Teaching children to fly
Posted on July 26, 2011 by FoBaM-Jamie
After “I love you,” the words my daughter hears from me most frequently are, “be careful!”
Yes, I am Cautious Mom. I worry about tripping, stubbing, falling, twisting, slicing, scraping, poking, and every other type of physical mishap you can think of. I am constantly telling my daughter to slow down, get off that, and stop jumping. Unfortunately for me, there’s little chance she’ll cooperate. No matter how many times I scold her for doing somersaults off the couch or using the roof of my SUV as a clubhouse, my little monkey is going to keep right on climbing, swinging, and running.
With such a preoccupation with safety, it might seem out of character for me to encourage my daughter to participate in what most people would consider “extreme” sports, but I do. In the winter she skis (already better than me, I might add), and this summer she has gotten more involved in indoor rock climbing and trapeze.
Yes, that’s right. I said, “trapeze.”
We’re fortunate to live near a TSNY (Trapeze School of New York) school where anyone can experience what it feels like to “fly through the air with the greatest of ease,” or at least fly through the air with your heart in your throat wondering what the hell possessed you to do this in the first place.
My daughter was intrigued with the trapeze the first time she saw it. She’s one of those kids who tries to make playground swings go all the way around. Although she was initially a bit awkward, and still hesitates when it comes to flips and knee hangs, she clearly loves the sensation and jumps off the platform with no external evidence of fear. The first time she did it, I expected to be the mom who stands on the ground, wringing her hands and holding her breath. Instead, I found myself standing on tiptoe and cheering out loud.
I was surprised, too.
But, there was something so beautiful about seeing her launch herself into the air – so strong and brave and capable. As she leapt off the platform, I felt my own heart leap out with her – soaring to even greater heights than the trapeze could take her. All the possibilities of her future seemed physically tangible in that moment, suspended in the air beside her as she swung back and forth, her little legs pumping, a huge grin on her face.
As mothers, we have a built-in impulse to protect our children from harm, but we also have a responsibility to give them opportunities to learn about personal strength, perseverance, patience, and confidence. Sometimes, we have to expose them to a little danger – even just perceived danger – so they can get a taste of what it feels like to push themselves. That’s the only way they will discover how far they can go. The first time my daughter topped the indoor rock wall, her amazement at her own ability nearly brought tears to my eyes. The first time she successfully executed a backwards-flip dismount on the trapeze, I literally jumped up and down.
Teaching our children to fly is one of the best parts of being a parent. As they stretch their wings and launch into the unknown, we get to soar alongside them. Sometimes we lead; sometimes we follow. Always, we revel in watching the world open up to our kids as they discover that they really can do anything.
What are your stories about helping your children discover how amazing they are?
Photo Credit: Harry Howarth
Longing for an old-fashioned summer
Posted on June 7, 2011 by FoBaM-Jamie
Last week, someone sent me a 100-part Facebook question about the summer activities of my childhood. It’s not like I have time to answer 100 questions about Kool-aid, red rover, and climbing trees, but it was a walk down memory lane that I couldn’t resist. I found myself smiling as the questions triggered recollections about the homemade Chinese Jacks set I designed one summer, the hours I spent in the woods with my dog, and playing my treasured 45s on the turntable in my bedroom (yes, I’m that old). Even things my daughter would consider inhumane now glow with the warm patina of nostalgia: life with only half a dozen television channels (and no remote!), chores done for free, grocery bag book covers.
The made it all too easy to see the differences between my childhood summers and my daughter’s. As they say, “times have changed.” I was fortunate a fortunate child. Summertime stretched out before me the way that languorous season should. The days were unscheduled and lazy. We weren’t allowed to watch more than a half hour of television (my sister and I chose “I Love Lucy”), so the rest of each long day was wide open for us to fill with our imaginations and ingenuity.
