) and the dry cleaners, I take the girls to Costco for supplies for the trip and food for the party we're hosting when we get back from vacation. The humid air makes quick work of my hair and my clothes cling to me, damp and unflattering. We get the cart loads packed into the car, drive home, unload and put everything away. Surveying the room with our looming departure in mind, I move on to the laundry, replacing dry with wet and wet with dirty. And there's always more where that came from.

You know the drill.

In the middle of it all, Sam arrives home and, trailing me while I carry piles of laundry upstairs, asks his usual question "when are we having lunch? I'm hungry." I sigh, loudly. There's so much to do. And it feels like we just finished breakfast.

"Sam, you know where everything is. You can make it yourself, can't you?" (Once I heard someone ask "What, are your arms painted on?" and that's how I feel in this moment.)

"Um, okay." His voice trails off as he backs up down the stairs, trailing his hand down the banister. "I didn't know if we were getting it ourselves or if it would be more...together."

I watch him take his deflated self back down to the kitchen, trying to figure out what his deal is with lunch. Everyone else in the family is always content to grab something on days like this, happy to tailor the timing and content of lunch to their own preferences. No big deal. But not Sam. He's always trying to organize us into a midday meal.

Guilt-nudged, I follow him down and enlist his sandwich-making while I peel fruit. We sit down together and share communal chips and salsa. He chatters happily about Louie and contradictions and plans for middle school and the book he's reading. And thanks me three times for doing lunch.

And then it hits me.

I don't know why it's taken me so long to realize.

Lunch is his love language. Or one of them, anyway.

It's a revelation. Huh. Kids have a love language, too, not just venus-and-mars married couples. This bit of obviousness has completed evaded me before now.

Of course I knew he really likes lunch, but I suddenly understand that it's more than just a preference for my daily servitude. For him, it is connection. It is proof I care enough to stop and spend time with him. For me, lunch is simply nourishment and work. For him it is like a family sacrament, where simple bread and peanut butter transform miraculously into a dose of love.

Well. This I can do.

Now if I can just convince him that wiping up the table crumbs and putting dirty dishes in the dishwasher is my love language.

Imaginary mentors

Back not too long ago, I worked on a research study of teen mothers.  We would schedule a visit with a young mom, then go and conduct a lengthy interview about her experiences growing up 

and with school 

and with the baby's father 

and about her pregnancy 

and feelings about being a mother 

and about her child. 

 These taped interviews would then be transcribed.  Later we would each listen to them all (not just the ones we conducted but everyone's) and code their responses.  It was all fascinating (it must appeal to the eavesdropper in me) but one question in particular always stood out for me:

Who are your parenting role models?

Sometimes they'd mention their own mom.  More often an aunt or a grandma.  But surprisingly often they would cite a fictional or celebrity mom:  Claire Huxtable on the Cosby Show.  Lorelei Gilmore from Gilmore Girls. Angelina Jolie. Etc.

Certainly it was sad when there were no real LIVE role models for mothering.  It goes without saying (but here I go) that actual role models are important in learning how to effectively parent...That's a topic for another day.

Today I was listening to an interview on NPR where the editors of Variety asked "is there a movie that changed your life (even just a little bit)?"  and I remembered those girls-almost-women and their connection with made-up characters, brand new moms looking for some other way (in many cases) than what they themselves got.  And I thought, good for them. Seeking.  Aspiring.  Resourceful.  So what if the role model is imaginary, if the lessons are real?

.  .  .

I have my own fictional touchstones of motherhood. Do you?  

I like 

yes, Claire Huxtable's feistiness and humor.  

And Lorelei's sense of fun and closeness and connection with her daughter.  

And, in books, Victoria Austin in the L'Engle's Austin series (growing up, I always thought that's how I'm going to be...) 

And Atticus Finch's wisdom and gentleness and integrity.  

And the mom in Blueberries for Sal. Just because.

What fictional moms (might) have made an impact on you?

Or am I just a little wacky?

.  .  .

Maddy's home tonight!

That's just what we do...

Once my mom was making dinner to take to someone.  Again (insert teenage eyeroll here).  I think I started making the initial squeaks and squawks about "why do they get that?  Can't we just keep it for ourselves? Why..." Or maybe I was a little more tactful and expressed my concern about my mom's busy schedule and did she really have time for this? But I remember she put down her spatula, looked at me and said kindly/firmly "Annie, this is just what we do."

I tucked that one away and have pulled it out now and then.  Who's we?  Women? Mothers? People? Neighbors? Humanity?  And how do we know what to do and what's enough? Make bread?  Have lunch together? Donate an organ? Give spare change?

* * *

You probably already know I'm a fan of writer Kelly Corrigan.  I subscribe to her blog and received a link to a new video today, which led me to another one.  Both (one funny, one poignant) are lovely reminders of just what we (friends/sisters/spouses/fathers.  But, I daresay, especially mothers) do.

I secretly hope we will be friends someday.

Happy Friday!  {I'm heading outside to appreciate our 70 degree weather!}

Maddy in China today: According to the itinerary, she visited the Olympic Park and Bird's Nest and Water Cube.

Attended a dinner with (luckies!) a kung fu demonstration.

Postcard from Denver...

Voila.  My hotel room.  I forgot my camera.

Thank you MacBook photobooth!

Oh, I love the west.  I feel at home here...the air is just the right recipe of closer-to-the-sun oxygen and crispness, the sky (when it is not snowing, as it was yesterday) is blue.  People are friendly--oh they are friendly.  I'm not saying people aren't friendly in Boston...it's just a different kind of friendliness.  The kind you have to scratch the surface a little to find.

I know we're pretty much settled in Boston and I definitely know its good points, but there's a part of me that is always holding its (my)breath and crossing its (my) fingers that we someday wend out way a bit westerly.  The truth must be spoken and there it is.  I just feel so at home here.

So far I've attended some great sessions. One of my favorites was a symposium on child development research/programs in Africa.  Fascinating...they are being very mindful about developing a canon of child development research generated by African scholars and researchers and reflecting the realities of their setting and culture, rather than importing paradigms and assumptions from the west (but still learning from its lessons).  And another great cross cultural program comparing the interactions of infants and mothers (and the maternal beliefs) in Italy, Netherlands, Korea, and the US.  Next I'm heading to a symposium about attachment relationships in extreme environments like orphan settings and street children.

Lots to think about.  I have to balance my own personal parenting questions with my "scholarly" pursuits when choosing from the HUNDREDS of talks and sessions.  Oh, my.

What are those "scholarly pursuits"?  That is the question.  Also, "what are you going to do with that degree?" a question I both get from others and ask myself all the time.  Hmmm.  It's evolved into a combination of infancy/early childhood studies, international programs, and especially helping children in extreme environments.  Somewhere along the way I found a little niche doing program evaluations and creating trainings for programs like those. I don't know where it will lead.  Sometimes I'm afraid to try because I might fail. Sometimes I'm afraid to try because it might go well!

 But, I do know this.  

I love jumping on the bed in my own little hotel room in Denver.

Mirror Mirror

The newest post to Letters to a Parent is a great reminder that a parent can be one of the most important mirrors for their children, giving long-lasting answers to the unspoken, yearning questions like Am I beautiful?  Am I enough?  Thanks, Jenny, for your honest and thought-provoking post. 

Click on over and tell us what you think.

And psssst.  Join in on the conversation + submit a post of your own for the Letters project.  Or let me know if you think you know someone who you'd like to hear from and I'll do the inviting.  {I'm longing to turn my attention back to that neglected, patient project soon.  Soon!}