Sandra Tayler

Afternoon Parenting Battles

By / March 19, 2013

First there was the battle of the Mythology assignment. Link gave me many reasons for why he didn’t need to do it: talking about Greek gods made him uncomfortable, the deadline was today, he’d already done enough work to rescue his grade from an F. I listened to his reasons and recognized them as “Do Not Want,” so we focused on the other assignment first. Also due today. I sat next to him as he wrote two paragraphs about faith in humanity and the holocaust while the history teacher sat at his desk, patiently staying late so Link could turn in the assignments before the deadline. We tackled the Mythology assignment too, and completed it.

Link was not done with homework. He still had some computer homework and an essay, both of which must be completed before the end of the term on Friday. Once home, we had a lively discussion about how and when we would tackle these projects. I favored “let’s just get it done” and Link favored “I’ll do it tomorrow.” We found a compromise. I call victory because, while the negotiations were tiring, they never became hostile. Link never tried to make me into the bad guy and he could see that I was applying pressure to help him. Conflict without acrimony, definitely a win.

Link was not the only one with homework, Patch had a small pile of his own. The moment I mentioned it he began bouncing around the room like a hyper squirrel. Again and again I brought him back to the task at hand, refusing to let him get distracted by the many things which were suddenly fascinating. Eventually I held him still, stared into his eyes, and pointed out what he was doing. There followed falling on the floor and moaning because all of the work was impossible. It wasn’t. He knew it wasn’t. I pointed out that he knew it wasn’t. Then I gave him a little mini-lecture on the value of being able to tell when something feels impossible, but is actually easy to accomplish. He didn’t get it. Instead of facing his stresses he keeps using humor to deflect them. Humor is a great coping strategy, but he needs to learn how to wield it in a way that does not frustrate people trying to help him. Thirty minutes later the ten minute long project was done.

Then it was time to detach Gleek from the computer to begin bedtime. Any time I have to redirect her I get “one sec” or “I need to do one more thing.” Left unchecked, Gleek will one more thing herself through two hours of continued play. I don’t want an angry argument. I would really love for us to move smoothly through the familiar steps of bedtime. But once I got her off the computer, she had snack and began reading a book. Then comes the struggle of getting her to put down the book to brush teeth and go to bed.

None of the afternoon battles were big arguments. I stayed calm and treated each one as a teaching moment. They were chances for my kids to learn self-management and for me to practice patience. I’m grateful I had the emotional reserves to stay in the teaching zone. Though I think I’ve earned my fatigue this evening.

There are signs that the lessons are beginning to stick. After I came upstairs from wrangling Gleek off the computer, Patch said “Is parenting hard sometimes?” I answered that yes it was. Patch nodded.

End of term is Friday. Patch has caught up on his overdue work and now we only have regular work to do. Gleek is having a light homework week because of field trips. We’re finding our way through.

Some Days I Get to be Professional

By / March 19, 2013

This morning I put on my professional person hat for the first time in about two weeks. I’ve been swimming in parenting during that time, but things have finally stabilized. (I hope.) The next round of focused parenting begins with a doctor’s appointment on Friday, so I have a window of opportunity to get some work done. I began with layout for The Body Politic. The cover is mostly done and I’m beginning to tweak the pages.

I also looked at my calendar and realized that Writing for Charity is coming up in just over a month. This is a great event where you can pay to attend classes and get manuscript critiques. All of the proceeds from the event go to charity. I will be helping teach two classes in the morning, but my attendance in the afternoon will be spotty due to some family obligations. (Of course there are conflicts. This is the year when every single event has a conflict and forces me to choose.)

Just two weeks past that is The LDS Storymakers conference. Word has it that the conference is almost sold out. I will be present all day both days of the conference.

My professional brain has re-emerged. I have hopes that my writer brain will soon come out of hiding as well. At some point I need to get back to writing fiction.

