I've had a plan in mind for some time, to write in a small journal to each of my children. I'm not sure that I'd give the journals to them whilst I was alive. Rather, the journals will sit in the safe and when I am gone my words to them will be my gift.
I don't think I am especially good at speaking my most heartfelt thoughts. I try. Sometimes, I write them on a birthday card. Mostly, I allow my behavior to indicate my love for them. I think one son knows that my getting up early specifically to pack him breakfast (I call them 'care packages') is a sign of my love, whilst another son knows my research into drawing classes is an indication of my attention and approval of the life he has chosen.
Generally speaking, I would have to say that my love for them probably has the tendency to be suffocating. When one son came around recently to do his washing when his washing machine broke, he found me ironing the pillow sleeps and said, 'Mum, there is no pillowslip police. You don't need to do that.' Of course, they'd fiercely deny that, but they've made noises that I can be a little too motherly. I know.
Anyways, I'm going to have a little go at noting some points that come to say about each of them here and let's just see. We'll start with the first born.
Adorable baby. In those days you stayed in hospital for a week, and this was deeply bonding. I talked to him constantly, particularly at night when no-one was around, telling him how special he was, my "special blend" boy.
We went everywhere together but still in the mode of thought that I needed to prove myself, I took on a postgraduate degree. It was my sister-in-law who enrolled me in that first week in the hospital. My mother came up once a week to mind him whilst I went to my lectures but mostly, somehow, I just did the work at home whilst he was asleep, and made use of a day care place when I had to do school rounds. Gosh, I'd forgotten that!
He was hungry, starving for food and stimulus. It was at around the 4 month mark when I couldn't satisfy his need for food that my mother said to me to stop listening to the maternal nurse and to feed him. He golloped down brains and mixtures of beef and vegetables, spat out fruit.
That first year of his life was the year I was the most thin in my adult life. He so needed to be stimulated that staying home wasn't an option. I'd put him into the pram and we'd walk this long block around the city. We'd be gone for hours and he'd take in everything. If I tried to enter a clothing store, he'd scream, and I'd do a U-turn out of there at a fast clip and keep walking the streets. Once he could walk we had two outings to parks each day. As long as we were moving, all was well.
A memory: He was between one and two years old. I walked by the laundry and found that he had been playing with the box of detergent, tipping it out, but now had a spoon trying to get it back into the package. I walked away, happy he was trying to sort the matter out. When I walked back he was just finishing tipping the lot on the floor to make a mound. I called out his name and he tipped the lot before I could get to him. Much later, my husband pointed out that I did a similar thing when told to 'Stop' doing something. There's a wilful side to our nature. He's no submissive and I think I was always too strong of mind to be a full on submissive too.
When we moved to the USA he was so lonely. We arrived in the winter and one of our things to do was to walk to a site where they were building a home and watch them. He fell in love with Mr Rogers and a character from outer space whose name I have forgotten who lived incognito with the earth family. He was so excited when it was time for the show and so sad when it ended.
I knew I had to do something to garner some excitement in his life and so off we went to the local YMCA and it was agreed that, yes, he was too young for the ball hour with three and four year olds, but he could run after them. That was fine. That was a life saver.
I have regrets about enrolling him early at a Nursery School. He vomited for a week each time he caught site of the building from his booster car seat, but later the teachers told me that had I waited another year he would have done the same thing. He was simply very attached to me. He seemed to love it there, but I have reservations about the early education of all my children in the USA. Their dedication to rules over emotion didn't sit well with my children. Strong Presbyterian women they sometimes couldn't see past the behavior to register a need.
He grew to adore his life in the USA and was very upset, when the time came, to leave. He was into everything - lacrosse, soccer, ice hockey. But, swimming was something he hasn't done much of, and that's because another strong Presbyterian woman insisted I let go of him and let him swim to the end himself. When he came up, he got out and refused to attend another class with her. I only wish I had a stronger personality to tell these women at the time to shove off.
I was told very early on that he was a leader. At the age of three he was organizing all the other children with free activity time. Tom was to get the trucks, and Nick the blocks, and the children, the teachers told me, listened to him.
When I picked him up from middle school on his final day the Principal looked genuinely sad. He would be greatly missed, he told me. Even if he sometimes frustrated them, teachers adored him, their "gentle giant".
From the moment he set foot on the grounds of his new school back here in Australia he found friends who are still his good friends today. Though they are scattered around the globe he visits them when he goes to that country and of course they visit him when they return home for a visit.
