I find it endlessly fascinating that all my boys could turn out so differently from one another. Take Paulie and Gus. As I have written about extensively, Paulie has huge separation anxiety. This, I've discovered, extends beyond just leaving me to go to school or what have you. When I brought him to swimming lessons the other day, he asked me ad nauseum where I would be sitting while he was swimming. Clearly he simply would not be comfortable until he had me firmly pinned down. Once he saw me perched in my spot, he waved happily and was fine. A few weeks back my mom and I took all three boys to a large park. Paulie stayed right on my heels the entire time. If I dare say this about my darling boy, he sometimes carries his need to be close to me to the point of annoyance. At the library one day, while he was looking at movies, I wandered to a spot, where I could still see him, to look at something else. He, however, could not see me and immediately launched into a full-on panic, crying hysterically.
On the other hand, we have Gus. I've written, also extensively, about Gus's risk-taking and reckless behavior. I think it's fair to say he's the polar opposite of Paulie in this way. If you could have spied on me at Ben's kickball game yesterday, here's what you would have seen: Gus running away from me at any opportunity, me running after him and Paulie hot on my trail. Scenes like this play out anywhere we go together.
One rainy Friday a few weeks ago, I took Paulie and Gus to the children's museum. It was incredibly crowded, filled not only with parents and kids seeking a rainy day activity but also many school field trips. The boys and I were playing when I turned my head for a second and saw Gus run off. I even saw the direction in which he ran, but he's unbelievably fast. For what must be the longest 90 seconds of my life, I could not find him. I ran from place to place, panic mounting, Paulie running after me. The children's museum is a big place, on two stories. What if he'd gotten down the stairs, someone had taken him? Furthermore I knew that the longer he was missing, the farther he could get from me, that it could be incredibly difficult to spot him in the sea of people. Finally I found him, happy as can be, playing in the water area. He was not at all concerned, I might add, that his mother was nowhere in sight. When I found him, I was dizzy with relief. Another reminder that I cannot let him out of my sight, even for a second.
So Paulie and Gus, here's what I propose: Paulie, you give Gus a little of your fear; Gus, you give Paulie a little of your confidence. Do this, and you'll make your mother a much happier and saner person.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Sunday, June 6, 2010
This is getting surreal
I've been thinking about this a lot lately, and frankly it blows my mind that I have a son old enough to be going into third grade. Maybe it's an uncomfortable reminder about how swiftly time really does pass. After all, I can remember pretty clearly when I was Ben's age, and it doesn't seem so very long ago.
My life right now seems about as hectic and physically demanding as it ever will be (due in large part to my youngest progeny). As a result, I often find myself wishing that my kids were older, that I could vault past this really difficult part. Yet I know, I know that someday I'll look back and wish that I could return to this "simpler," happy time when my kids were young and their demands were relatively easy to meet. Isn't that just how life works?
I'm forever on a quest to find serenity in my life and to focus more on the joy. I've read a lot about the benefits of mindfulness, you know, living in the moment, avoiding letting your thoughts wander all over the place. I gotta say, that's not something that comes naturally to me, but I'm going to keep trying. I'm going to try in this moment when Ben is on the cusp of a huge transition. He's part little boy, part big boy. Already he's beginning to bristle under my attempts to rustle his hair or hold his hand. And Paulie, who's off to preschool in the fall and then onto kindergarten. He still loves to snuggle and is prone to seeking attention in that middle child sort of way. And of course, Gus, who keeps me literally running after him most of the time. At the same time, he's the most joyful child. When he sees me after time apart, he gets the hugest smile on his face, launches himself into my arms, and says, "Mama!" as if in complete ecstasy at seeing me again. All of these moments of where my kids are just exactly right now are fleeting, and I want to hold onto them.
As a complete, random aside, I wanted to share something that Ben's friend, Olivia, from first grade wrote for the class's "First Grade Memories" book. Ben and Olivia play on the swings each day at recess. I thought it was beautiful and eloquent, and of course it made me cry. "I will always remember the time I went on the swings with Ben. I knew I had someone to play with every day. I knew Ben was a good friend. We talked about our lives. I really like the swings."
My life right now seems about as hectic and physically demanding as it ever will be (due in large part to my youngest progeny). As a result, I often find myself wishing that my kids were older, that I could vault past this really difficult part. Yet I know, I know that someday I'll look back and wish that I could return to this "simpler," happy time when my kids were young and their demands were relatively easy to meet. Isn't that just how life works?
I'm forever on a quest to find serenity in my life and to focus more on the joy. I've read a lot about the benefits of mindfulness, you know, living in the moment, avoiding letting your thoughts wander all over the place. I gotta say, that's not something that comes naturally to me, but I'm going to keep trying. I'm going to try in this moment when Ben is on the cusp of a huge transition. He's part little boy, part big boy. Already he's beginning to bristle under my attempts to rustle his hair or hold his hand. And Paulie, who's off to preschool in the fall and then onto kindergarten. He still loves to snuggle and is prone to seeking attention in that middle child sort of way. And of course, Gus, who keeps me literally running after him most of the time. At the same time, he's the most joyful child. When he sees me after time apart, he gets the hugest smile on his face, launches himself into my arms, and says, "Mama!" as if in complete ecstasy at seeing me again. All of these moments of where my kids are just exactly right now are fleeting, and I want to hold onto them.
As a complete, random aside, I wanted to share something that Ben's friend, Olivia, from first grade wrote for the class's "First Grade Memories" book. Ben and Olivia play on the swings each day at recess. I thought it was beautiful and eloquent, and of course it made me cry. "I will always remember the time I went on the swings with Ben. I knew I had someone to play with every day. I knew Ben was a good friend. We talked about our lives. I really like the swings."
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