Stepping Up My Parenting Game

By / March 18, 2013

Life comes in cycles of wax and wane, ebb and flow. I take the same approach to parenting. Sometimes I’m sticking close to my kids, helping them with homework, actively teaching, enforcing chores, etc. Other times I’m much more hands-off, allowing them to struggle and fail a little so that they can grow by learning independence. I thought I was in a median stage of the cycle where I was somewhat involved but also allowing space for growth. Then, in the space of four weeks, three of my children demonstrated clearly that they need me to hang close for awhile. They need me to be actively monitoring homework, affirming their worth, helping them be responsible. So I had to shift gears and rearrange my task load.

Link was first in this cascade. He needed to have several important conversations with me and with Howard. Then he needed me to require him to do some English assignments that he was trying to ignore out of existence. Ignoring work is not good for him, he knows he should not do it. He feels bad about doing it because he can see failure in it. Yet sometimes he doesn’t see how to just sit down and do the work. I have to corner him, require him to face the work, and then suddenly it gets done. This time around part of the process has been talking to Link about the process. I’m showing him the tools I am using because someday I’ll turn these tools over to him. We’re pretty close really. He is getting more mature every day. But he’s not there yet. The transition to high school will open up a new social world for him and I know there are even more conversations coming. Right now for Link I’m tracking his school work through this last week of the term to make sure he gets things turned in. Then I can back off on homework for awhile. I’ll need to stay on alert for when Link needs to talk.

The second child to need help was Gleek. Her needs manifested about two and half weeks ago. It is going to take a while to completely sort because consultations with behavioral professionals are necessary to help me sort out her anxiety. We’ve assembled a stop-gap system to try to keep things at manageable levels for Gleek and her teacher. I’m paying close attention to make sure she eats healthy meals. I’m tracking to make sure she gets daily exercise. I’m also tracking all of her homework to make sure that she is ahead of schedule rather than feeling like she has to scramble to catch up. All of these things help her to be reassured and reduce her ambient levels of anxiety. She still spikes into upsets, but not as often and not as far. All of this is still settling and has not yet become routine. I’m still actively observing to figure out what needs changed, how things could be changed, if there are better options. I’m also noting how changes affect the shape of her struggles, because that information will be useful when we have appointments with the doctors. Or maybe it won’t. Maybe I’m just running around so that I can feel like I have some measure of control. I don’t think so. I think my steps are logical. Either way, I’m watching, thinking, observing, and hovering closer than I have for the past few months.

Last week Patch came to my attention. Sorting his emotions about life changes is a beginning, but I can see that there is more to do. He needs me to teach him how to identify his emotions and acknowledge the not-happy ones. He needs to feel in control of his life or to accept that some things are out of our control and we can be happy anyway. He needs me to track his homework and help him stay ahead of it because being unprepared is a huge emotional blow to him. So his teacher and I are writing notes in his planner. I’m sitting with him to enforce homework. And his bedtime has become a sacrosanct time except for the direst emergencies. He needs that quiet snuggly time to talk about the things in his head.

Through all of this both Gleek and Patch’s teachers keep saying things like “This is a pretty intense program.” It is all I can do not to laugh. The quantity of work to track for these two kids is minimal. Compared to the quantity of things I track daily across four kids and a business, it is nothing. However I can see how it would feel a bit much for Gleek and Patch when they’ve got other emotional things going on. So I’ll track for them, probably to the end of this school year. Of course by “track for them” I mean that I’ll require them to sit down with me and their homework planners every day. I’m using this time to actively teach them how to track work, and mostly that amounts to making sure everything gets written down. Because brains can’t hold everything.

I suppose I should count my blessings that Kiki doesn’t have any particular emotional or educational needs right now. She is sailing through very responsibly toward the end of her senior year. However I fully expect there to be emotional waves in the weeks to come, because the end of high school is a big life shift.

I’m hoping that this is the week when I can settle in and let the parenting shifts start to feel routine. That would be nice.