Again, from the get go, his leadership ability wasn't questioned, but nearly all teachers have spotted an untapped potential for excellence which frustrates them. They all think they'll be the one to get him to work hard enough to show all that he is capable of achieving.
In his final year of school his English teacher contacted me, the first. He was doing fine but how did he expect to get in the top cohort if he didn't do some work? Of course, we talked, but he assured me he had it in his grasp. Right. Girls and sport, these were the priorities.
When the marks were published he'd made it into a good university but not the ideal choice, perhaps. He wasn't fazed. He did his course, barely entering the grounds. He was still coasting, still flying under the radar such that he didn't get shot down.
I credit a young man who wasn't one of his brighter friends, academically speaking, who told him that you couldn't wait until graduation to sort out employment. As an aside, it's so interesting to me that it was his not so academically top of the line friends who have been so successful in business.
He was selected into a Summer Graduate program at one of the big firms, was noticed, and offered a full time position. He stayed there a few years, aware he was being used, as all newcomers to these big firms are. Over a few years he was courted by a smaller firm across the road, and eventually he moved.
It's been upwards and upwards ever since. He works hard, is dedicated to the job, and has been rewarded with many promotions. It's not all beer and skittles. There's a part of him, like me, that likes to kick back. His hour of yoga a week, when he does do that, he says is the most relaxing hour of the week. But, he won't compromise on standards of work, or getting new work. The ongoing success of such a firm in a highly competitive market place relies on dedication to the client.
So, what matters to him? Well, he adores me and his father. He has always adored my husband, and instinctively, defended him. Recently, I suffered what is sometimes called 'an empath's meltdown' and said things that I don't normally say. He listened, but there's this thing about him, like his Dad, that keeps people on the straight and narrow. There's a reason why things are as they are, and yes, people can be difficult and rigid, but there's still an order to life that can't change.
I've felt this a few times. He is sympathetic, to a point. But, we all have our roles. He actually said that recently to me. Didn't Dad and I have an unwritten agreement that he'd make the money and I'd do the family/home stuff? Well, yes, all right, that's true. But, he did get, didn't he, that sometimes people needed to emote? Yes, sure, he was listening, he said.
He's had so many girls. If I ever counted them...no no, I don't want to know. Quite recently he said to me that the first girl was the only one that would do anything for him that he wanted. Another time, he was seeing a psychiatrist that was maybe someone he wanted to see on an ongoing basis, but no, it turned out, he let it slip, that she was quite vanilla. I said nothing.
He's with a head strong girl, gorgeous, soft, but wilful, like him. So, there are clashes. He wants to do his work and she wants him. She wants him to wash the kitchen floor but he resists because he makes most of the meals. You know, stuff like that. But, maybe, this is part of his personality, to choose a girl that is a bit feisty, that provides him with the stimulus he needs.
One of his closest friends, that is my son was his best man, said that when he was calm he was like me and when he was angry, he was like his Dad. He's usually quite calm, really; considered.
He gets a bit of indigestion at times. He's been through all the tests only to be told that he has to eat mindfully, stay away from late night tacos, that sort of thing, and limit anxiety.
On the surface he appears completely under control in his tailored suits, but his perfectionism won't leave any stone unturned. If someone under him doesn't do the task well, they get a memo to do it again. He tells me the area of my cupboard where I tend to toss Tupperware containers makes him feel anxious and he once had a girlfriend who left her clothes strewn about the apartment, and yes, oh yes, she had to go.
I feel no desire, or need, to give him advice. Well, that's not true. I did write him an email recently where I tried to explain his girlfriend's point of view and suggested that he keep in touch as to the time he needed to do his work at night and an accurate indication as to when he would be able to spend time uninterrupted with her.
I think in many ways he carries the world on his shoulders and he has the sensibilities to want everyone he loves to be happy, and high functioning. If he's not happy about something, a brother's behavior perhaps, he voices it. At the same time, he's very encouraging. Do what ever you want to do, but do it well. Do things, see the world, have fun. Live your life. That's the message.
Like his Dad, when he can let work go, he's an absolute delight to be around. His sense of occasion makes him the perfect host, best man, officiator of an occasion, speaker, leader of the team. On birthdays, he's the one to contact the rest of us to arrange the perfect gift for the person, the potential food and wine to be served. He's your classic first born. He's an achiever with high expectations.
He wants a family. He wants children. I can hardly wait to meet his children.
As I said to him in a recent birthday card, I am delighted to watch his fast climb up the corporate ladder but more than that I am proud of the man that he has become; wise, compassionate, loving. I love this kid with every bone in my body. I am proud of him beyond words.
