Sandra Tayler

Hold on to Your Horses is featured as a prize for a contest over at WantNot.net. I’m very grateful to Mir for being willing to feature my book, thus letting many people know about it.

Pre-orders for The Teraport Wars are now open. You can order the regular edition or the Customer Choice Numbered Sketch Edition. The books are the same, but the sketched editions also have a hand drawn and individually numbered picture drawn on the final page of the book. The sketch editions are only available until 8 am mountain time on Friday, so get one before they’re gone.

On Friday I threw some clothes into suitcases then we all piled into the car to spend two days in Pocatello Idaho. The event was a family reunion and it was based partly out of a hotel and partly out of my brother’s house. Family vacations always have stressful moments, but this was remarkably lacking in pre-trip I’ve-got-to-work-extra-hard-to-get-ready stress and post-trip I’ve-got-to-catch-up-on-work stress. We had a family trip that had almost no impact on the business side of our lives. This was astonishing to realize. I’ve been plotting and planning, trying to figure out how to carve out space for us to take a real family vacation. This trip showed me that instead of struggling to create space for a week long event, I should be planning smaller events more frequently. We should be “getting away” at least once per month to go to local things like the pool, or the zoo, or a museum, or a park. Then every three months or so we should be planning a weekend trip where we drive for a few hours, stay at a hotel (or campground), and do some fun stuff. In fact we’re probably better off with more frequent family time than with a big effort to make a big trip. I’m already making plans for what we’ll do.

Once per week, Family Home Evening where we spend about an hour playing a game, talking, etc.
Once per month, a family outing to something local like a swimming pool.
Every 3-6 months, a weekend get away to see something new.

On Friday:
haul children out of town to visit relatives. Lete them swim for two hours. Give them kittnes to play with, a huge dirt hill to clmimb, and a fire for marshmallow roasting. Keep them up at least 4 hours past their normal bedtime and make them sleep poorly in unfamiliar beds.

On Saturday:
Haul kids out of bed early to eat breakfast at the hotel. Drive to a huge public pool with water slides. Swim for two and half hours. Eat lunch. Return to hotel and swim in the hotel pool for three more hours. Do a craft. Eat pizza. Stay up late again. Have them sleep with too may people per bed. Make sure that mom sleeps with them, so that she is also poorly rested.

On Sunday:
reap an abundant crop of tantrums from everyone.

The good news is that we’re more likely to remember Friday and Saturday than Sunday.

We arrived at my brother’s house and the kids wen barreling from the car. Adults followed at a more sedate pace. After all of the “”hello, how are you” we noticed that there was a significant lack of running, shouting, thumping, and laughing. The kids had all vanished. We found them in the garage. They were cooing and cuddling the batch of five-day-old kittens that my brother’s cat provided. Six children cuddling six little bundles of fur. It was adorable.

“What are you doing?” asked Kiki as Howard rocked a mounted-in-tire-and-cement tether ball pole into a tipped position.
“Well,” Howard answered. “It used to be that if I could get it tipped, then I could let it fall back into place and it would catapult me into the air.” He let the pole fall. He bounced, but did not catapult. “But I”m heavier now.” He sighed. Howard’s eyes met mine. I started the sentence but he finished it with me. “I need a bigger one.” I love knowing him so well that I know what he’ll say.

My brother uses old tires in his garden. He didn’t plant a garden this year because he was too busy moving, so the tires were laying in a pile. I turned and noticed Patch standing still while Gleek carefully lifted a tire over his head. It joined the stack of two which had already been stacked around him. Patch, grinning from ear to ear, was up to his shoulders in stacked tires. I was just pondering whether the fun they were having was worth the inevitable filth that playing with tires would produce, when my sister in law spoke up.
“Oh don’t let them play with those. There are spiders in them.”
I hollered this warning over to Patch and Gleek. Patch’s smile dissolved, and he hugged his arms close to his body. Gleek, impressed with the urgent need of getting Patch out of the rind of spider-infested tires, began lifting the top one back off. This caused Patch to squeal in terror because a spider might land on his head. Patch’s panic level was rising by the second.
Fortunately all of this only took seconds and I was only a few steps away. I lifted Patch out of the ring of sideriffic terror and inspected him for crawly things. There weren’t any, but Patch needed extra hugs just in case. No one touched the tires after that.

