A bit of mothering...

Rosie, our one year old border collie, is now fully grown and no longer has her cute rounded puppy nose, her delicate soft fluffy ears, and she does not fit nicely into my lap. She is still beautiful, but has the features of an adult dog.

But while she may look like an adult, she is far from behaving like one! Rosie still has the needs of a puppy, particularly to be 'mothered'. Everyday, she will find a moment to tell me that she needs a cuddle, to be nurtured, cared for, mothered. She does this very directly with a little whining "woof", or by climbing into my lap, albeit very awkwardly, and typically ending up spilling out over the side and onto the floor or couch, depending on where I am sitting. Sometimes, she also has a look of sadness that is conveyed by her entire body that communicates to me "I am feeling emotional, and I need to be comforted." She then proceeds to nuzzle into me, wrap her front legs around my neck, and if I'm lucky, ever so delicately kiss my nose.

I don't know why Rosie's behaviour surprises me, but it's something to do with the fact that she isn't a little pupply anymore. Perhaps an assumption is made that she doesn't need the doting mothering of a little puppy; an assumption made from expectations borne of living in a society where growing up often means not needing such direct nurturing, affection and displays of emotion. But she reminds me every day, that we do, no matter what our age.

My son also knows when he needs to be 'mothered', and isn't afraid of asking for a cuddle, kiss, or some comforting. He is also able to express his emotions, and knows just how he feels about something. He is currently struggling to say goodbye each morning as I take him to school. He cries, and clings to me for one last cuddle. In our efforts to work through this difficult time, we have encouraged him to cry if he feels like it, and told him how proud we are of him that he is able to express his sadness; that in fact, he is brave, because not everyone is able to do this.

At times, however, it feels like we are fighting a battle with the rest of the world, who don't want little boys to cry. Crying, it seems, is something to be avoided, something that causes the individual and others around them pain or discomfort. "We" seem to be in a hurry for our children to grow up and be emotionally independent, to not have emotional needs, to not be sad. When my son first started going to school, he was encouraged by his teachers not to cry with the promise of a special treat; a reward for not expressing what he was feeling. Instead of being comfortable with another person's sadness, we hurry to cheer them up, instead of allowing them to feel sad and being willing to feel it too.

In the presence of beauty...

For the past 10 or so years, my favourite author has been Alexander McCall Smith, and I have been an avid reader of several of his collections;  The No.1 Ladies Detective Agency, 44 Scotland Street, Corduroy Mansions, and the Isabel Dalhousie stories. I enjoy his writing for several reasons including his use of a wonderful and enlightening vocabulary, the ethical and philosophical explorations, and of course his (and his character's) tendency to ponder!

The following excerpt is one of my favourites. It is from "The Importance of Being Seven" (p.214):
        
        "That's where we're going", said Domenica. "See? Over there."

Antonia and Angus were silent. The sight of such beauty can make us quiet with fear; fear that it might not be real, fear that it might be taken from us, as is everything that we love, that is only on loan to us.

This struck me immediately as I read it. So absolutely true; at least it is of my experience of the world. I sometimes look at my little boy, and just as in the above excerpt, I am silenced by his beauty, but with the knowledge that I cannot keep him safe, cannot control the world in which he lives. 

I had a similar experience during the 11 days of my baby daughter Lillienne's life. After she was born, and placed into palliative care, I was so afraid of getting close to her, of knowing her, of falling in love with her, being drawn into her beautiful little eyes, face, body, fingers, toes...because I knew she would be taken from me. I felt fear, absolute fear and horror at the thought of what lay ahead...saying good-bye and living a life without her.

Running with the dog who waits..

Rosie, our almost 1 year old border collie,  and I run the same route through our neighbourhood every morning. Today we left a little later, and so there were many more cars backing out of driveways and driving down the streets. Today I learnt the lesson of patience and giving.

When Rosie sees or hears a car she immediately drops to the ground. Unfortunately she hasn't learned to discern where she drops, and so I sometimes have to drag her to the curb! However, she drops and waits, either for the car to pass, or to obviously be going in the other direction. Rosie only has two modes of running, stop and go, nothing in between, so today she did a lot of stopping and waiting, and giving of her time. But she did this with a look of pure delight. Unlike most of us, she enjoys waiting for others.

The looks she gets in return range from bemusement (usually from strangers, not living in the area) to laughter. But most often those in cars smile at her, and those who have got to know her give her a wave. A smile and a wave is like gold to Rosie, and she turns and looks at me with such excitement and pride.

When do we ever wait so patiently for others, and take such pleasure and pride in this action? And, do we show our appreciation to those who do? Maybe today I will :)