I’ve been scrounging in my son’s room for vestiges of dirty clothes – hardly an exciting task, but a must – lest hidden stinky socks unleash insidious effects while he is away at school.
There was plenty to discover – a t-shirt here, a towel there, tennis shorts in the strangest places. And yes, more filthy socks. The room wasn’t marked BIOHAZARD all these years for nothing.
Grant me the serenity to make it to the coffee maker. Then perhaps the tub. And if need be, the Bloody Mary mix.
Fortunately, my fine young man did tidy up the most offensive corners of his space, but as I followed up with the “adult” version of cleaning, I noticed his collection of medals looped over the finial of a tall bookcase.
I counted.
There were ten of them.
I remembered.
When there were none.
A Trophy for Every Child
I have mixed feelings about our “trophy” society – one in which we pretend that everyone is a winner (when it comes to raising kids), all the while gladly dividing the world up into winners and losers when we all know that any success comes with a price, and losses often provide our most important lessons.
I recall my younger son as a small child, irritated (and envious) that his brother was the “winner” (with prizes to show for it) yet he, my little one, hadn’t a medal or trophy to his name.
A few years later that was no longer the case. There were numerous art awards, and later, academic distinctions as well. Clearly, he was proud of his accomplishments – and those medals and honors. He waited for them. He earned them. They weren’t solely about effort. They were about results.
Discipline
I’ve spent the past two years writing from discipline, writing as a means to assess and redirect, writing as a vehicle for contributing (I hope), and certainly, writing to connect.
If I could write daily (adequately), no matter what was going on, then I could parent daily (adequately), no matter what was going on. This discipline was about process and result.
But now what – beyond the next weeks of cleaning and organizing, of ongoing laundry, of filing papers and trying to set a new course?
There are no medals in parenting. No certificates, no ceremonies, no proverbial gold watch. There is the finish line – so to speak – when you launch your children into the world and hope for the best. Then there is “just life” – and whatever you can make of it. Filling in (for the parts gone missing), picking up (the threads of a former life), and moving on (into the next stage).
Recently, I was reading Gale at Ten Dollar Thoughts and her list of things she did one evening rather than writing. As I try to write (here) somewhat less obsessively, I reflect on five accomplishments for the week for which there are no kudos yet I am proud regardless of what anyone else may think. For me they are about shifting direction, and in a way, about parenting myself and – filling in, picking up, and moving on – whatever that may mean.
Five Accomplishments For Which There Are No Medals:
- I moved three pieces of furniture which belonged in different rooms – something I’ve wanted to do for seven years. I had to ask a neighbor to help, which in and of itself is, for me, an accomplishment. Asking for help is not easy for me.
- I have not spent more than five hours / day online all week. That’s extraordinarily few hours for me, here. This little plate of crazy is a bit of an iceberg (like many sites); two thirds of the work lies below the surface.
- I have begun to process the absence of my younger son. That may not sound like much, but the pain of missing him surprises me. This is more than loneliness for my boys (and their friends); it is the passage of a special stage in life, and I confess, the emotions are anything but simple.
- I continue to meet new people by saying yes to opportunities to get out, yes to a fine gentleman and his family, yes to the shedding of what is familiar, yes to the opening of my heart, yes to a future that remains unwritten. There’s living and there’s writing about living. I need to strike a balance.
- I have managed to keep my sink free of dishes for a week. Now that one may indeed deserve a medal.
Your unheralded accomplishments? Your difficult-to-strike balance? Your own efforts – and results – when it comes to self-parenting?
i swear , even after i do the dishes there is still dishes in my sink 🙁
and great for you on #4!
I have the hardest time with competition, I’d rather everyone win. At the same time, I do value learning to do better if you don’t win….so there you have it. It’s as confusing as it sounds.
I do think you deserve a medal for no dishes in the sink, something about kids not around makes that so much easier! (For me, a dishwasher has also been a plus.)
These changes are accomplishments and bravo to you for making them!!
Thx, Jason! And yes, no dishes in the sink? Huge! Amber, I know you get that, too. 🙂
I can read the emotion in this. Because I am living it. It is the end of a job. Much like a lay-off from the working world. What does a parent do when the job becomes 20% rather than 110%?
I have been taking a break from the computer and trying to get out and meet new people more the past month. But that is hard to do when you have no choice but to search the job boards endlessly (in order to avoid one more end) and when that unemployment causes you to feel a little less self worth which is a necessity when meeting new people.
Hard for me when new acquaintances ask ‘Where do you work?’ or ‘What do you do or a living’?
So proud of you and your list. Those are similar to the things I should be dong. You are an inspiration.
I understand the necessity of striking a balance. My children are far away and I prefer a hermit lifestyle to being out in public, even if it’s the only way to support myself financially. I’d much rather be home playing music and blogging. Made myself go out and play today. Glad I did. Made some changes that were long overdue.
@nas – we do have to adjust to yet one more layoff, don’t we… A little severance pay would be good, no?
@coastal – music, art, writing – they are often such solitary pusuits. Oh, that ‘balance’ issue…
Further to Amber’s comment, as I often have struggled with not actually wanting to “win,” (if it would make others feel bad), I have been thinking more and more about what part of our brains do (and think, and feel, and react) what.
It seems that our left brains are great at analyzing, and thus at counting and measuring, and thus at competing. This drives us to evolve and to achieve, but it also is the part of the brain that is never satisfied. In some of us this is the part of the brain that runs like a hamster on a wheel. It also happens to sit very close to the more ancient, primitive brain that when tweaked by the left brain’s constant all-points-bulletins of alarm respond with rage, fear or frozen immobility.
On the other hand, the right brain, the part that governs loving attachment (and feels the melancholy of separation), we do not measure, we feel. And it is oddly true that we can feel melancholy and good at the same time—we can feel very alive in sadness, and we can realize we want to attach and love and thus say yes to fine gentlemen and please assist to neighbors and also write, not for medals, but for love, as you do.
As we learn to differentiate primitive fear and rage (those things that inevitably lurked in the unconscious minds of our parents and caregivers, if we happen to struggle with twitchy feelings of dread, angst and insecurity) from the full spectrum of more subtle emotional life (joy, loneliness, longing, gratitude, sensuality, humor, etc.) we become safe in our own feelings, and in our love for each other and the world—and we get better at mentally holding the freaked out babies we once were, those encapsulated pockets of trauma that still need TLC.
Maybe in the end we melt the medals down and make our own golden chalices in which to contain the fragments of our old selves until they alchemically coalesce. By then, perhaps, instead of becoming old we may have managed to integrate the wise old archetypal self with the eternally youthful puella… and voila, spirit gold in the ever present moment.
And until then, we schlep along together, hopefully that much less alone in our dark places.
Perfect ice cubes, every time. Does that count?
Absolutely, Wolf. That counts. Now my question is – ice cubes in shapes or in fact the classic cube?
I love this idea! And totally stealing it…if I can come up with 5 accomplishments, that is!
I guess it’s a bit like giving ourselves a gold star for an accomplishment that we know matters to us, but how often do most of us give ourselves so much as 10 minutes to enjoy an achievement? (I rather like Wolf’s perfect ice cubes… ;))
Important reminder BLW. There are so many of these “unheralded” accomplishments that we all complete, but are unaware of their importance. Here’s to ordinary pleasures.
Baby steps. Our *trophies* are the laugh lines we proudly wear that remind us of the joy of raising our kids. Yes…joy. Admit it. 🙂
Yes, Lisa, you’re right. There is joy. https://dailyplateofcrazy.com/2009/11/23/joy-part-1-red-balloon-on-the-ceiling/