Rest and Replanning

By / March 17, 2013 / 1 Comment

Howard sent me home from church early. “Go sleep,” he said over my protests of a post-church meeting. He informed the other committee members that I would not be there and that I would be unavailable for any committee work until May. I came home and slept as ordered. Ninety minutes later Howard woke me up to eat food, after which I slept for another three hours. This is a measure for how sleep deprived and worn out I’ve gotten over the past couple of weeks. I was on duty every minute of every waking hour either managing something, planning to manage something, or preparing so that managing would be easier the next time around. In order to help Gleek and Patch I’ve had to seriously step up my parenting game. Other things have to go. I can’t do it all. I will break.

Excusing me from committee work is part of that effort. Howard did it for one committee. I emailed for the other. I’m pulling in on the internet as well, reading less, visiting fewer places, conserving my energy for things that matter. All of this reconsidering led me to rearrange my plans for
Strength of Wild Horses. I’ll still be running a Kickstarter for that project, but Angela and I will do the art creation and book layout first. When we’re all ready to go, then we’ll run a Kickstarter to fund the printing costs. Once I made the decision it seemed obvious to me that this is a much lower stress way to arrange the project. I wish I’d seen it two months ago.

Having removed some things from my schedule, I also have to add something: exercise. It got lost somewhere and I need to put it back.

The last two weeks required lots of emotional energy. I’m hoping this week can be more calm.

Transitions and Conversations

By / March 15, 2013 / 1 Comment

Next fall three of my four kids are transitioning into new schools. I knew that would require extra focus and emotional energy. I just wasn’t expecting it to begin hitting in March, but it does. Of course it does, because March is when the kids pick their classes, choosing the shape of the school year to come. It is when we have orientation and transition assemblies. It is when everyone looks ahead and begins to understand exactly how different next year is going to be. Apparently March is also when the youngest sibling, the one who is not transitioning, the one who gets left behind, also realizes that life will be changing. The three in transition have things to look forward to as well as things to fear. The youngest just knows that life will march forward without regard to his personal readiness for the changes.

I sat with Kiki while she cried about leaving. I hugged her and told her how I cried for two days last fall because it felt like the beginning of the end. Then I told her about all the fun things I’m looking forward to for her and with her.

I sit with Link in a dozen quiet conversations where we talk about how things are different in high school, about classes yet to come, and about why boys tease the girls they like. Link still doesn’t get that last one. “Mom, if you like a girl, you be nice to her and give her flowers. Teasing her isn’t nice.” Link sometimes seems younger than his peers, but inside he is so much older.

I hold Gleek tight when she is scared, when the world gets to be too much. Then, when the fears have passed, we talk about where they come from and how to manage them. I sat with her on the bench last Sunday, after everyone else had left the chapel. I told her that her fears are bigger than they should be, that her teacher and I are working together to try to help her, and that she’ll be going to some new doctors who may be able to help as well. She took it calmly, almost relieved.

I snuggle with Patch at his bedtime while he cried about Kiki leaving. He connected it with his friends who moved away and how–even though he still sees these friends–it is not the same as when they lived next door. I could not offer happy rewards that will come after his sister leaves. All I could do was say that he had every right to feel sad.

I sit in our front room with its new chairs, across from Howard. We talk about his recent visit to the doctor. We spectate his depression and the effects that medication has on those moods. We also talk about how the depressions affect him, affect our kids, affect me. The depression is not new in our lives, but these conversations are. We’re sorting, learning, and things are getting better. It feels strange to say that, because they felt good before, we were fine, but apparently better is possible and we would be foolish not to reach for it.

I open my laptop to read the internet. I stare at the blog post box, it is empty and my head is full. It seems that I ought to adjust that balance by putting some of my thoughts into words. There is no time. My days an evenings are thing after thing. They only pauses I get are spent on eating, sleeping, or finding an escape in fiction. Not my fiction, which would require emotion from me that I don’t have to spare, but the fiction of others.

I meet with teachers, meeting after meeting. We talk options and concerns. I listen, not just to the teacher, but also for sparks of inspiration, pieces of direction from which we can formulate a plan. They come. “Here is what we’ll do.” I say. Then I ask the teachers to check planners, to love and observe at school, to let me know what they see. I promise to talk at home, to track homework and make sure it is done, to insure good sleep, to provide a solid breakfast. They are small changes, things I should have been doing anyway that got lost in the shuffle. They may be enough. We hope they’ll be enough. So we agree to meet again in a week to compare notes again.

