Author name: Sandra Tayler

Muddle-through day

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At the moment I am hiding in my office. In a minute I’ll go upstairs, round up five children (three of mine, two borrowed) and take them for a promised jaunt to the pool. Swimming is not what I want today. I want to sit someplace quiet to watch a movie until bedtime. Oh well.

Some days are just muzzy, muddle-through kind of days. I’m pretty sure I got stuff done. I think some of it was important. Hopefully I can acquire a good night’s sleep tonight and have a more focused tomorrow.

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Thoughts of Chrissy and Ice Cream Sandwiches

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My high school friend Chrissy had orange hair. I suppose some people could have called it “red” or “strawberry blonde”, but what it really was, was orange. I thought it was gorgeous and wished my hair were that exact color. It was like sunlight distilled into long, sleek strands. I lost touch with Chrissy a few years after we graduated. That happened a lot in the days before facebook and email. But I still have ice cream dishes she gave me for my wedding and the card she sent me when Kiki was born.

I’m thinking about Chrissy today because of the ice cream sandwiches. I had a hankering for some, and Howard bought them at the store. In a quiet moment, I curled up on a couch away from the kids and peeled the wrapper off the chocolate and vanilla goodness. The problem with ice cream sandwiches is that one is never enough, but usually they are a rationed commodity. Whenever they appear at family events or group picnics there is only one per person, to make sure everyone has one.

Chrissy and I lamented this rationing, and so one afternoon we hopped on our bikes and pedaled down to the little market on the corner. With our own money, we each bought a box of six ice cream sandwiches. If we took them home, sharing with siblings would be required. So we tipped our bikes over in the grass and lay in the sunshine while we proceeded to eat our way through both boxes. We laughed as we ate, knowing it was a bit silly to be triumphant over such a small thing, but somehow it represented freedom. We’d made the plan, earned the money, and made happen a goal that mattered to no one but us. When the treats were gone, we biked back to a world of homework and rationed ice cream. We intended to repeat the adventure, but now I can’t remember if we ever did.

These days I have enough money that I could fill my freezer with ice cream sandwiches. I could create a world for my children where ice cream is not rationed. They would love it, but it would not be good for them. Children who have everything they want are robbed of the opportunity to triumph. If I’d had all the ice cream sandwiches I wanted, I would not have the bright memory of an afternoon with my friend, nor that first taste of adult freedom.

For today, I’m going to go have another ice cream sandwich and send happy thoughts to Chrissy, wherever she may be.

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Influx

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This is a week of things coming into my house. Later today I will be acquiring Niece1 and Niece2 who will both be staying until Thursday. Niece1 is the same age as Patch and will blend right in with my kids. Niece2 will be reminding me what it is like to be a toddler-mommy. I’m looking forward to it, even though I know it is going to complicate many other things.

From a different source we will be acquiring a parakeet and two rats. The rats will not actually be staying in my house, but my kids will be making frequent trips to the neighbor’s house to visit and care for them. Hopefully the parakeet will be happy, with our crowd.

Tomorrow will bring a big truck with four pallets of books. These will fill our garage for the next couple of weeks.

I have also acquired several stacks of shipping supplies and mailing tubs. To counter-act the influx of chaos, I cleaned my office. Unfortunately the process reminded me that I do not have enough shelves for my books, and that I’d really like to re-decorate the entire room. I have neither time nor money for these projects. I shall have to be content with being able to find the carpet.

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Ward Activities Chairperson

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The member of the bishopric (congregational leaders) came to my house wearing a suit. I’d already changed out of my church clothes for the day, but I welcomed him into our front room, which I’d hurried to pick up in the five minutes since he’d called to ask if he could stop by. Even as I’d scurried to pick up, part of my brain had cried “Incoming!” Every Mormon knows that when a member of the bishopric stops by in this way, they are doing so to issue a calling. In Mormon vernacular a “calling” is an assignment or job performed for the church. Most members will have at least one such assignment at all times. I enjoy the assignments I am given. They always enrich my life, even if they also make it more complicated. So I already knew I intended to agree, but I had no idea what I would be agreeing to do. Some assignments are much larger than others.

Fortunately the small-talk went quickly. “We want you to be the Ward Activities Chairperson.” He said seriously.
I smiled and said “Okay.”

The Ward Activities Chairperson is responsible for all the social activities which involve the entire congregation. It means being in charge of the Halloween carnival, the Christmas party, the annual swim party, and any other holiday or potluck which includes everyone. I will have a committee to help, but I am the one who is responsible to pull things through and make sure the events work. Before the bishopric member even left, my brain was spinning plans about how to do this new job. It was delighted to have an exciting new organizational challenge. I planned and scribbled notes for about thirty minutes.

Then I sat down and cried for a little bit. I have all the tools and skills necessary to do this calling well. I like organizing. I’m not afraid to talk to people and ask them to undertake assignments. I know how to network and find people with the necessary skills. I’ve run large events before. But I was hoping to reduce the number of large events I am responsible for, to simplify my life.

