River of Love

Torrents and  thunder last night, tornado watch into morning.  From the cul de sac above our street to Miss Judy's house the street gushed with water, but not from the rain.  Water company came and turned off the water, apparently a water main break.  Water ran both directions at the intersection; my drive is at the stopsign.  Mud everywhere; "And the street cleaner just cleaned!"  was Weslee's distraught announcement.
  Brianna prided her ballet grand jete in getting herself onto the bus with dry shoes; the others just walked through the muddy waters.  She and I went to visit the youthful  Dr. Elizabeth this morning and check on her medications.  The doctor taught us "active listening".  I pretended to learn something new... for Brianna's sake.  My children have constantly ridiculed me for active listening, "You're doing that thing again, Mom, where you really don't say anything!  Stop it!" or "I know what you're doing!  It's another book you're trying out on us, isn't it?"  Reflecting back to  children what they say to me is something I started doing with Annalisa 30 years ago, to teach her to think for herself, and to help me to better understand what she was saying.  "What you said was... What I understand you meant was... I think you are saying..."  are all sentences used to repeat back what you hear them say.  You add no new information.  It helps them see you are really listening.  It also makes some children mad.  They want an opponent.  They don't want you to understand all the time.  Sometimes, yes, all the time? NO.
The muddy waters raging down the street and in my child's mind is not easily repaired.  It is a fantasy that it even can or should be;  maybe we just  leap over it or wade through it and enjoy the waters while they pass by.
Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass; it's about learning to dance in the rain.