I sit on my porch in the sunshine, so very grateful for the sixty degree weather. It draws the children outside. They run and play, getting fresh air and exercise. I am glad, because I know that the lack of these things was part of the problem. I promise myself that next winter I’ll do a better job of making sure they get exercise. I hope I remember to follow through.

I sit at restaurants with a friend across the table; more than one restaurant, more than one friend. We talk and I spill all the worries in my heart. Because I know I am carrying too much. I have to carry it all and the only way I can hope to continue is to make sure that I do not ignore the signs of strain in my heart and body. I have friends to support me. I eat on schedule. I sleep when I can. And I know that transition does not last forever. Six weeks from now these transitions will have settled out. It may not even be six weeks. Next week might be more reasonable. I can continue until then.

Too Many Things

By / March 14, 2013 / 5 Comments

It was six pm when I declared that I was putting my foot down and today was not allowed to have any more things in it. There have been at least two things per hour since then. Last week I sat down with one of my good friends and she listened while I talked for hours about all of the stuff going on in my life. She agreed that I really do have a lot going on. I was happier after the conversation. It was good. The trouble is that I’ve had that same conversation with her before. The “stuff going on” was different, but not the overload. For all my efforts to turn things down, slow things down, and simplify my life, I utterly fail at it. My life is not simple. I don’t know if it ever will be, because I refuse to abandon the relationships that make it complicated.

This evening was rearranged twice, once by Gleek who needed an hour to talk through a conflict, the second time when Patch’s teacher called with some legitimate concerns about his well being. It turns out that Patch has been carrying a knot of grief about the ever-changing nature of life. He does not want Kiki to go away to college. I don’t have any comfort to give, because all the rewards from that decision go to Kiki, not to Patch. All I could do was help him draw the grief to the surface where he could see the shape of it. I don’t know if that will help. I hope it will. I’m sure we have more talking to do.

I’ve arrived here, with all the kids in bed, and I’m staring at my calendar trying to find things I can eliminate without causing a major problem. There isn’t much. The next two weeks will see the final rush of preparation for sending The Body Politic off to print. We’ll schedule Link’s classes for next year. We’ll attend a college orientation for Kiki. Gleek has a maturation assembly. Kiki has a fitting for a prom dress (we’re getting a fantastic dress on loan, but it has to be altered.) There are convention preparations to make for Phoenix ComicCon. Link has been waiting for me to find time to drive him over to Kids on the Move so he can inquire about Eagle Scout projects. And the Kickstarter will close. Then it will be our turn to fulfill all those promises we’ve made.

People keep asking if we’re excited about the over funding of Howard’s challenge coin Kickstarter. Yes we are. We are thrilled to get to make all those coins. We’re looking forward to holding them in our hands and the reactions of others when they also get to hold them. We’re also scared. Every dollar is a responsibility. I can feel the weight of it, not just that we need to fill the pledges, but there is also a moral weight to use any profit we make in a way that will benefit Schlock fans. This money and enthusiasm is a gift to us and we must be wise stewards over that gift.

And now it is late. The things of tomorrow will be better if I get more sleep before I arrive at them.

Happy Pieces from Today

By / March 11, 2013

Gleek was gifted three bags of clothing from a neighbor family. She spent more than an hour gleefully trying on clothes and twirling for me to show them off. New has gone into her drawer, old is in a pile ready to be passed along. She is one happy pre-teen.

The sun was shining and the air was mild, so I spent some time pulling dead grass from around the beginning sprouts of spring flowers. It will not be long before my garden is blooming.

We spent the evening with a gathering of Tayler cousins and it was a joy to watch kids from four different families attempting to dance in synch while playing Just Dance on the Wii.

I finished an editorial pass on Cobble Stones 2012. Up next: copy editing.