The cry did not last long. I moved quickly into the learning phase, discovering the requirements and boundaries of the job. Today I began to build the network I’m going to need, because the social activities are not just parties, they have a larger purpose. They must increase connections and build community within the congregation. It is my job to provide the medium through which connections are made and friendships formed. Sometimes this means I will need to pull people out of their comfort zones and ask them to work together. Other times I need to make events as comfortable as possible so that people are not afraid to attend. It is an interesting, exciting, and daunting challenge.

My governing principle needs to be matching the right person to the right assignment. What is onerous to one person will be fun to another. If I can spread the assignments out in manageable chunks and give people jobs they enjoy, then the events will come together. Even better, more people will attend because they are emotionally invested in the event. At least that is the theory. I’ve got three weeks until the Ward Swim Party. During those same three weeks I’ll be preparing for book shipping, a family reunion, a book shipping event, and a writer’s retreat. I’ll apply my theories to later events, for this one I’ll just scramble to make it work.

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The difference between impossible and possible

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Last Tuesday my list of chores for the next 30 days looked impossible. One week in particular is over-full with major events. I’ll have a three day family reunion in another state shoehorned in between shipping prep and the shipping day. This will be followed by a week of swimming lessons, a writer’s retreat, and an important-to-the-kids church party. Surrounding that crazy week, I have to ship loads of merchandise to GenCon, make sure I have all the paperwork done for selling in another state, and possibly also do the same sorts of chores for selling in another country. I will have to learn things just in time to get them done. I sat at my kitchen table and wanted to cry about the impossible-ness of it all. Increasing my sadness was the knowledge that I’m actually excited by all the things I have to do. They’re all interesting challenges, but I don’t feel like I can do them justice because they’re all piled on top of each other. It feels like I just need to get them done rather that taking time to get them right.

That thought pattern came back to bite me on Thursday night. A project I hurried to get done was returned for corrections. More than that, it required expansion. My impossible list got a little more impossible. And I despaired. But I was on vacation and so I deliberately let it go. I knew I had to give the family time my full attention, because if I get that wrong I don’t get a do over.

This morning I was back at work, and what seemed impossible last week, now feels like something I can manage. Pieces came together, I cleared out my email box, tasks got done. I love it when I get things done and I know that they won’t come back to me. I still have a million things to do. But I’ll just keep going and somehow I think I’ll get it all done.

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The return from family vacation

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Six months ago I wrote “family vacation” on the calendar in black ink. I knew that this was the only way it would happen. To reinforce the edict, I paid the money for the hotel in advance. Thus my past self forced my current self to take three days out of a busy week and trek to the wilderness for family time. When I scheduled the vacation it was all by itself in the middle of an empty month. It was my intention to keep that month empty. But deadlines slid around, new activities and projects shoehorned their way into our lives. And the calendar around the vacation filled to overflowing. But the vacation was written in ink. It was our stake in the ground that some times business things had to bend around family things. Howard and I both knew that we were not allowed to move it.

Last week I fretted at Howard. I worried that we would go on the vacation, but that he would spend the whole time stressed and cranky. I worried that because of the vacation we would get even further behind on work, but that the existence of the work would prevent us from enjoying the vacation. I worried that we would come out of the three days having accomplished none of the things I hoped for.

The worries were not groundless. It took lots of conscious effort from all six of us. In the end, Howard had an easier time letting go of stress than I did. I left it all behind just fine for the travel, but when I checked my email that night it lay in wait for me. It was a fretful night for me. But the next day there were other things to do. We were all so far outside our habit patterns that it forced us to interact in new ways. I played games with the kids. We all went swimming. Howard got out his minis and paints. We all watched for wildlife and scenery. We figured out how to get six people to fall asleep in the same room without driving each other crazy. All the business and home things drifted far away and none of us thought of them.

On the last night, just as we were falling asleep, Howard said “This was good. I’m glad we came.” I held my breath for a moment, waiting for the qualifier that never came. He was just glad for the trip. I smiled in the dark.

On way home we drove through Provo Canyon. The scenery in Provo Canyon is every bit as astounding as the scenery we drove five hours to go see and it has the advantage of being a mere 20 minutes from our house. It is true that the canyon lacks herds of elk and buffalo, but you can see deer and big horn sheep if you know where to look. Howard and I looked at the canyon walls impressively high above us, and felt no regret. The trip was never about going to see things, it was about getting away from our regular things and spending time together. This we did. It was an unqualifiedly marvelous vacation.

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Choosing my vacation

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On the day following a five hour drive through heavy rain and gusting wind, we loaded everyone back into the car to spend five hours driving around staring out the window at scrubby brush and trying to spot wildlife. There were headaches, and squabbles, and the weather was too cold for us to go hiking. We even got to watch the rare June snow flurries before they vanished on the shoulders of the light jackets we had brought just in case. We shivered as we ran from the warm car to the warm visitor center. All of this on top of the fact few of us slept well during the first night at the hotel, and I was ambushed by work stress via email. The elements were present for misery, and yet misery itself never showed up.

