Sandra Tayler

Yesterday a huge weight was lifted from my shoulders. A Fed Ex package arrived from China with the five advance copies of Schlock Mercenary: The Tub of Happiness. I held the book in my hand and for the first time I had tangible evidence that we were going to be able to meet our obligation to thousands of people who have given us money. The books are beautiful. I could finally see for sure that they layout help I provided did not manage to ruin the book. This increases my confidence that I’ll be able to correctly lay out the next book. The rest of the books are already on their way here. We’re supposed to have them in hand by the end of this month. I feel so much better.

There is a difference between failing at something and being a failure. Many times in my life I’ve set a goal and not quite achieved it or missed it completely. Those things don’t make me feel like a failure. It is the accumulation of little misses that make me feel like I am myself a failure. Individually each of these things are so small, but they combine to overwhelm my generally positive outlook on myself. No one else will deride me for not accomplishing these little things, but these things are so small, so easy, that I feel stupid for not getting them done. If I can’t do the simple things, I begin to question my ability to accomplish bigger things. It is a backward way of thinking. I know this. I also know that the reason the little things don’t get done is because I do the big things first. But still I am constantly running into little things that I haven’t gotten done. It is hard for me to fight against that barrage of small negative messages.

The stupid little things which combine to make me feel like a failure: (Note: I am fully aware that the logic in most of these things is faulty. I am hoping by listing them out I will be able to see the faulty logic and stop being tripped by it.)

Anytime a person in my family has to rummage in the laundry room for clean clothes, I feel like I’ve failed. I’ve either failed to put clothes away or I’ve failed to make the kids put their clothes away, or I’ve failed to properly teach the kids to put clothes away without me having to remind them to do it.

Any time I come upstairs in the afternoon and realize that breakfast dishes are still on the table, I feel like I’ve failed. I’ve either failed to clean up or failed to teach kids to clean up after themselves.

Any time there are dishes on the counters or in the sink, I’ve failed for the same reasons as breakfast still on the table.

Any time I notice the lawn unmowed. (four weeks and counting.)

Any time I notice the weeds in my yard, or the unraked leaves.

Any time I notice the dirt and grunge which accumulates on the walls and banisters.

Any time my kids rooms get messy, because I should have taught them to clean up after themselves.

Any time any room gets cluttered, ditto.

Any time I realize that I’ve had an email sitting in my inbox for more than 24 hours without answering it.

Any time I have to yell to get the kids to do stuff.

Any time I don’t require homework or reading time.

Any time the kids are late to school.

This is not the end of the list, but I think you get the idea. Some people are pre-disposed to deny their responsibility for things gone wrong. I’m pre-disposed to assume that it is all my fault. Fortunately I am (usually) able to set aside my feelings and behave rationally. Fortunately I’m (usually) able to look at all of these things as household problems which I can help correct, but am not solely responsible for. But on the days I am tired, or discouraged, all these things overwhelm me and I feel like I’m failing at everything.

That is when Howard comes and gives me a hug and reminds me that the truly important things are getting done. He makes me feel better and I just go on doing the best I can with the time and energy that I have available.

When things get too cluttered, I reorganize. My life has been very cluttered of late and so on Sunday I spent some thought on how to reorganize my time. I decided that Tuesdays in particular need to be rearranged. Tuesday has been my accounting and laundry day for the past year or more. But this year Tuesday is also the day of kids’ art lessons and my writer’s group. This means that I spend all day Tuesday focused on getting things done and when it comes time for me to leave for writer’s group, the kids don’t want me to go because they haven’t had my attention all day long. So I tossed accounting out of the Tuesday schedule. I also decided that Tuesday needs to be free of non-time-critical business tasks. Tuesday is now my day to focus on family needs, housekeeping needs, and a little bit of writing.

The accounting still has to get done and I like to do it early in the week so that it doesn’t loom over the rest of the week. So Monday is now my accounting day. In theory that will help me wrap my head around exactly what work needs to be done during the week. Wednesday through Saturday aren’t so neatly organized. Into them fall all the remaining tasks which have to get done during the week. Sunday is set aside for family and reverence. The other thing I need to remember is the lovely daily schedule I’ve got posted right here next to my computer. It blocks out times of the day that are for business and times which are not. I’ve been completely ignoring it lately. This means I’ve been checking email “just for a minute” during times when I really need to be focused on making dinner or getting the kids into bed. I need to remember that the internet is much more fun if I take solid breaks from it.

This week is my first week on the rearranged schedule. Monday went well. Tuesday did not go as I expected. I kept it clear of business tasks, but the piles of energy to scour the house clean did not materialize. Instead I did some internal cleaning. I slept for a solid two hour block. That is important because this year’s schedule has me consistently shorting myself on sleep. My body needs 8 hours in each 24 to be off. I’ve been giving it about six. My health has suffered as a result. The rest of the day vanished as I cleared up some misunderstandings with a friend, and spent a lot of time staring at the walls letting loose thoughts wander through my head so I could see what they were. All those things that I packed away to think about later, got unpacked and I was able to figure out how I think and feel about some of it. This kind of contemplative time has also been seriously lacking in my life of late. So, even though the house didn’t get clean, I’m calling the new Tuesday schedule a success. I’m going to do Tuesday the same way next week.

