Archive | Aidan Anecdotes RSS feed for this section

Twinkling Lights of Disobedience

16 Dec

Though it unquestionably annoys me at the time, I’m actually quite glad my kid thinks for himself. It would be more convenient to have a child who obeyed my every command, but I’m wrong sometimes. Aidan has no qualms about pointing out my flaws or poking holes in my rationale. And though I have to admit he can make my blood pressure rise faster a Michigan State game gone bad, I secretly harbor a bit of pride in my stubborn individual thinker of a child.

At the end of the week, I rise between 4:30 and 5 am to start getting ready for work. My reason is two-fold: I’m able to meet with third shift employees at my job this way and it also affords me the opportunity to leave work at a time conducive to picking Aidan up from school.

I try to be as quiet as I can, tiptoeing around the house gathering the necessary items to depart for a work day. But Aidan has a sixth sense about his mama – he knows when I’m up and around, and he does not like to miss a good-bye kiss to his mother.

I was doing a final pass through the house yesterday, just ready to leave, when I heard a loud whisper.

“Mom? Can I get up and wave good-bye to you out the window?”

I went to his side in bed. “No, darling. It’s super early. Just go back to sleep. I love you.”

I quietly slipped out the back door and got in my car. As I was rolling backwards down the drive way, I saw our Christmas tree illuminate the front window, and my crazy-haired child peek out from the side. He waved ferociously, mouthing the words, “I love you, Mom.”

I couldn’t help but to shake my head and smile. Even though I specifically told him to stay in bed, I’m glad he disobeyed and snuck out to see me off. He went right back to sleep after the sly farewell, and both of our mornings were undeniably better.

No one was ever memorable without making a few waves.

“Good Job!”

2 Nov

Praise is a slippery slope. I find it akin to a giant piece of double frosting chocolate cake. It tastes really good, for a short while, and it makes you want more. But it’s ultimately a bad idea for your ass.

I grew up seeking it in most ways. I wanted that paper with the A on it to be displayed on the fridge. I wanted an “atta girl” when I took the initiative to clean the house. I liked getting compliments when I took the time to get ready for Homecoming.

Funny thing I learned along the way - praise is not gratifying. At all.

Because all of a sudden you make major decisions based on what other people think. It becomes more about other people’s reactions to your choices than YOUR opinion of your choices.

You probably have a general idea of the things I enjoy, based on this blog. But I don’t need someone else to affirm my decisions to go to yoga, participate in NaNoWriMo as of yesterday or give me excessive kudos for making dinner or teaching my son to read. I do the things I do because they light my soul on fire. I would still do them, even if no one else ever knew about them, never gave me a positive word about what I engage in.

Intrinsic motivation is surprisingly challenging to teach. I want to praise Aidan for all the things he’s doing right - working hard at school, improving at soccer, helping me wash the dishes, listening to me the first time (when he does!). But I don’t want the reason he does these things to be out of a need to hear praise. I want his joy at sounding out a difficult word in his book to be because he’s proud of himself, not because I’m proud of him.

The other day he was working at the table and said, “I’m almost ready for you to look. I want to impress you.”

It made me cringe.

“You don’t need to impress me, son. You just need to feel good about the job you’re doing.”

Such a simple statement. So very hard to teach. That praise dragon is easy to fall victim to. I hope I can help the little one build confidence without relying on others.

On an unrelated side note, I also hope he stops losing teeth. Three across the top in a month!

In the Rain

27 Sep

I think when I am older, and reflecting back on those “crazy” days of young motherhood, I will rather like my memories of tonight.

The sky was light charcoal, the rain opening down on the field. Aidan was dressed in soccer cleats and I had just laced up my hot pink running shoes. He ran back and forth across the field, scoring a goal at one end, fighting to defend at the other. I looped around the three youth-sized fields over and over, at first warming up, then running a couple of miles at race pace.

The precipitation never let up, and neither did our determination. He was in his world doing his thing, I was in mine. But there was never much distance between us. I could see him from most angles of my run and, when he had a moment to break, he looked up and waved in my direction.