Trying to keep track of kids at a public pool on Labor Day weekend is like an extended game of Where’s Waldo, but you can only see heads and Waldo is allowed to move around. Oh, and there is the chance that if you don’t find Waldo, he might drown. We had bunches of fun, but it was not relaxing fun for the parents. The hotel pool had no water slides, but my kids were the only ones in the water, so I could just sit off to the side and relax.

I was so busy fretting over the zombie that I completely neglected to mention that I’ll be out of town all weekend. There’s a family reunion to attend and probable limited internet access. The hotel has access, but solitary time with said access is going to be limited. I shall consider the fate of the zombie doll when I get home. In the meantime I shall enjoy the company of live people.

Howard frequently brings things home from conventions. Some things are free, others we pay for. Some things I’m excited about. Some I’m indifferent to. And then there was the sock doll zombie. Howard thought the zombie was very cool and clever. He bought it and brought it home to share.

I have a thing about zombies. They are just wrong. And creepy. And gooey. I think my reaction to all things zombie has to do with my inability to disconnect the subconscious sympathy I have for wounds. Zombies always have wounds and part of my brain can’t stop staring and thinking “Look at that! His arm is falling off. Ouch. Ow. Ow. Ow. Don’t let that happen to my arm. Better tuck the arms closer in. Ick! That one has a big hole in her head. Ouch. Ow. Ow. Ow. Better bring my head in closer too. Just to be sure.” And so part of my brain tries to get me to curl up into a ball to protect my various limbs. Another part of my brain is arguing that zombies are fiction and I shouldn’t take this so seriously. A completely non-verbal part of my brain processes the fact that I seem to have actual twinges of phantom pain radiating from the same places on my body as the wounds of the zombie. It is all very dissonant and fairly unpleasant, so I avoid all things zombie.

Then there was the sock doll. It was definitely a zombie complete with mottled green skin and wounds that made me twinge. Yet it was still somehow…cute. It was cute and zombie. My head fairly filled with dissonances while I looked at it. So I stopped looking at it. Which was difficult because Howard was showing it to Kiki. They both found it very funny watching me flinch if the doll got too close to me. I’m afraid I disappointed Howard because I could not like his cute little stuffed zombie. In fact I did not want it where I might accidentally see it. So Howard took his zombie to Dragon’s Keep to be properly appreciated. I thought that was the end of it.

Today I was vanless because of repairs, but I needed to have a vehicle. So I drove Howard down to Dragon’s Keep. Patch had to come along with us. As we were packing everything into the car, Howard tossed the Zombie doll from the trunk into the back seat. I paid no attention until half way to Dragon’s Keep when Howard and I became aware that Patch had developed a whole game of beating up this zombie doll. Then Patch tossed the doll over the back of the seat because he was done with it. Again I thought we were done, until Patch asked for a retrieval of the doll for the return trip. Then when we came home, Patch did not want to leave the zombie in the car. In fact the thought of abandoning the poor zombie in the car had Patch nigh on to tears.
“What are you going to do with the zombie?” I asked, picturing myself explaining to friends of parents why my son is playing with a zombie.
“I’ll just put him on Daddy’s bed.”

So the zombie came into the house and was deposited on “Daddy’s bed” which is also MY bed. I was very careful not to look at the doll. If I don’t look, the dissonances stay away. But there was a zombie lurking in my room. All afternoon.

Then at bedtime Kiki decided to read while laying on my bed. She found the zombie and gave it back to Patch. I think she didn’t want it looking at her while she read. Patch hugged the zombie close and took him to bed. But I think that Patch was not entirely comfortable with the zombie either, because after a few minutes he got back out of bed. He carried the little zombie over to me and shoved it right up against my face.
“What are you doing?” I tried not to yelp the words, not sure if I succeeded.
“He likes you.” Patch assured me. “He wants to be with you.” I looked at the boy, who was adorable. I tried not to look at the zombie, even though it was cute. Then I let the boy sit the zombie next to me before he trotted back to bed. The moment Patch turned to walk away, I picked up the zombie and put it face down so that it would stop looking at me.

