asking for what we need

the horror of a snack request, wild turkeys preaching about spring, and getting out of our own way.

My five-year-old has this daily habit of asking me to read her mind.

She got this habit from her mother.

That would be me, I’m her mother. And I still think people can read my mind because I’m pretty sure I can read theirs. If you were standing here in front of me, I bet I could guess what you wanted to eat.

So every day, I re-enact the same scene with Lorelei, hoping this time it will have a twist. But every day it plays out exactly the same way.

Mom…I’m hungry. Can I have something to eat?” — Lorelei says this, never looking me in the eye. It is always said as if she’s very interested in something on the wall, or on the floor, or on her shoe.

Sure, what would you like?” I ask slowly. Knowing full well this is going to take a while. Knowing full well what she wants to eat. It’s always some sort of carby vehicle for cream cheese with a side of strawberries.

Weelllll…you tell me, she’ll say quietly, shrugging her shoulders up to her ears in one little jumpy motion.

I don’t know love, I’ll say gently. I don’t know what you want. You know what we have. Did you have something in mind?

I don’t know….you…tell me, she’ll repeat.

She starts to look flat-faced at this point, as if she’s actively trying to make me believe she doesn’t care what she eats and in fact ANYTHING I’d suggest would be fine.

Her eyes look dead, as if she’s trying not to reveal the glimmer of excitement and joy mixed with pre-emptive disappointment hiding behind the asking for what she wants — the idea of getting it or being told she can’t have it.

I don’t know why she wants me to think she doesn’t care. But she very much doesn’t want me to know that she has something specific in mind. She wants me to think she doesn’t care one teeny tiny bit.

At this point, I try to give her some space, but also direction, so she’ll step into the moment…it might be mistaken for a bait and switch - except I have no intention of switching anything on Lorelei — I just want to coax her into a place where she feels safe enough to use her words…out loud.

This is when I usually have to kneel and use my whisper, because if I speak in a normal tone / too directly, it makes her cry (it’s that scary for her).

I always tell her the same thing — every day I tell her this — and every day we end up back here -- I tell her, You have to ask for what you want, if you want to get it; that’s how it works.

I like saying that’s how it works -- this phrase makes it seem like this is all just engineering or an equation. No big deal. You turn the faucet, and water comes out — just how it works.

I use it to get her to zip up her coat: Coats don’t work if they’re not zipped; that’s how it works.

I always take a deep breath before saying it because I’m afraid she’ll bolt, she’ll feel cornered, and I don’t want to spook her.

And more often than not, the funny thing is, I say yes to whatever it is she wants.

Her requests are never out of bounds. She doesn’t ask for marshmallows with chocolate sauce at 9 am. But every time, no matter how gently I approach the moment, she still doesn’t want to come out and ask for it. It terrifies her. The directness. She just stands there. between herself and what she wants, as if she’s protecting something.

She’s protecting the moment she’s in — the moment where the potential and possibility are still wide open.

By default, I think we all just assume we will be turned down WAY BEFORE we believe we will get what we want. Anecdotally, I think we may be born this way — We assume any request is probably going to be met with a no, so we beat the world to the punch and turn ourselves down first.

I do this too — I struggle with even getting to the moment of knowing what I want. Forget asking for the exact thing, sorting out the competing desires in my brain is a full-time job. That’s what is so frustrating with my kid. I know she knows. Just say cream cheese! Say it!

But I’ve been practicing. And it’s funny, of course, that doing the thing (asking for what you want) and telling someone else to do the thing (poor Lorelei) is way harder.

Just yesterday, I was having a restless morning. I’d been awake way way earlier than everyone else. And my hormones meant that every sound of everyone eating and drinking was driving me bonkers. My oldest was home sick and still sleeping. Chris and my youngest were sitting at the kitchen table having breakfast and it was as if —you know when you put your head under water in the bath and you can hear your heart beating in your ears…that’s what it was like but instead of a heartbeat it was the sound of chewing and slurping in my head.

I was overcome with a desire to run out of the house. I sat there for probably 20 minutes feeling like I didn’t know what to do, when really on the inside I knew. I knew exactly what I wanted and needed to do. I wanted to go for a walk. Get out of the house. Be alone with my restless self.

And that’s when I heard my own annoying voice giving me the advice I dole out daily to Lorelei: You have to ask for what you want, if you want to get it.

But I was nervous to ask. It was kind of late in the morning, and it would mean Christopher would be solo parenting with a sick kid. I sat making a bunch of excuses and going over the reasons why it was lame to ask for the time on this day, in this moment. But I finally spit it out, I said the words… out loud…and guess what….twenty minutes later I was on a walk. Because that’s how it works (if you have an amazing partner, this is how it works).

I stepped out of the car at the nature center near my house, and hallelujah, no one anywhere was making slurping or chewing noises — but the red-winged black birds were singing. Robins were skittering around under the trees, cardinals and jays were jumping from branch to branch, and when I came around a corner, I almost ran directly into a half dozen wild turkeys.

The Fellas

It felt like coming across a group of avian priests. Very fancy and important work was taking place; I half expected one of them to walk by swinging incense. Their tail feathers were fanned, and they strutted, turning and fluttering together - it felt like they were rehearsing a sermon about spring, making plans, going over the steps for the upcoming dance. They were quietly busy and paid me little mind, but I moved by as quickly as I could, grinning.

The wind was cold and whipping, but I made it around the pond and felt myself relax. It was what I needed. I asked. I received. Permission granted. Responsibility taken. And no one got hurt for chewing their breakfast.

I was watching a little video with Anne Lamott last night on the website A Writing Room, and she shared a prayer she says every day. She takes a deep breath in, smiles as she exhales, praying to GUS (the Great Universal Spirit), butt in chair, and says — Please let me get out of my own way.

This rang true to me.

I said it this morning as I sat down to write, and I added — let me get out of my own way, use my words, and go for more walks…early and often.

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