Things I Can’t Carry

By / March 10, 2013

Last week in a post I titled tilting I wrote of many beloved people for whom I pray, but I did not say exactly how I pray, and the method is important. The problems are bigger than I can fix and, for at least some of the people, the struggles are part of a necessary growth process. I can’t plead for that to be taken away, because they need to grow. I want them to grow, yet it is hard to only be able to stand by and watch. So my prayers this week were lists of things that I am putting into God’s hands. “Please carry this because I can’t.” is the gist of most of my prayers this week. And He has. He has carried the things, carried me, sent friends to serve me, sent me to serve friends, and generally provided a sense of calm progress through all of the things. I really do mean all, because there was an unending stream of thing after thing after thing, every single day, all week long. It was always some little hurdle at the end of the day that tipped me into tears. I would cry a bit and then He would show me what to do next and onward we would go.

The capstone of the week was Howard’s hard drive failing. This is the sort of event that usually would tip me into a swirl of fear that our livelihood would be destroyed by the failure of one piece of hardware, which is ridiculous. The emotional blow was real though. Howard lost some data which will be time consuming or difficult to replace. Instead of fear, I felt completely calm and strove to help Howard think through options and solutions. Computer recovery will spill into next week as will many of the other things. It will all be fine. The big things are all necessary and the rest is just the ordinary frustrations and tasks which accompany life. I move onward, carrying what I can and handing over what I can’t.

Finding Levers to Remove Anxiety and Depression

By / April 21, 2014 / 2 Comments

When I had my first panic attack it was an extraordinary event. I choose that word carefully, because anxiety manifesting as body panic was an event outside my usual experience, thus: extra ordinary. Unfortunately it was an experience that lacked any of the positive traits that the word extraordinary usually implies. There was nothing fun or exciting about it. All I knew for sure was that my body was behaving in an alarming fashion. My heart raced and beat irregularly; my breathing constricted; I was cold; and I could not stop my hands from shaking. I knew that something was wrong, so I saw a doctor who found nothing in the physical data to explain my experiences. He suggested stress. I remember him suggesting it, but the suggestion rolled right off of me only to be remembered months later after I had already figured out that anxiety was the problem. I found ways to de-stress my life and the anxiety went away. Mostly. Until it came back and I realized that I had to address it instead of trying to ignore it out of existence.

It is easier somehow with an extraordinary event, some thing we can point at and say “That is outside of usual bounds.” But most mental illness does not manifest suddenly and dramatically. It creeps in, becomes part of the fabric of life, erodes what we consider normal. I saw this with my anxiety. After entering with a bang, I adapted to it, got so used to it that I hardly even noticed it anymore. “I’m better now.” I’d say, while adjusting my schedule to give myself extra space. If pressed, I would acknowlede that if it ever again got as bad as that original onslaught, then I’d have to do something. I wonder now why I did not take that lull as a chance to dig in and find ways to heal. Truly heal. As I’m trying to do now in the wake of the second extraordinary onslaught. I’m a year and a half into that healing process and I’ve still got terrain to cover.

Howard’s periodic depression has been part of the patterns of our lives ever since I first met him. We built our lives around it, planned for it, explained it in a dozen different ways. “Everyone has good and bad days” I assured both him and myself. Eight months ago Howard began to call out his depression for what it is. He started recognizing it as a thing to be faced and changed. The more he called it out, the more we saw it, and we had to wonder had it gotten worse or were we just noticing instead of ignoring? We spoke with our regular physician and got on the waiting list for a psychiatrist. Howard has been amazing through this process. I’ve watched him spectate and analyze as he carefully deconstructs his old coping mechanisms. We’re beginning to build new ones and I am very happy to see him healthier in both mind and body. It takes amazing courage to look at a long standing pattern and choose to change it, particularly if there is no extraordinary event to spur the change.

