Talk To Me

Once, when the big teen boy was just wee (maybe around 18 months old), I took him out running errands with me.  We were in the car for several hours--me in my seat, and him behind me, in his. When all the running was through, I pulled into the driveway and announced happily, "We're home!"  I looked into the rearview mirror at my son's expressionless face and realized with horror that I had not spoken to him one time during the entire trip.  He didn't seem to mind, but I was slain by self-loathing.  I felt guilty on a multitude of levels.  Mothers should talk to their children; what if he had stopped breathing: his communication skills will be delayed; we are not really bonded; do I remember EVER talking to him in the car?  On and on and on.  I'm really good at that:  I can beat anybody up--especially me.

I made a conscious effort to talk to him all the time after that.  I especially made sure I talked to him in the car.  See?  That's part of the introvert thing--when I'm alone, I don't talk or listen to music or turn on the television for background noise.  I think things through in silence.  I love music but I never listen to it in the car.  BUT, because I am the Mommy, I adapted my behavior to suit my child's needs.  I had not been alone in the car, and just because my company was a non-verbal baby, it did not mean he should not be engaged.  A little one's receptive vocabulary develops much earlier than his expressive vocabulary.  That's why there is great wisdom in teaching babies to use basic sign language to express themselves before they can speak.  I have spent the last 16+ years talking to the children because it makes them feel like they matter, which they do.  I suppose it helps them develop communication skills, but the biggest reason is that it makes them feel worthy--worthy of their mother's attention.

I have had the occasion of late to observe dismissal--and parent pick-up--in several elementary schools.  I am really burdened by the number of parents who sign their children out and head straight for the door while their little guys are skipping along behind, chattering at their backs.  Do they not realize their children have longed for them all day, have anticipated this moment since lunchtime?  I don't blame the parents, nor do I think they're mean people--I think they are mostly busy people with alot  running through their brains.  Picking up the children becomes an item to check off the to-do list, rather than a long-anticipated moment of joy and reunion.  I try, very hard, to talk to my children about their day and their friends' days.  I take stock of the important stuff, the stuff they repeat and emphasize, and ask more about it later.  For many years, I sat all the kids down on the couch immediately after school and had each one tell me one good thing, one bad thing, and one funny thing about their day.  They all had to share and all had to listen politely to each other without interrupting.  This world tells our dear ones they're unworthy all the time; we have got to show them again and again that they are priceless to us.