Then last night as I was beginning to make plans for kicking myself into gear today, I realized that today is Halloween. This means I have piles of kid-events on my schedule that I’d forgotten about. I can’t dive into overdue business tasks, they have to wait for tomorrow. This means they’ve begun to loom in my brain. And naturally I stayed up way too late last night, thus canceling out the benefit from the nap yesterday. Sometimes I am not so smart.

For right now I need to run buy a bag of Cheetos to deliver to Link’s classroom for his party. Then I need to go to Gleeks class to watch the pumpkin celebration filled with becostumed first graders lisping their way through halloween songs. Later there will be a Halloween parade, Kiki’s first school dance, and trick-or-treating followed by putting sugar-hyper children to bed.

I have been thinking the last couple of days about the concept of a public persona. For most people the phrase “public persona” has a negative connotation. The implication is that a person with a public persona is a hypocrite. They are trying to seem to be one thing when they are really something else. This does not have to be the case. In fact if a person is going to become any kind of a public figure, then a public persona is a survival tool. The public persona protects the private person.

Sometimes the public persona really is a cover-up. When a person is convinced that their “real self” is not fit to be public, then the persona becomes a mask. Some people go so far as to keep the mask persona up at all times. That way leads to loneliness and depression because then the person can never be truly understood or loved. A healthy persona is not a mask. It does not cover up anything. Instead a healthy persona is an aspect of the person. A healthy person knows when the persona is necessary and when to drop it.

Howard very definitely has a public persona. When he is doing an appearance as the creator of Schlock Mercenary, he is “on.” He makes sure to react positively to everyone around him. He maintains high energy. He cracks jokes. He does everything in his power to make sure that the event runs smoothly and that everyone enjoys it. That is his persona. In private he is still the same person. He still is high energy. He still cracks jokes. He still wants to make things run smoothly, but he is also allowed to be tired or grumpy. Outside his persona he relaxes and is able to enjoy himself without feeling responsible to make sure that piles of other people are also enjoying themselves.

And there is the core of why he must have the persona. At a public appearance, Howard will be approached by people all day long. Each of those people want something from him. Sometimes all they want is a signature and 30 seconds of attention. Other times they want to corner him for an hour while they tell him this great idea for a game that would make piles of money if only Howard would donate 100 drawings for it. The public persona evaluates all of these people and figures out how to please the signature person while politely rejecting the idea of the game person without offense. The public persona does this so that the inner Howard does not have to feel the heartache of refusing someone else’s dream. The public persona can keep going long after the inner Howard is ready to curl into a ball and hide.

This is one of the reasons that many conventions have a green room. It is a place where all the guests of honor can go to relax the public personas for a bit. Because of Howard, I’ve met some of those guests of honor when they weren’t wearing their personas. Without exception the ones I’ve met were marvelous people. But for all of them I could almost see the moment that the persona aspect was put away; the moment that they could be themselves without having to be quite so careful.

The public persona is the face you put toward the world. We all have them. The question is whether we are consciously shaping ours to be our best selves and turning the persona into a useful tool, or are we allowing the persona to trap and dominate us. Personally I try to make my persona and my inner self as congruent as possible. But I will not discard the persona entirely. I need it to shield me for those times when I need to look PTA people in the eyes and tell them that I can not give any more time than I already have given.

*Note* I am still forming my thoughts on personas and their value. All opinions expressed in this post are subject to change upon receipt of further information.

Last night we had Laurell K. Hamilton over for dinner. Yes that Laurell Hamilton. The one who wrote dozens of best selling vampire novels. I’ve not read any of the novels in question, but I was very aware of their existence, and of the fact that there are people who wait in lines for hours to speak with her for 60 seconds at a book signing. I used my nervous energy to clean house. I also used it to sit the children down and explain that it isn’t appropriate to greet anyone who comes in the door with a flying hug.

Then when Howard arrived with Laurell and her husband Jonathan and their security liaison Charles, I realized that all my advance preparations were needless. The people who came through my door were not Laurell Hamilton and her entourage, they were just Laurell and Jonathan and Charles. I was instantly comfortable with them and realized that these were people who probably would be happy to be greeted with flying hugs from strange children. We had a delightful evening and talked far more about children and parenting than about business or writing. I wished they could have stayed longer. There were so many more stories to be shared, so much more laughter to have. Alas, Laurell is on a book tour and they only had the one evening free. Hopefully we’ll get to meet up again sometime.

Gleek got a balloon from the Halloween party. She was playing with it and it popped. I looked to her and she was sitting in stunned shock. I knew that tears were imminent, so I went to her. She looked at me “My balloon popped!” she declared, then came the flood of tears. I snuggled her into my lap. “I want another balloon right now!” she cried.

