He cried and I was so proud!

About a week ago, I was working on editing a video for YouTube while my nine year old son was watching videos on his laptop. After a little while I noticed that he was watching something that apparently had his undivided attention, and I got curious. I asked him what he was watching. He told me he was watching a documentary on NRK Super (a web/tv channel for kids) about a boy that was bullied.

Some minutes passed and I could hear the story that this boy told in the background while I was working. It was heartbreaking to hear the cruelty that was done to him by his classmates. They had locked him inside of a classroom, and they’d beaten him up pretty bad. He was talking about how it all happened, how it felt afterwards, and how they eventually had to move and start a new life somewhere else because the bullying wouldn’t stop.

Being a victim of bullying as a teenager myself, I always find it hard to listen to stories like this. The cruelty of kids that don’t think their actions through makes my heart ache. I turned to Leander and saw that he was crying, and it warmed my aching heart.

How lucky am I to have a child that feels such empathy. To be able to watch someone else bare their struggles and pain, and through what he saw, he could feel it all. He could feel it so much that he couldn’t hold it in. It was beautiful to see an emotion so pure, brought forth by information that he himself had gone searching for.

It’s easy as a parent to focus on all of the things that we feel like we have done wrong, or could have done differently. But watching him have this kind of reaction, and talking about bullying with him afterwards, hearing his thoughts, that was a moment where I truly felt that I had done something right. Somewhere along the road, growing up to be the little man that he is, he’s learned to care for others. To love them for who they are and the life they choose live, even though he might not agree with all of it. He’s learned to respect others and to try not to judge them.

I will not take complete credit for this, but the amount of time we’ve used to talk about life, people and choices, I know that’s played an important part in this.

I’m so grateful that my son already is a seeker of knowledge, and I’ll keep on encouraging him. To try to give him as many tools as possible for him to be able to make the choices that will be right for him.

And maybe most importantly, it’s important for me that he knows that crying is not a sign of weakness. To be comfortable enough to show your emotions is a strength that should not be taken for granted. It’s a superpower!

 

Thinking about donating…

Ever since I was a little girl, I thought I would one day have a family like the one I grew up in. I had this idea of me living a pretty standard life with a house, husband and 2-3 kids. But as I grew up, had my son at 19, and then didn’t really stumble upon true love after that, my idea of how I wanted my life to be drastically changed. I don’t really desire to have more kids, and when it comes to the husband, I have no urging desire to get married either.

Would I like to find a life partner? Sure! But I’m in no rush. And I want it to be right. I’ve fallen in love a few times, but it hasn’t worked out. And now, I’m on this great journey of self discovering and exploring. I have a great kid, and I love him with every fibre of my being, but I’ve come to realise that I don’t see myselg having more kids. I love babies, love playing and being childish, but I love my freedom as well.

I can’t imagine starting over with a tiny baby, especially now that my son has gotten so independent. I love being able to be there as he discovers who he is and who he wants to be, and I can definitely understand other people’s craving for that experience. The wish to be a parent. It is a gift and a wonderful experience!

So now that I’ve gotten comfortable with the thought of most likely, not having more kids, I’m thinking about helping out others. I’m currently researching my options for donating eggs.

If I could help someone less fortunate than me, then why not? I’m in a position where I could make someone’s dreams come true. Why wouldn’t I?

 

I was thinking about growing up…

Last week my son turned eight years old! EIGHT! In danger of sounding like an utter cliché: Where did time go? 

I remember it like it was yesterday that he was just a little baby without words to express himself. But now he’s rapidly growing into someone that I get to know a little more everyday. 

I catch myself thinking back to when I was eight, trying to remember my biggest worries and joys. Some are easy and others not. As I get older it seems that a lot of my childhood memories get smooshed into one and it’s hard to pinpoint exactly which memories are from what age. 

So what did I really know when I was eight? 

I knew I wanted to be a writer, and I think I already was one. I made tiny books out of coloured paper and I wrote stories and gave them to people I loved. I still write and I still love it just as much! 

I knew that I wanted to be like the grown ups, because everything seemed so easy and accessible to them. I was wrong. Now I find myself wishing I could be that kid again. Knowing how complicated it really is to live a grown up life. To climb those trees and believe fairy tales. 

I knew that by the time I would turn twenty-five I would have found Mr. Right, be married and maybe think about starting a family. I was so wrong! Things rarely go according to plan. We all learn that the hard way. 

I knew that I loved books! That love has grown and grown and grown into something so big that I find it hard to put it into words. 

So I guess I knew some things, but I was obviously clueless and naive about others, but I think that’s sort of the beauty of growing up. Finding those things that expands and take roots inside of us. Those little seeds that are inside of us as children that actually starts to grow and refuses to leave. The branches that guides us to a place that we need to be. On a journey we need to go.

But along that journey, some branches die. Some seeds never sprouts, but maybe there’s a reason for that. It might hurt (like hell) but we learn from the pain as well if we refuse to let it defeat us. 

So now I watch my little boy whenever he’s caught up in his own thoughts and I wonder just where he travels. If some of his thoughts and adventures will be the same as mine. If some of my dreams and hopes will be shared with him. 

I wonder what he knows. Sometimes I ask him, but I think he likes to keep some of it to himself just like I did. 

I hope he dreams big and even bigger than big. I hope he reaches for them. I hope his inner tree of dreams grows so big that it almost doesn’t fit him, and that he climbs it all the way to the top and sees the world differently. 

I hope he grabs hold of a good branch whenever another one dies and breaks off. And if he do falls down I hope that he climbs right back up again and sees it as nothing else than a little setback. 

I hope that his life is filled with journeys that he will never forget.

But most of all I hope to be a part of it. If not by being there, then I hope he’ll want to share them with me. Tell me the stories of his life. The joys and the sorrows. I will never know all the answers to all of his questions, but I will always try to help. I will tell him about my climb up my tree, not for the purpose of telling him which branch to go to next. He’ll have to make those decisions for himself, but maybe my stories can help him to see the warning signs of a bad branch from time to time. 

The very first day – do you remember it?

I remember my first day of school. How I counted down the days on my tiny calender. Every day had its own tiny paper and the day that school would start I had a sticker of a golden star. The summer lasted forever and I couldn’t wait for it to be over (oh, how I wish that vacation still could feel like that) and as the time to start school came closer I got more and more excited! I remember meeting my teacher and getting my own desk. I remember how proud I felt of having my very own backpack and pencils and books. The love I had for school in that age I still have when it comes to writing. That childish excitement of having something of my own, something to create. I hope I never lose that.

And yesterday it was my own childs first day. How time flies! I had to fight back a couple of proud tears as I stood there and watched him go up to meet his teacher and class for the first time. He couldn’t wait to get home and do his homework. This is the start of a whole new time of his and our lives. I can’t wait to get to see where his life will lead him.

They do grow up way too fast, but it sure is funny to be able to be along for the ride 🙂