I don't think I am especially good at speaking my most heartfelt thoughts. I try. Sometimes, I write them on a birthday card. Mostly, I allow my behavior to indicate my love for them. I think one son knows that my getting up early specifically to pack him breakfast (I call them 'care packages') is a sign of my love, whilst another son knows my research into drawing classes is an indication of my attention and approval of the life he has chosen.
Generally speaking, I would have to say that my love for them probably has the tendency to be suffocating. When one son came around recently to do his washing when his washing machine broke, he found me ironing the pillow sleeps and said, 'Mum, there is no pillowslip police. You don't need to do that.' Of course, they'd fiercely deny that, but they've made noises that I can be a little too motherly. I know.
Anyways, I'm going to have a little go at noting some points that come to say about each of them here and let's just see. We'll start with the first born.
Adorable baby. In those days you stayed in hospital for a week, and this was deeply bonding. I talked to him constantly, particularly at night when no-one was around, telling him how special he was, my "special blend" boy.
We went everywhere together but still in the mode of thought that I needed to prove myself, I took on a postgraduate degree. It was my sister-in-law who enrolled me in that first week in the hospital. My mother came up once a week to mind him whilst I went to my lectures but mostly, somehow, I just did the work at home whilst he was asleep, and made use of a day care place when I had to do school rounds. Gosh, I'd forgotten that!
He was hungry, starving for food and stimulus. It was at around the 4 month mark when I couldn't satisfy his need for food that my mother said to me to stop listening to the maternal nurse and to feed him. He golloped down brains and mixtures of beef and vegetables, spat out fruit.
That first year of his life was the year I was the most thin in my adult life. He so needed to be stimulated that staying home wasn't an option. I'd put him into the pram and we'd walk this long block around the city. We'd be gone for hours and he'd take in everything. If I tried to enter a clothing store, he'd scream, and I'd do a U-turn out of there at a fast clip and keep walking the streets. Once he could walk we had two outings to parks each day. As long as we were moving, all was well.
A memory: He was between one and two years old. I walked by the laundry and found that he had been playing with the box of detergent, tipping it out, but now had a spoon trying to get it back into the package. I walked away, happy he was trying to sort the matter out. When I walked back he was just finishing tipping the lot on the floor to make a mound. I called out his name and he tipped the lot before I could get to him. Much later, my husband pointed out that I did a similar thing when told to 'Stop' doing something. There's a wilful side to our nature. He's no submissive and I think I was always too strong of mind to be a full on submissive too.
When we moved to the USA he was so lonely. We arrived in the winter and one of our things to do was to walk to a site where they were building a home and watch them. He fell in love with Mr Rogers and a character from outer space whose name I have forgotten who lived incognito with the earth family. He was so excited when it was time for the show and so sad when it ended.
I knew I had to do something to garner some excitement in his life and so off we went to the local YMCA and it was agreed that, yes, he was too young for the ball hour with three and four year olds, but he could run after them. That was fine. That was a life saver.
I have regrets about enrolling him early at a Nursery School. He vomited for a week each time he caught site of the building from his booster car seat, but later the teachers told me that had I waited another year he would have done the same thing. He was simply very attached to me. He seemed to love it there, but I have reservations about the early education of all my children in the USA. Their dedication to rules over emotion didn't sit well with my children. Strong Presbyterian women they sometimes couldn't see past the behavior to register a need.
He grew to adore his life in the USA and was very upset, when the time came, to leave. He was into everything - lacrosse, soccer, ice hockey. But, swimming was something he hasn't done much of, and that's because another strong Presbyterian woman insisted I let go of him and let him swim to the end himself. When he came up, he got out and refused to attend another class with her. I only wish I had a stronger personality to tell these women at the time to shove off.
I was told very early on that he was a leader. At the age of three he was organizing all the other children with free activity time. Tom was to get the trucks, and Nick the blocks, and the children, the teachers told me, listened to him.
When I picked him up from middle school on his final day the Principal looked genuinely sad. He would be greatly missed, he told me. Even if he sometimes frustrated them, teachers adored him, their "gentle giant".
From the moment he set foot on the grounds of his new school back here in Australia he found friends who are still his good friends today. Though they are scattered around the globe he visits them when he goes to that country and of course they visit him when they return home for a visit.
Again, from the get go, his leadership ability wasn't questioned, but nearly all teachers have spotted an untapped potential for excellence which frustrates them. They all think they'll be the one to get him to work hard enough to show all that he is capable of achieving.