Instead there was a bison who chose to cross the road in front of us when I stopped the car for him. He looked at us and started walking directly toward our van. Just before he got to us, he veered and galloped right past our car, almost near enough to touch had anyone dared to roll down a window. The visitor center had video screens in the floor so the kids could imagine themselves plunging through the tumult of spring run-off, or jumping from mountain peak to mountain peak. Once Gleek drew my attention by shouting “I’m riding a moose!” as she crouched atop the video image of one. There was a chuckwagon breakfast which captured all the adventure of food while camping, but without all the work. We did see moose and elk from afar, but the bison was our only close encounter. Then we discovered that the hotel pool is delightfully deserted in the middle of the day.

So all the elements are here for either a marvelous vacation or a miserable one. I just have to pick which pieces will define the event.

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Memories on the walls

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I was sitting here in my office, staring at the things around me because my brain felt too tired to work, and I noticed lots of red and green marks on the wall. There is also a large purplish blue smudge. I was staring at this odd array and wondering how it had passed my notice. The wall is white and the marks are very obvious. As I stared, I noticed that the marks define a somewhat rectangular shape of cleanliness. Memory dawned. A whiteboard used to hang on that wall back in the days when it was still Howard’s office. Pre-school Kiki and Toddler Link would come and draw on the board, but they often missed. One particularly elaborate spiral shows exactly how enthusiastic they were about missing. We tried to wash off the marks, but the dry erase marker defied our clean up attempts.

Since those days we’ve re-arranged the office multiple times. The dry erase board was removed and is still kicking around the house. But somehow I stopped even seeing the marks on the wall. They were so familiar that my brain just dismissed them. My home is filled with marks such as these. There is the gouge upstairs where a full length mirror once fell. There are the divots created by the child gates which used to barricade the stairs. The ceilings in several bedrooms are speckled with yellowed glow in the dark stars, once invisible against white paint, now peeling and falling off. Sometimes these damages make me feel quite bleak, because they show so clearly the fact that we need to spend more time fixing up the house. However, on the day when I repaint the walls I hope I spend just a moment contemplating the stories behind the marks before I obscure them.

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Teaching the Children

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One of the heaviest responsibilities for me as a parent is to make sure that my children are firmly grounded in the religious beliefs that I hold dear. This is primarily important because of what I believe about this life and life hereafter, but it is also important because faith has been an essential tool for me in handling life. When I am faced with things that are difficult or frightening, I turn to prayer, church, scriptures, and personal revelation. These are the means by which I have survived and will continue to survive. I desperately want my kids to have those tools at their disposal. So I take my kids to church. We pray in our home. Family scripture study is the beginning of the day. (At least in theory, scripture study got lost somewhere in the end-of-school craziness and we’ve yet to put it back.) Most of all, I tell my kids how I feel about these things and they have helped me. But all the teaching, shaping, modeling does not guarantee that my children will adopt these tools for themselves. I can demonstrate the usefulness of a fork all day, but until the child picks it up and practices using it, the fork is only a pointy piece of metal. (or a drumstick, or something to fling off the edge of the high chair.)

Many a parenting book or magazine article will tout the importance of “teachable moments.” These are the times when a child is actively curious about a particular topic. It usually begins with a question and sometimes sparks a discussion which expands to fill whatever time is available. Unfortunately these teachable moments arrive on the child’s schedule, not the parent’s. All too often I stay up late at night talking things over with a child because I found a moment where the words I say will really be absorbed. This is particularly true in relation to spiritual and religious topics. My kids know the right answers. They’ve been going to church their whole lives, it would be nigh impossible for them not to know. But there is a difference between answering “prayer” to a Sunday School question and getting onto your knees in real need, searching for answers to your troubles. It is the difference between seeing forks everywhere and actually using one. (The use of a fork is actually a skill, ask anyone who grew up using chopsticks.)

To my joy, I am not alone in this effort to teach my children about these spiritual tools. Howard and I believe the same things and so we work together rather than at cross purposes. That helps. It also helps that all of our extended family are immersed in the same beliefs. Everywhere my kids go, they see loved ones using these same tools. Most importantly the tools actually work. When my children pick them up and try them, then the same God who helps me, helps them in the same way. That knowledge alone lightens the burden of all the rest. I am not alone in this effort. They are His children too.

It is hard to describe the joy I feel when I see my children reaching for their own spiritual connections rather than relying upon me for answers. I love it when they have their own experiences with prayer or scriptures and then choose to share their feelings with me. At such moments I really feel how my children are spiritual beings in their own right and they’ve only been loaned to me for a time. I have a responsibility to teach them, but I do not own them. I’ve had several such experiences in the last few months and I do not have words to describe how grateful I am to be a part of the growth of these amazing people who happen to be my children.

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