One of the most imporant lessons I’m trying to teach him is that he is not responsible for my happiness, nor am I for his. I gave birth to him, of course, but the life he leads is his. I guide him, shape him, show him unconditional love, support him.

But ultimately I am giving him a foundation to be independent. I know I am not like the other mothers there, the ones under golf umbrellas, just watching their little ones move across the field. In my own way, however, I am always there. I am multi-tasking per usual, getting my work out in while he practices. I want him to be okay without me, but I always want to be close enough to sprint to his side if he needs me – metophorically and literally. 

After his practice, we were both pretty drenched. As every other child scampered towards the parking lot, Aidan looked at me through wet lashes, “Mom, will you just practice with me a little while longer?”

It is my inner hope that he sees me circling the field and doesn’t think his practice is anything less than important to me. Instead it is my wish he is motivated by his mother’s drive to balance being a good mother and being a whole person on my own.

First Grader

30 Aug

Dear Aidan,

It’s official. We had to give away nearly all of last year’s school clothes and start fresh. You join a new soccer team next week that has you practicing twice a week and putting your game face on every Saturday morning. You actually understand and make funny jokes. You know far more about various things (StarWars, Legos, MarioKart, some animals) than I do. You’re a first grader.

It’s a little overwhelming. You spend just over seven hours a day in your awesome Montessori school. We pack a lunch for you. You have to find your way academically, socially, artistically and athletically – with lots of support, of course. But you’re certainly your own person. One who still kisses his mom unabashedly as he walks with confidence to his new building.

It’s seems like not that long ago you were a baby unable to put your own arm through the sleeve of your shirt. Now you’re all opinionated about what that shirt looks like.

Last night you were at your dad’s, not feeling the best. Perhaps it was something you ate, or you were just tired from your first full day of school. I talked with you this morning, and you’re doing just fine, you tell me.

When you read this in however many years, know that you’ll always be my baby. (Yes, even when you’re taller than me.) 

Know that it will always break my heart a little bit when I can’t be there for you – even if you don’t really need me and I’m inflicting that worry on myself. Know that as I analyze spreadsheets and engage with employees and work hard, part of me never stops wondering what you’re doing in this moment.

I’m so very proud of you.

Love,

Mama

(And to the small handful of men who read this blog – call your mother. She’s thinking about you.)

It’s Not Just the Macaroni and Cheese

2 Aug

I got a shocking phone call on the way to my hotel a couple of days ago. I’m in California for work, and my boys are…doing those things boys do when mama is away.

Aidan, little sprite, is all, “Mama, I ate macaroni and cheese for the first time. And I liked it!!”

I responded with appropriate enthusiasm, “Really?! Wow, that’s great, honey! It makes mom so happy when you try new foods.”

What I really wanted to say was,

“Shit, kid! I’ve been waiting YEARS for this moment. I fly out of town and you’re all, ‘Sure, Kyle! I’ll eat a whole bowl!’”

I have to hand it to my husband – he scaled a mountain with picky pants Aidan there.

There’s not even a small part of me tempted to be envious of his ability to get Aidan to do something I obviously could not – even with repeated effort. For starters, parenting isn’t competitive in my book, Kyle and I will forever be a team and the overall outcome is awesome.

But beyond all that – we’re different. Kyle can be things to Aidan that I am not.

Kyle taught Aidan to ride a bike.

Kyle gave Aidan the little pointers that turned him from an almost swimmer to a bona fide fish in the water.

Kyle can play the guitar and serenade us to sleep.

Kyle can make Aidan laugh harder than I can (for which I am eternally grateful).

Kyle shows Aidan how to treat a woman wonderfully.

A couple of years ago I would have told you I could do it all. I firmly believed that, lived it.

But I realize now we all need someone. I’m not specifically referring to marriage or partnership, though that certainly applies. What I mean is that we all need to reach beyond our own bubble. We thrive with more than one teacher. We all need someone to help fill in the gaps.

Even for stuff like pasta.

← Older Entries

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.