In his final year of school his English teacher contacted me, the first. He was doing fine but how did he expect to get in the top cohort if he didn't do some work? Of course, we talked, but he assured me he had it in his grasp. Right. Girls and sport, these were the priorities.
When the marks were published he'd made it into a good university but not the ideal choice, perhaps. He wasn't fazed. He did his course, barely entering the grounds. He was still coasting, still flying under the radar such that he didn't get shot down.
I credit a young man who wasn't one of his brighter friends, academically speaking, who told him that you couldn't wait until graduation to sort out employment. As an aside, it's so interesting to me that it was his not so academically top of the line friends who have been so successful in business.
He was selected into a Summer Graduate program at one of the big firms, was noticed, and offered a full time position. He stayed there a few years, aware he was being used, as all newcomers to these big firms are. Over a few years he was courted by a smaller firm across the road, and eventually he moved.
It's been upwards and upwards ever since. He works hard, is dedicated to the job, and has been rewarded with many promotions. It's not all beer and skittles. There's a part of him, like me, that likes to kick back. His hour of yoga a week, when he does do that, he says is the most relaxing hour of the week. But, he won't compromise on standards of work, or getting new work. The ongoing success of such a firm in a highly competitive market place relies on dedication to the client.
So, what matters to him? Well, he adores me and his father. He has always adored my husband, and instinctively, defended him. Recently, I suffered what is sometimes called 'an empath's meltdown' and said things that I don't normally say. He listened, but there's this thing about him, like his Dad, that keeps people on the straight and narrow. There's a reason why things are as they are, and yes, people can be difficult and rigid, but there's still an order to life that can't change.
I've felt this a few times. He is sympathetic, to a point. But, we all have our roles. He actually said that recently to me. Didn't Dad and I have an unwritten agreement that he'd make the money and I'd do the family/home stuff? Well, yes, all right, that's true. But, he did get, didn't he, that sometimes people needed to emote? Yes, sure, he was listening, he said.
He's had so many girls. If I ever counted them...no no, I don't want to know. Quite recently he said to me that the first girl was the only one that would do anything for him that he wanted. Another time, he was seeing a psychiatrist that was maybe someone he wanted to see on an ongoing basis, but no, it turned out, he let it slip, that she was quite vanilla. I said nothing.
He's with a head strong girl, gorgeous, soft, but wilful, like him. So, there are clashes. He wants to do his work and she wants him. She wants him to wash the kitchen floor but he resists because he makes most of the meals. You know, stuff like that. But, maybe, this is part of his personality, to choose a girl that is a bit feisty, that provides him with the stimulus he needs.
One of his closest friends, that is my son was his best man, said that when he was calm he was like me and when he was angry, he was like his Dad. He's usually quite calm, really; considered.
He gets a bit of indigestion at times. He's been through all the tests only to be told that he has to eat mindfully, stay away from late night tacos, that sort of thing, and limit anxiety.
On the surface he appears completely under control in his tailored suits, but his perfectionism won't leave any stone unturned. If someone under him doesn't do the task well, they get a memo to do it again. He tells me the area of my cupboard where I tend to toss Tupperware containers makes him feel anxious and he once had a girlfriend who left her clothes strewn about the apartment, and yes, oh yes, she had to go.
I feel no desire, or need, to give him advice. Well, that's not true. I did write him an email recently where I tried to explain his girlfriend's point of view and suggested that he keep in touch as to the time he needed to do his work at night and an accurate indication as to when he would be able to spend time uninterrupted with her.
I think in many ways he carries the world on his shoulders and he has the sensibilities to want everyone he loves to be happy, and high functioning. If he's not happy about something, a brother's behavior perhaps, he voices it. At the same time, he's very encouraging. Do what ever you want to do, but do it well. Do things, see the world, have fun. Live your life. That's the message.
Like his Dad, when he can let work go, he's an absolute delight to be around. His sense of occasion makes him the perfect host, best man, officiator of an occasion, speaker, leader of the team. On birthdays, he's the one to contact the rest of us to arrange the perfect gift for the person, the potential food and wine to be served. He's your classic first born. He's an achiever with high expectations.
He wants a family. He wants children. I can hardly wait to meet his children.
As I said to him in a recent birthday card, I am delighted to watch his fast climb up the corporate ladder but more than that I am proud of the man that he has become; wise, compassionate, loving. I love this kid with every bone in my body. I am proud of him beyond words.
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