I think Howard’s courage is what lets me be so calm as I look at my daughter Gleek and see the patterns around her. Just as our family structure has been built around his depression, it has also bent around Gleek’s intensity. Her ADHD was diagnosed years ago and treatment helped, but more is needed. Over the last two weeks her anxiety both at home and at school has pushed out of the ordinary. Her teacher has noticed, the school psychologist has noticed, and my own observations concur. She needs something different, more than I can fix by making sure she eats well and exercises; more than me helping track her homework, buying her books on stress management, more than yoga sessions, a sand garden, and long rambling talks at bedtime where I help her sort through her thoughts. As I type this list and it gets longer, I see how very hard we’ve been working to give her good coping strategies. And it has worked. Gleek is amazing. She is able to spectate and analyze with a maturity beyond her twelve years. Her innate strength lets her keep it together and choose the least destructive coping mechanisms when the anxiety strikes. After all of that, she still needs something more, something different. I’ve scheduled a full evaluation for her. We’ll be re-visiting the ADHD diagnosis and considering possible treatments and therapy for anxiety.

One of the hardest parts about mental illness is that it all takes place inside the brain. It is tempting to believe that we can just think our way out through willpower and motivation, but this is like trying to move a rock with your bare hands. You can do it if the rock is small, but sometimes it is a boulder sunk deep into the ground. Then willpower and motivation must be applied to a lever, for example: a treatment plan formed with the advice of psychological experts. The first step to finding the right lever to remove your rock is being willing to admit that this rock is in your way, that it needs to be moved, and that you probably can’t move it by yourself. The lever you need may be a lifestyle shift, medication, therapy, service to others, restructuring relationships, or seeking healing through faith. Finding which life changes you need–and applying those changes–requires great motivation and willpower. The answers are as individual as the people seeking them.

My family has some rocks we’ve been walking around for a long time and I’d love to take a jack hammer to them, but I’ll settle for some good levers and a solid team willing to help. Now is a good time to get started.

Friends When Needed

By / March 8, 2013

Two days ago I wrote about people you need in your parenting village, but it is not only parents who need villages. In the past week I have been greatly blessed–more than once–to be brought into contact with exactly the person I needed, even when I didn’t know I needed them.

I saw her from a distance in Sam’s Club. She was a long-time friend with whom I have very infrequent contact. I almost said nothing. She had not seen me. I wasn’t feeling particularly sociable, in fact I was feeling the opposite of social. My head was full of things and I wanted to think them all through. But her name flew out of my mouth and she turned to me with a smile. Within three sentences our conversation dove straight past chatting and directly into the heart of our lives. Her current struggles mirrored mine. We stood in the aisle at Sam’s Club for forty minutes and when we parted we both felt lighter.

The letter arrived in a pile of bills and I opened it last, because I like to savor the best bits. The friend who wrote it to me had no way to know exactly what my week had been like, but her words brought tears to my eyes and helped me on a hard day.

It should be easy to call my friend and say “I need to talk” but somehow that call is difficult to make when I know for certain that talking will lead to crying. Instead I emailed and scheduled a brunch get together, warning her that I intended to unload piles of thoughts. She cheerfully told me that it was a wonderful idea. So we met. And we talked. And we took turns crying. But there was less crying than I expected and more laughing. I returned home feeling lighter.

This time there were two letters nestled among the bills. The last responses from my Month of Letters missives. I’d abandoned sending daily mail sometime toward the end of February when everything got to be a bit too much. But these two friends wrote back to me. I opened the letters and read, happy to hear how they are doing, and to hear the answers to questions I asked in my own letters.

I stood at my kitchen sink, pondering my day, when I felt I should call one of my friends. Our friendship was built on in-person visits. We weren’t really phone call people, but I looked at the clock and knew I had half an hour before it was time to pick up kids from school. It was exactly enough time for this call. I knew it without knowing how I knew. So I called. And she needed to talk, even though before my call she hadn’t quite realized she needed to talk to me. Our conversation wound down after about twenty five minutes and we said goodbye. I hung up the phone feeling lighter because I’d gotten so many answers lately and it was nice to be the answer someone else needed.

Six conversations with six different women, all of whom made my life a better place this week. I am so very grateful for my village.