Search for Joy
I sat down to my Thursday paper and began reading the front section. Something that caught my attention was a commentary piece by Garrison Keillor about joy.
"The joyful child in the pool," Keillor writes of his daughter, "has been scorched too and has cried hard over playground slights and betrayals, but joy has the power to sweep misery away. This is true. Nobody 'gets over' anything; there is no closure; hearts stay broken for a long time. Love is a tumult, and it's a wonder anyone survives it. But you look out the window and imagine joy is waiting for you somewhere."
I started thinking of my own daughter and how I often describe her as my little force to be reckoned with. Indeed she is a powerful wonder to behold. At 20 months, she is the height of a 2-year-old, has the ability to observe a person doing something and then mimic it as best as she can, and is very autonomous. She holds her crayons, pens, and utensils like an adult. She pays close attention to detail and does not randomly scribble on paper. Anyone who watches her color will see that she makes small deliberate marks. Her latest creation consists of crayon scratches on each corner of the paper - not the middle, but on each corner.
But for all of this meticulousness, she is joy-filled. Immensely joy-filled. She finds joy in rose petals tossed on the lawn, a cat staying in her presence for more than 10 seconds, the wind blowing in her hair. She finds joy in a song on t.v. and will pull you onto the floor to dance with her. She finds joy in the presence of her father home after a long day at work. She is also a giver of joy and will greet anyone who is kind to her with a smile as wide as Montana. Her Aunt Lisa says that Katie "is amazing how she makes everyone feel like they are her favorite person in the whole world."
And then this got me thinking about me and how people have said to me that I am joy-filled. I am writing this to share the train of thought that chugged through my mind in the 10 minutes I sat thinking about the front section of the newspaper. I have, at times, felt guilty about being an at-home mom. I have, at times, felt I should bring some income into the family. I have, at times, felt like I should be doing something else. But then I remember when my nephew was born 10 years ago. I was 21 and I had thought about what I wanted to do with my own children and deciding then that I really wanted to be there for them, especially in the first 3 years of their life. I don't know why, but it became incredibly important to me.
So I have decided that I will be grateful that my dream has come true. I am able to do something I have wanted to do before I even had children of my own. How lucky to be in this position. Then I started thinking about memories that Katie will have because I have memories of my own young time with my at-home mother.
Which moments in these next few years will be burned onto her brain? Which moments of the past 20 months have already been burned? And then I started thinking about memory.
My earliest memory is of a toddler me, probably not much older than Katie, standing in my crib and crying so hard for my mother. I must have woken up from my nap and she was not coming when I called her. I remember my mother folding her arms around me and saying to me, "I'm sorry. I was out back hanging up laundry." I remember that as clear as though it had been recorded. My mother's arms held me tight and the memory fades into darkness.
I remember standing in the backyard with a sawed off baseball bat and my brother, Brian, teaching me how to swing and pitching balls to me.
I remember a moment in the kitchen waiting for my mother to hand me my kitty cup with orange juice and being so happy when she gave it to me.
I remember laying on top of my father as he watched t.v., my head on his body, listening to the gurgles of his tummy and feeling the rise and fall of his chest.
I remember sitting on my mother's lap in church. How I loved those moments: Her sweet scent lingering now in my nose . . . twirling her curls around my little fingers . . . placing my head on her breast and listening to her heartbeat while she listened to the Word of God.
And so I spend time showing Katie joy. At playgroup on Tuesday, Katie was in a kiddie pool with 5 other toddlers. She is the youngest. One little boy started to splash her and she started crying and indicating to me that she wanted out of the pool. I did not take her out. I got down on my knees, gave her a reassuring hug and told her to have fun. I turned to the little boy and said to him, "If you splash Katie, then Katie can splash you. Right?" After a brief look of puzzlement and a repeat of the statement, he smiled and agreed. So I took my sniffling daughter, turned her sideways and showed her how to play "splashies" by taking her foot and kicking the water. The little boy laughed and Katie laughed - until she got a few drops of water on her face. But she stayed in the pool for a bit longer and played with the alligator squirters .
Joy doesn't often come to you on a platter. I believe you have to train yourself to search for it. Garrison Keillor did not end his piece with "I hope joy comes to you." he specifically says, "I hope you find it." There is a lot of joy out there today and it is worth a little search.
I suppose that my parenting style has been geared to helping my daughter find joy. I am pleased that at such a young age, she is able to and I am proud that she shares her joy with others.
