Month: June 2008

You can now place your orders for my picture book Hold on to Your Horses. If you’re not sure what this project is, check out the website www.holdontoyourhorses.com. On the site you can read details about how to project came to be and download a free pdf preview of the entire book.

If you already know about the project and your wallet is ready, you can just buy the book here.

My nephew stayed with us all last week. Nephew is just six months older than Link, so they were buddies all week long. You’d think that adding a child to my four wouldn’t cause that big an impact, but it does. He was like a pebble thrown into the pond, causing ripples in the patterns of our lives. Some of the ripples made my life far easier. He is a very easy going child and was willing to play with anyone who was around. So while Link was in Summer school, Nephew was marvelous at keeping Gleek and Patch entertained. Other ripples made my life more difficult. Nephew slept on an air mattress on the floor of the boy’s room. I did not want the mattress popped, so I had to deflate it each morning, then re-inflate it at bedtime. I also had to negotiate who could sleep on the the queen sized mattress with Nephew, because sleeping on an air mattress is way cooler than sleeping in a bed. Both Link and Patch took turns sharing with Nephew. Gleek did not because Nephew was uncomfortable sharing the mattress with a girl. But she did get to sleep on the floor in the same room for a couple of sleepover nights.

Now Nephew is gone and those new ripples have dispersed leaving calm. The normal patterns of interactions have returned. I thought about it on the long drive to return Nephew to his parents. I played “what if” pondering how one would go about adding children to an established familial pattern. What if Nephew and his siblings somehow became my responsibility permanently. I would take them all if it were necessary, even though it would give me a household with nine children in it. We’d need a bigger house. That would be a totally different experience than a visit for a week. Instead of enduring a short-term disturbance I would instead be working to create entirely new permanent patterns. I would have to find ways to parent children who have never had me in that role before. I thought about Nephew and all the little things that I could let slide because I’m not his mother. As his aunt I don’t have to care if he leaves his clothes on the floor or if he doesn’t ever want to read. If I were his parent those would be battlegrounds I would have to face.

I know people who have to face this sort of challenge every day. They have agreed to love and parent children who are not biologically theirs. My brother and his wife are foster parents. Some friends of ours have adopted a dozen children of various ages and national origin. Other friends have married a spouse who already had kids. This last category is possibly the toughest because the patterns must allow for the biological parent to still be involved and cause ripples. I admire all these people. They undertake daily a task I have never had to do. The day may come when I take on the task of parenting a child who is not biologically mine, but until that day I’ll just watch these people with awe.

My internet is broken.

I have been a regular reader for the blog www.wouldashoulda.com for over two years now. About four days ago it stopped loading claiming “The server at wouldashoulda is taking too long to respond.” I tried repeatedly over the next couple of days and found several other sites that seemed gone as well. But then I discovered that other people are able to see them just fine. Nothing is broken on my end. Nothing is broken on wouldashoulda. Somewhere in the middle is a blockage. I’ve no idea why or how to fix it. My best hope is to call my ISP on Monday, but I don’t hold out much hope of them being particularly helpful.

Sigh. I miss my blog reading.

All this past year I drove in a carpool to take Patch and three of his friends to preschool. It was nice having to only make the trip once per week. It was less nice that one of the kids regularly informed me that I should clean out my van. I felt mad every single time. I found myself wanting to argue, to explain, to scold. I did not because the child is five. Tact is not something kids understand at that age. I’ve thought about this since the event and I realized something. I was reacting defensively. I wanted to either explain why my car was such a mess or explain why he should not make comments like that. But the big realization was why I was reacting defensively. I reacted defensively because a part of me believed that he was right, that I should take more time to clean out the van. If I had not agreed with him, then his comments would not have bothered me at all. I started observing other instances of defensiveness and this seemed to hold true in all of them. People get defensive when part of them agrees with the person they are defending against.

This is a very useful insight into defensiveness. People who feel defensive will either entrench to defend or go on the attack to distract. A frontal assault may force a concession, but the price is often too high. If I instead meet defensiveness with a retreat on my part that includes sympathy, the defenses may be abandoned and what was potentially a war becomes a conversation. It is even more useful for me looking inward. When I feel defensive, I can now look inside to figure out what part of what they said I agree with. I can then figure out where I’m not living up to my own standards and decide whether to address the issue or let it go.

In the case of the dirty van, I chose to let it go. The inside of my van is a big mess because I am choosing to spend my energy on other things. If it bothers me what other people think about the inside of my vehicle, then I need to move cleaning up on the priority list so that it gets done. Either way there is no need to be angry at a little boy who was merely making an observation with no intention to offend.

My name is on the cover of a book. It is right there under “written by.” The book is real. It arrived today via Fed Ex. In fact 10 identical books arrived. They are my advance copies of Hold on to Your Horses. The first one out of the package was given to Gleek. She is the reason that the book exists at all. The next two copies were shipped off to Angela Call whose name can be found under “Illustrated by.” This leaves seven copies remaining. These are my promotional copies. Each of these will go to carefully selected homes in the hopes that they will find many friends who will come and pre-order one of the other 2000 copies of the book which will arrive in my driveway Mid-July.

The seven books in a row currently sit in my office. I can see all the spines lined up with the title and my name and Angela’s name reiterated all down the row. All the stress and tears and despair have come to this. I wrote a story and now it is a book.

I’m scared.