So I’m sitting here, next to a zombie doll, blogging. This is not what I expected when I signed up for the mother gig.

“Is my child normal?” is a question that every parent asks at least once. Most parents ask the question a multitude of times over a multitude of topics. Oh and multiply the number of times you ask the question by the number of children you parent. The hard part about this question is that parents can not usually answer this question without the help of an outside source. We must compare with other parents, check with the pediatrician, search the internet, to find our answers. The outside help is necessary because whether or not the behavior/trait/thing is normal in the general population, it is subjectively normal to the parent and the child. Most of the time the answer to the query is a reassuring “Yes, that is completely normal.” Sometimes the answer is “No.” Then begins a process of learning, accepting, and changing which can range from mild to life-altering.

I remember when I took 2 1/2 year old Link for some developmental assessment tests. I’d scheduled the tests because I had a niggling feeling that his lack of speech was not normal. I’d already done the informal observational poll of other children his age. I really expected to be told that I was worrying over nothing and that Link was fine. Instead I was told that I was right to be concerned. Link had significant developmental delays which needed addressed. Thus began 8 years of working with Link and working with Link’s teachers to make sure that his needs were being addressed. I was very fortunate that at every step those teachers were willing partners rather than adversaries. Some parents have to do battle for their kids. People who meet Link today have no clue that here is a boy who needed extra help, because he no longer does. He isn’t even on medication for ADD anymore. He’s at or above grade level in all his subjects. He’s learning that he has a knack for memorization. He’s friendly and if you get him going on a topic that interests him, he will chatter non-stop. So many of the things that I feared for him have not materialized. He is a happy, normal 10 year old boy. But I don’t think this Link would exist, if we had not gotten a handle on his challenges earlier in his life.

The answer “No, this is not normal” is not a sentence dooming a child to a lifetime of abnormality. It is a call to action. It is often also a relief. It is good to know that you’re not crazy, not just imagining things. It means you can start figuring out exactly what the challenges are and what actions to take going forward. You can start to learn and find ways to cope. The best part is that as the kids get older, they become partners in the process. This is why Link is so normal today. We work together and have formed family habits that help him keep himself on track. He’s only 10, so I’m still actively participating to make sure that tasks get done, but I don’t have to hover the way that I used to. I love having kids who are old enough to think about how they think and then talk to me about it.

Years ago, when I first started writing in this blog, my Dad wisely pointed out to me that whatever I write here becomes history. It becomes permanent in a way that telling the same stories in conversation is not. He recommended to me that I make sure what I write is how I want things to be remembered. It is wise advice. “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all” is also wise advice. Or there is the doctor’s oath to “first do no harm.” I’m not a doctor, but I try to follow it, particularly here on my blog. But then I think of a line from the 2005 version of Mr. and Mrs. Smith. It is where she says “There is this space between us that keeps filling up with all the things we don’t say to each other.” That also feels true and wise. If we never say anything that isn’t nice, we isolate ourselves. If we can’t talk honestly about our negative emotions then we can’t have close relationships.

I struggle with this. There are times when I must speak up and say things that I know will hurt. I try to pick the time and the words carefully do lessen the damage, but I can’t always. Particularly not with the kids. When I’m in an emotionally laden conversation I will construct and discard dozens of sentences for every one that I utter. I try to do the least damage possible because, to me, relationships are far more important than convincing others that I am right. Fortunately I have learned that I can not be a doormat an have healthy relationships, so I’m fully capable of standing up for myself when necessary. Unfortunately sometimes my mind races so fast with the sentence construction and discarding, that I fail to realize that I’ve not said anything at all. My lack of words can feel like a wall of silence to the other person. The good news is that most of the time the other person is Howard, who has already learned of my tendency. He’s learned how to poke me and let me know if he needs a response. I’ve learned to say “I’m trying to find the right words” rather than saying nothing.

