proud mother of an ordinary child

On the liberating joys of being ordinary ...

proud mother of an ordinary child
Photo by Jelly Dollar on Unsplash

Little D has officially completed Grade 1 now! Yesterday was the last day of school, and today were the closing ceremonies.

D came home yesterday feeling really sad that Grade 1 had come to an end. And I was sad too, as I always am, whenever there is change.

Today's closing ceremonies brought some kind of closure. It was a way to say goodbye to the academic year that has gone past, and to look forward to all that the summer holidays will bring.

As is the norm, awards were given out at the ceremony for curricular and co-curricular achievements and my precious little D didn't win any.

As someone who's always won awards throughout her academic life, I am so proud of my little one even though he doesn't have any special labels or distinctions to attach to his name.

It is at moments like these that I find myself feeling tremendously grateful for having come across Dr. Shefali's teachings, especially her insights into how we, as human beings, have become so avoidant of our ordinariness.

Of course, I'd be lying if I said that my heart didn't tighten in desperate hope and anticipation right before the names of the award recipients were announced. I'd be lying if I didn't admit I was disappointed when D's name wasn't the one to be announced.

But, it took me no longer than an instant to remember that while it's awesome to receive an award, not receiving one need not take away from my child's self-worth.

Little D didn't much care about the ceremony except for the fact that he was part of the choir team that performed at the ceremony and that the treats at the end of the ceremony — cookies and brownies — were mouthwateringly delicious.

This morning, I was suffering from a severe case of FOMO. The parents of one of D's classmates usually throw a year-end party for all the children of his grade at their home; it's a pool party with a DJ and music and bubbles and loads of fun. It's an annual ritual to look forward to.

We missed it last year, and we were looking forward to going this year. But D was unwell last week and only just recovering from a viral infection, so it didn't seem wise for him to splash about in an outdoor pool when the weather is still rather chilly, unseasonably so!

I had RSVPed no when the host asked for confirmation a couple of days ago. Yet, despite having made that decision, I fretted all morning. I even thought of messaging the host and asking her if D could skip the swim but join later for the DJ and dinner instead.

I decided to first ask D if this was something he'd like. He said either he'd go for the swim or not at all to the party. And we stuck to our decision to not go. D made his peace with it.

Instead, KrA, D and I headed to Boston Pizza in the evening and had a lovely meal and watched bloopers on the big screen. A simple delight, but a very precious one.

The more I see, the more I'm convinced that life has a way of unfolding of its own accord. When we can trust what emerges — be it in the form of faith in God or the Universe or in existence — we can trust that we'll be OK no matter what.

It's very easy to forget this when we're caught up in the daily happenings of life. When we are caught up in a dispute with a neighbour, when another child is being mean to our own, when our homes and lives feel messy and out of control, when winter brings its gloom with darker evenings and shorter days ... it's hard to remember that the same potential for happiness exists in us no matter what we do and where we are.

And that is what I said to myself to come out of that funk this morning. That the same potential for happiness exists whether we spend the evening celebrating D's graduation with his friends or with the just the three of us.

It is not the situation that matters. It is how we make the most of it.

And I am so glad that D's first day of the summer holidays turned out to be awesome!

Here's looking forward to the next several weeks of enjoying the days with my extraordinary little one.