It is strange to feel scared at this point. The work is all done. The book is beautiful. All the stress we put into making sure the colors would print correctly, worked. The colors are beautiful. The book is beautiful. …but I can’t tell if I think it is beautiful because it is mine or if there is true goodness and beauty in it. I don’t know if more than 700 people will be willing to put down money to buy my book.

I imagine my feelings today are similar to those of a skydiver who has already jumped out of the plane, but has yet to pull on the parachute cord. In theory when I open ordering on the book, people will show up with money in hand, but I can’t know for sure until I pull the cord. I have just a few more pieces to put into place, then the ordering can begin. Soon…

Still working on the schedule. Not going as crazy as I was on Monday, but I still haven’t figured out how to fit everything in. Blogging has apparently not fit in well during the last couple of days.

Also this week has been very shiny with merchandise prototypes. I love it when new things get brought to my door. Tomorrow I’m expecting even more. Whee.

I know the day has gone awry when I find myself standing in the food storage closet and crying because I am out of brown sugar. The lack of brown sugar was obvious evidence that I’ve not been keeping track of the food stores that we have in stock. This is itself evidence that I am a failure and that everything is going to fall apart. Worst of all the lack of brown sugar means that I can not make the cookies that I wanted to feed the kids for snack (And to eat for my own comfort) so now I have to think up something else to feed them, but I know that they won’t like any of the other options that I might suggest. And whatever I decide, I will have to go for yet another round of “May-I-have-chocolate-chips no-you-may-not” with Patch. At least with the cookies I could deny the chocolate chips on the basis that they were needed for the cookies.

The morning went great. I loved the morning. Then it was 1 pm and I had not even started the necessary business tasks for the day.

I expect too much of me. It is hard not to when I know what I am capable of accomplishing. So I build my schedules around my capabilities on a good day. But not all days are good. I can not always be working at full capacity. No one can. But I’m afraid to budge an inch on this schedule I’ve created. I’m afraid that if I start being flexible, then it will all get bent out of shape and not be a schedule at all. And if the schedule falls apart I won’t be able to get everything done that needs doing. …only I’m already not getting everything done which implies that this schedule I’ve constructed may already be dysfunctional. …but it has only been two days, maybe I haven’t got the hang of it yet.

I just wish my shoulders would unknot. My stress makes no logical sense. There is no catastrophe. No emergency. All is well.

Howard asked me if I’d missed my thyroid medication. I assured him I had not, but then I counted. 10 days ago was Kiki’s party. I may have missed a dose back then. Maybe that would explain this emotional tailspin. The tailspin hit pretty suddenly around noon. That is consistent with a single missed dose. If I pull back out around noon tomorrow, that would fit the pattern perfectly. I think I’ve stopped hating being chemically dependent and moved on to loving my medicine because it keeps me stable.

Right now I feel like the wreckage of a boat that has washed up on a peaceful beach after a storm. The kids are all in bed. I hope the only storms tomorrow are the ones that drop rain from the sky.

The first day of a new schedule is never easy. I’ve reminded myself of this several times today. Add to that the fact that it can hardly be called a normal schedule at all when I’ve acquired Nephew for a week and Link’s Bestfriend for the night. I’m glad that Link gets to spend time with these two boys. It is good for them all. I particularly enjoyed the hour they spent out in the backyard pelting each other with floral snowballs plucked from our neighbor’s giant snowball bush that grows over the fence. No really. There’s a plant that grows clumps of white flowers that look like snowballs. Every year my kids will strip off all the snowballs in reach and throw the hundreds of flowers at each other. It is a spring ritual. Today was the day for it.

The kids had a great day all day long. I was the only one who felt a little harried and stressed. I’m accustomed to having long stretches of quiet house in which to get my work done. Instead I had to hurriedly do work in all the little spaces between the other activities. I did not get all the work done, but by afternoon I was burned out. The shouting laughter of boys playing video games chased me out of the house and I went out into the yard.

“Yard” is such an ugly word. I wish American English used the word “Garden” the way the British English does. In America “garden” implies a small space in which you are actively growing plants, usually food plants; “Yard” is the entire outdoor space that belongs to the house. But I’ve spent so much time cultivating the entire space surrounding my house that it all feels like garden to me. Besides, “yard” feels impersonal while “garden” implies loving care.

Out in the garden I meandered and let the penned-in feeling drop away. I toured all the various beds. Some have seeds. Some have flowers. Some have plants. Most have weeds. I surveyed all the work to be done and then I sat on the hill. You know you’re gardener when you stare at a long list of garden chores and are glad that you won’t run out of things to do. Sometimes looking is all that I do, but usually some bit of work peaks my interest. Then I get out my gloves and set to work. Today I cleared out the weed patch under the spruce tree. As I pulled weeds, Gleek and Patch came over. They pulled a few weeds each. Then the became to preoccupied with jumping across some stepping stones to climb on the back of our garden gargoyle, Winston. Winston is knee-high, made of fiberglass, and has lived in our garden ever since Howard shipped him home from a trip to Chicago. We’ve never regretted the purchase. Winston is marvelous. Today Winston had teleportation powers. Gleek and Patch both climbed onto his back and were whisked off to lands that I could not see. Gleeks narration of the event was strongly reminiscent of the Magic Tree House books. She’s currently reading #2 and I expect she’ll make her way through all of them before the summer is over. By the time I was done weeding, their adventure was over as well and we all went back into the house.

All the excitement and running around must have tired them out. They all read quietly for awhile and now the lights are out. My house is quiet again. Tomorrow I get to do the new schedule again, but it will go better because the second time usually does.