I spent most of my time either outdoors or with my nose in a book. I also did a fair amount of drawing and journaling. There were many trips to the local library where we’d sit on battered beanbag chairs and roam up and down the shelves, trying to find the perfect adventure story to haul up into our tree house. The swing my dad built kept us occupied for hours, as did the old deck of Bicycle brand cards (after my mom taught us to play solitaire).
My summers were wonderful. They were an actual respite from the school year – giving me the gift of unstructured time. I was able to unwind, explore the world, and spend time with myself. My daughter’s summers are also wonderful, but in a different way. She will attend at least two different, full-day camps. She’ll have a couple weeks off with her dad, and I’ll take some time off as well. Even so, her summer itinerary is nearly as busy as her school year one. Throw in some play dates, errands, and our usual outings and it quickly goes from dog days to crazy days.
When I was my daughter’s age, summer seemed like it might go on forever. Maybe it’s just the perspective of my age, but I feel like it goes by in the blink of an eye now. It’s a few measly weeks sandwiched between the end of one school year and the start of the next.
I want to take summer back this year. I want my daughter to experience some of the freedom and downtime that I had as a kid. I want to give her days of doing nothing and see what she does with them. I want to leave her to her own devices so she can hear her own voice in her head. I want to help her step off the rollercoaster of life for a minute, let her catch her breath, help her enjoy the stillness.
It won’t be easy. As a self-employed single mom, I’ve got a lot of responsibility to uphold, but I’m determined to give my little girl a taste of my old-fashioned summers. Maybe I’ll teach her to play Chinese Jacks.
Image Credit: Aitor Escuariaza
The Changing Seasons of Motherhood
Posted on October 12, 2010 by FoBaM-Jamie
Where I live, fall is getting into full swing with her shorter days, colder temperatures, and fiery palette. Though I feel as if it was high summer only yesterday – full of sandy afternoons, bare feet, and ice cream – I now have to adapt to a new reality filled with sweaters, sneakers, homework, and pitch black mornings.
Motherhood is like that. The phases of childhood flash before our eyes like the seasons – playing in fast motion so that years last only moments and days go by too quickly to see clearly. One minute, we’re bundling an infant in twelve layers of polar fleece before a walk in the park, the next we’re begging a teenager to please take a coat even though she’s not cold and “no one else is wearing one.”
There is no surprise in summer following spring and fall following summer. We see the changes from far off, but it still seems to come as a shock. It still feels like one day you wake up and all the leaves have fallen … or your baby is suddenly all grown up.
Our day-to-day routine shows me the subtle markers of big change. I no longer have to buckle her into her booster seat in the car. She can get her own snacks. There are fewer midnight calls to ward off nightmares. The other day, as we were getting ready for her bath, my little girl stood in front of me and put her arms straight up so I could help her off with her shirt. That small gesture nearly brought me to tears. Memories of the thousands of times I’d dressed and undressed her rushed in at me, overshadowed by the knowledge that soon she would not need me to help in this way anymore.
At the end of the summer, we spent one last, languid afternoon at the beach. The unseasonably warm water tempted my daughter and she spent most of the time frolicking in the shallow waves. Not dressed for swimming, I had to stay at the water’s edge. Though I could cheer her successful swimming, laugh at her antics, and wave encouragingly from the shore, I could not join her in the water. And I thought, “This is what it will be like soon.” Soon I will be mostly an observer. I will not be able to follow her through every moment of her life, holding her hand for her sake and mine. I will have stand at the edge of the deep ocean and watch her swim out.
And another season of motherhood will be upon me. There will be tumultuous autumns, icy winters, and merciful springs. We will have the lush, verdant summers and angst-ridden falls. I will watch her grow through these seasons – learning when to plant, when to reach for the sun, and when to let things lie fallow. I will look on proudly as she steps out into the world as her own person – learning to swim in the summer, explore in the fall, contemplate in the winter, and emerge like a butterfly each new spring.
And I will grow, too. I will learn to be her mother in each new season. Sometimes I will stumble, but I will always get back up. I will adapt to the changes while remaining a constant in her life. Because that’s what mothers do.
Image Credit: Pam Ullman
