Post-Dinner Bliss
It is Wednesday at 6:27 pm. My belly content from a healthy dinner. My body hitting relaxation mode as I exit a clean kitchen. Like it never happened is our new family motto for the kitchen. That’s how clean it needs to look after breakfast, second breakfast, hot lunch, snack, tea time, and dinner. It’s working pretty well.
I pause as Stacey, my wife, wraps a block of frozen something in a kitchen towel to thaw overnight. I turn off the light.
With devilish excitement in my voice, as if suggesting dessert for breakfast, “jammies?” Stacey gives me the nod of approval.
With pajamas on, we saunter back into the living room. My body relaxes like a towel on the warm sand as I sit on the couch. Then, something invades my brain. No, make that someone. Our zippy thirteen-year-old, Barbara, skips into the room, throws herself into the recliner, and starts to spin around like she’s winding it up. I remember. It’s Wednesday. Family Night. I let out an audible sigh.
“So, Barbara, do you have any suggestions for what we can do for family night? How about coloring?” I gather my leftover energy like grasping leaves in the wind.
Barbara stops spinning the recliner chair and looks directly at me.
“I’d like to hang out with my friends tonight. I see you guys every day.” Her eyebrows grow expectant because this works – most of the time. Especially during the pandemic.
I look over at Stacey to gauge her reaction. Evenings aren’t her time to shine. Sometimes her asthma cough kicks in. Sometimes she needs introvert-recharge-time, away from humans. Not the dogs, of course.
“That’s true,” Stacey leads, “We all might need some separate time.”
What I’m really hearing: Who needs family night?
That’s it. This is getting ridiculous. I look back and forth between Stacey and Barbara. “Because of Jonathan’s soccer season, we haven’t had a family night in almost two months. This is the first night he’s home. But the real issue might be something else.”
Barbara began spinning the chair again, right as I talked. God, that’s so irritating. Nonetheless, I tap an unknown energy source, smoothing my words forward like I’m on roller skates. “It is possible we have a hard time figuring out what we want to do because we wait until the last minute. We can’t seem to agree on anything but Starbucks or TV. Can you please stop, Barbara?”
She paused the chair and started rocking it side to side with her foot. Well, that’s better. I continue. “I am sure there are a ton of things we can do. I mean, no one in this family has divorced anyone else yet, right?” Barbara and Stacey both smile at this.
An unexpected waterfall
At that second, Jonathan plods into the room. Bringing with it an energy that could deflate a blimp. Oh no, what now? His shining eyes glued to his phone. He starts, “It’s my ONE thing, and he had to ruin it.” Jonathan’s fourteen-year-old voice is a cross between a whine and a choked-up cry. He crumbles down on the floor and half-throws his phone on the carpet.
His arms throwback to support a criss-cross applesauce position. He stares at the ceiling and begins, “Soccer is my ONE thing. I’ve been doing it since, well, like, forever, right Mom?” I give him the affirmative. His words pour out, “AND Justin (READ: favored step-brother at Dad’s house, two years his junior) had to ruin soccer, too. Now he’s decided he’s gonna play soccer and Dad is going to go to his games instead. I used to have piano and cross country, but Justin ruined those, too.” Jonathan grew silent.
Stacey jumps in, ready to help, “Well, for one, you are a lot better at those than Justin will ever be.” Barbara adds with a knowing nod, “You already know what I think about Justin.” The room went quiet.
My childhood was a cakewalk in comparison to Dad’s house. At Dad’s house, if your name is not Justin, you are always the loser. And all I can do is listen and teach Jonathan and Barbara self-care and self-respect. Because, every other week, they go back to battle for their individuality and needs. I thought it would get easier for them as they got older and more self-aware. But it’s only gotten worse. They are starting to understand how challenging it is to be themselves at Dad’s house.
Jonathan wiped his eyes and began again. “It was my one thing. The one thing that made me special.” He buried his head in his knees. I sat next to him and encircled him with my arms.
Something other than Father Knows Best
My eyes welled up with tears. God, I killed myself with perfect grades and clubs at his age to get that “I’m special” feeling. All I got were migraines. What would I have needed someone to tell me?
“Sweetheart, you are special. You don’t need soccer or piano or anything to be special…” I put one of my hands on his heart and brought his chin up with my other, so I could see his face.
I continue. “This is what is special. You. The only thing that matters about what you do in life is that you listen to this,” I put pressure on his heart. “You do what makes your heart happy. Once you listen to this, you’ll stop listening so much for that feeling from other people. But always know that your Dad and I love and support you. No matter what you do. Period. And even if you don’t feel that great about Dad sometimes, he’s trying. And he loves you the best he can. And we all love you.”
Stacey chimes in, “Yea, I love you buddy.”
Barbara nods, “Ditto.”
Jonathan looks around, a smile growing on his lips. His shoulders relax. “Thanks, everybody.” Man, I need to wrap that thank you and save it. I squeeze his hand, wipe the tears from my eyes. “It’s time for a group hug.”
We gather in a standing circle and have a brief hug that reminds us we all love each other. The hug breaks up; I look at the clock. It’s close to 7 pm. But it’s Family Night. I interrupt the disbanding.
“Hey, before anyone leaves the room, we still need to talk about family night.” A collective, audible groan comes out of the mouths of my three other family members. They stare at me like rain clouds, gathering. Barbara’s hands go to her hips.
I begin, “This was a good family night. Now, I’m going to my room to read and go to sleep. Please be quiet. And make sure the kitchen is Like it never happened if you eat dessert.”
Barbara jumps up and down, and skips down the hall “Yea!!!”
POEM: An excerpt from Happy Birthday to You
Today you are you, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is you-er than you. Shout aloud, I am glad to be what I am. Thank goodness I’m not a ham, or a clam, or a dusty old jar of gooseberry jam. I am what I am, what a great thing to be. If I say so myself, happy everyday to me! – Dr. Seuss
Yes, YOU are worth celebrating. And speaking up for yourself!
Mom-munity Builder
It’s so easy to listen to other people, right? We’re taught to listen to our parents, teachers, spouses, coaches, everyone. But HOW do you get to a place where you can listen to and honor your heart, first?
PROMPT: Body Listening. The next time you need to make a decision about something, like Volunteer your time to your neighbor’s favorite charity, do this:
- Close your eyes.
- Picture yourself going through with it. (like the volunteering)
- How does your body feel? Is it relaxed, like you’re gonna get a hug from someone you love? Or do you have tenseness anywhere in your body, like in your shoulders, stomach, or face? (You might have to do this a few times to get a good read on your body.)
- Your body will give you clues to what your answer is. Tightness and tenseness = NO. Openness and relaxation = YES
- Here’s the hard part. If you don’t want to do the project, you need to be Honest, Kind, and Direct with your friends/kids/spouse. YES, even if you feel you will let them down. Because, if you bravely speak up for your heart, then others will learn it’s okay to bravely speak up for theirs.