Sharing toys with others . . . that's a post for a different day.
-Posted by Linda
"The joyful child in the pool," Keillor writes of his daughter, "has been scorched too and has cried hard over playground slights and betrayals, but joy has the power to sweep misery away. This is true. Nobody 'gets over' anything; there is no closure; hearts stay broken for a long time. Love is a tumult, and it's a wonder anyone survives it. But you look out the window and imagine joy is waiting for you somewhere."
I started thinking of my own daughter and how I often describe her as my little force to be reckoned with. Indeed she is a powerful wonder to behold. At 20 months, she is the height of a 2-year-old, has the ability to observe a person doing something and then mimic it as best as she can, and is very autonomous. She holds her crayons, pens, and utensils like an adult. She pays close attention to detail and does not randomly scribble on paper. Anyone who watches her color will see that she makes small deliberate marks. Her latest creation consists of crayon scratches on each corner of the paper - not the middle, but on each corner.
But for all of this meticulousness, she is joy-filled. Immensely joy-filled. She finds joy in rose petals tossed on the lawn, a cat staying in her presence for more than 10 seconds, the wind blowing in her hair. She finds joy in a song on t.v. and will pull you onto the floor to dance with her. She finds joy in the presence of her father home after a long day at work. She is also a giver of joy and will greet anyone who is kind to her with a smile as wide as Montana. Her Aunt Lisa says that Katie "is amazing how she makes everyone feel like they are her favorite person in the whole world."
And then this got me thinking about me and how people have said to me that I am joy-filled. I am writing this to share the train of thought that chugged through my mind in the 10 minutes I sat thinking about the front section of the newspaper. I have, at times, felt guilty about being an at-home mom. I have, at times, felt I should bring some income into the family. I have, at times, felt like I should be doing something else. But then I remember when my nephew was born 10 years ago. I was 21 and I had thought about what I wanted to do with my own children and deciding then that I really wanted to be there for them, especially in the first 3 years of their life. I don't know why, but it became incredibly important to me.
So I have decided that I will be grateful that my dream has come true. I am able to do something I have wanted to do before I even had children of my own. How lucky to be in this position. Then I started thinking about memories that Katie will have because I have memories of my own young time with my at-home mother.
Which moments in these next few years will be burned onto her brain? Which moments of the past 20 months have already been burned? And then I started thinking about memory.
My earliest memory is of a toddler me, probably not much older than Katie, standing in my crib and crying so hard for my mother. I must have woken up from my nap and she was not coming when I called her. I remember my mother folding her arms around me and saying to me, "I'm sorry. I was out back hanging up laundry." I remember that as clear as though it had been recorded. My mother's arms held me tight and the memory fades into darkness.
I remember standing in the backyard with a sawed off baseball bat and my brother, Brian, teaching me how to swing and pitching balls to me.
I remember a moment in the kitchen waiting for my mother to hand me my kitty cup with orange juice and being so happy when she gave it to me.
I remember laying on top of my father as he watched t.v., my head on his body, listening to the gurgles of his tummy and feeling the rise and fall of his chest.
I remember sitting on my mother's lap in church. How I loved those moments: Her sweet scent lingering now in my nose . . . twirling her curls around my little fingers . . . placing my head on her breast and listening to her heartbeat while she listened to the Word of God.
And so I spend time showing Katie joy. At playgroup on Tuesday, Katie was in a kiddie pool with 5 other toddlers. She is the youngest. One little boy started to splash her and she started crying and indicating to me that she wanted out of the pool. I did not take her out. I got down on my knees, gave her a reassuring hug and told her to have fun. I turned to the little boy and said to him, "If you splash Katie, then Katie can splash you. Right?" After a brief look of puzzlement and a repeat of the statement, he smiled and agreed. So I took my sniffling daughter, turned her sideways and showed her how to play "splashies" by taking her foot and kicking the water. The little boy laughed and Katie laughed - until she got a few drops of water on her face. But she stayed in the pool for a bit longer and played with the alligator squirters .
Joy doesn't often come to you on a platter. I believe you have to train yourself to search for it. Garrison Keillor did not end his piece with "I hope joy comes to you." he specifically says, "I hope you find it." There is a lot of joy out there today and it is worth a little search.
I suppose that my parenting style has been geared to helping my daughter find joy. I am pleased that at such a young age, she is able to and I am proud that she shares her joy with others.
Sharing toys with others . . . that's a post for a different day.
-Posted by Linda
posted by Ed at 9:42 AM
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