All of that is a precursor to me saying that I’m grouchy tonight. I had a very nice day, but the post-dinner hours walloped me hard. Part of me wants to rant about all the specifics of the pile of little things that made me grouchy this evening. But if I rant about specifics, it may get back to people who might feel bad about contributing to my grouchy evening. I doubt any of them read my blog now, but at some future time they might, and the ranting entry will still be here, laying in wait like a piece of broken glass on a beach full of bare feet. Sometimes I think it is a marvel that I blog at all considering all the fretting I do about possible future harm to feelings. I do comment on the behaviors of the kids, but I try to make sure it is in such a way that it will not be hurtful. Besides by the time they read these blogs, they’ll have grown into much different people and they will laugh with me saying “I really did that?” In fact the kids enjoy hearing blog stories from when they were younger. Or so I tell myself. But perhaps I am wrong and then we’re back to broken glass and bare feet.

In the end my real guide is asking myself why I’m posting a certain thing. I need to never post with the intent to hurt or humiliate. Venting is often emotionally necessary, but ranting often stirs up more anger than it resolves. I do rant as part of a venting process, but I try not to record it for history because I don’t want to come back and invoke those same feelings again by re-reading. I want to vent, let go, and move on. Besides there are many ways to vent. I’ve written this whole entry without mentioning a single specific thing that annoyed me this evening, but I feel much better. I’m not sure why that works, but for me it does.

When we achieve tantrums at a rate of 4 or 5 per hour, I know it is time to throw the kids into bed early.

Bedtime revolves around reading. First there is snack time where I read aloud to the kids. We’re just getting into Alcatraz Versus the Evil Librarians by Brandon Sanderson. I can tell that a book is really working for the kids when I glance up and see that all eating has ceased and all four kids have their eyes riveted on me to hear what happens next. I love that feeling. I love trying to make the voices distinct and hearing them laugh when the book is funny. Tonight they protested when I stopped. It is tempting to just keep reading because we’re all having fun, but I have to leave space for the other bedtime reading.

The second iteration of reading is when the kids read to themselves in bed. Link and Gleek are both assigned to do a certain amount of reading each day. Right before sleep has proven to be the best time for this. The kids are attached to this time as well. They object mightily if I try to skip or shorten it. If I did not require lights out, they would keep reading until they were physically unable to keep their eyes open anymore. Link would probably run out of books before that happened. Finding books that appeal to him has been tricky because pages full of small type are still daunting to him. Gleek is undaunted. She reads all sorts of things. Patch doesn’t read yet. Sometimes I have Link read to him. Sometimes I come read to him. Sometimes he just looks at books or plays quietly in bed.

Kiki stays up later than the other kids. Partly this is because she is older, but mostly it is because putting Kiki and Gleek in the same room to fall asleep is just asking for a squabble. Life is much smoother if Gleek is already asleep before Kiki heads to bed. Sometimes Link objects to this unfairness, but his objections have yet to change the way I run things. Kiki did not used to participate in the reading aloud time. But for the last little while she has been just as interested as the other kids. That is the magic of Wee Free Men by Terry Pratchett. I had to do some adapting to read the text aloud. Pratchett is prone to long dialogues without much attribution, but I just sprinkled in a few names to help the kids keep track of who was speaking. It worked well. Now we’re into Alcatraz and Kiki isn’t sitting right at the table as she did for Pratchett, but she’s making sure she can hear. I suspect she’ll be back at the table before the book is over.

With all the reading, and “early” bedtime still ends up being 8:30 or 9 pm. I’m trying to increment that earlier on the theory that the high ratio of tantrums per hour is probably related to insufficient sleep. Also I need to make sure there is a solid after school snack. Low blood sugar is also a tantrum precipitator. Also I need more sleep so that I’m better at addressing the precursors to tantrums so that full fledged tantrums are nipped before they bloom.