Normally, when a child cries “I want another balloon right now!” I hear “mommy go get another balloon for me right now!” I instantly react on the defensive with a torrent of words explaining how we can’t get another balloon at that very instant. This time I was not over tired or stressed. I was not frantically seeking ways to make sure that I did not gain any extra chores. This time my whole focus was on being there for Gleek. So I did not answer with a torrent of words. Instead I snuggled her a little closer. Gleek went on to lament that now her little stuffed dog could not fly. She threw the dog angrily across the room. She cried 30 seconds more. Then she picked up the balloon fragment and showed me how she had been scratching off the bats which were printed on the balloon. I listened and helped her stretch the fragment to show me. Then she noticed that there was white gooey stuff on the inside of the balloon. She began picking it off in fascination. And that was the end of the upset.

It could have gone so much differently. If I’d spilled my torrent about how we can’t have another balloon today, that would have fixated her attention on getting another balloon. I’d probably have spent 30 minutes or more arguing about buying another balloon. Instead I allowed her to express a desire to have another balloon and I made no attempt to suppress that desire. This time expressing the feeling was enough. The entire upset, from pop to happy play, lasted about 3 minutes.

An hour later Patches decided to draw pictures on his balloon. Pop. That was a very similar experience. We spent two minutes grieving for the balloon. Then one minute more finding something new to be happy about. Patches decided on his own that the next time he has a balloon, he’s not going to try to draw pictures on it.

So often I react to an incident like a popped balloon defensively. I immediately start to act and react trying to suppress the incoming upset. Ironically my reactions often create the upset I was trying to avoid.

I need to give my kids true sympathy more often. I need to give them sympathy that has no agenda, but is merely interested in understanding and sharing whatever experience they are having. I need to listen more to what they actually feel without telling them how they ought to feel. I need to listen to what they actually say rather than reacting to what I assume they mean.

An Anime Rogue, Master Chief from Halo, A ninja sorceress, and a ninja spider all trooped over the the church building for our annual Halloween party. The Anime Rogue turned twelve this year, so she was among those running the booths rather than running from booth to booth. She still managed to arrive back home with a pile of goodies though. Master Chief was delighted that he was identified correctly and that his armor got compliments. The ninja sorceress reveled in being able to run at top speed, play games, and eat far more treat food than is usually allowed. Her favorite game was eating a powdered donut on a string, no hands allowed. The ninja spider shed his spider suit and headband fairly early in the evening. After that he was just Patches who ran and played games. After each game he would come to me and show me the prize.

Howard spent the time following kids around and talking animatedly with friends and neighbors. I sat collapsed in my chair and spoke about three sentences to people other than Howard. I was exhausted from a long role playing session just prior to the party. Howard has far more experience and endurance at being social all day long. All those conventions have trained him well. Even though I did not really socialize, I had fun watching everything and listening to the conversations of others.

We left the party fairly early. The kids had had sufficient fun and treats, so they didn’t fight too hard about going home. They’d had a long day too. But mostly their long day involved watching far too many movies while mom and dad and friends played upstairs. Once home, I set the kitchen to rights and then embarked upon a normal bedtime. It was good for all of us to step back into routine. Although I doubt my reading of Harry Potter was as energetic as usual. It is hard to find that energy, when all you want to do is lay your head on the table and sleep.

I am exhausted, but it is the kind of exhausted that follows a really long, really enjoyable day.

People are not always who you think they are by glancing at them. I know a pair of women who have always impressed me. They always look beautiful. Their children are always dressed adorably. This in and of itself is enough to make me look on them with envy. I have so many days where Iget to bedtime and realize that I didn’t ever get around to brushing my hair. It is still in the ratty braid that I put in yesterday morning. As for the kids, the term “ragamuffin” frequently applies. So I watched with admiration these two beautiful mothers with their bevy of perfectly dressed children. But I did not begin to feel awe until I realized the depth of sacrifice that both of these women made to the care of their children.

The first mom is a mother of four girls, one from a prior marriage, three from the current marriage. The mother, the husband, and the three little girls are all blonde. The older daughter is brunette. This oldest daughter is also shy and awkward. She has a troubled relationship with her biological father. In many ways this oldest daughter feels like an outsider. So the mother dyed her hair brown. I first noticed the change at church when this mother was sitting near her dark haired daughter. I happen to know that the mother does not like having brown hair, but she continues to do so because it gives her oldest daughter a sense of belonging. Suddenly there is physical evidence that the daughter really does belong. It is a quiet gift that the mother gives to the daughter every day.

The second mother has three children. She loves being able to stay at home with them. She considers all children to be wonderful miracles. She believes this so strongly that she’s had three kids despite the fact that she has a medical condition which renders her completely unable to eat for the first four months of pregnancy. For the last pregnancy, she was on an IV drip and a feeding tube. After that she was on bed rest because of a placental tear. She described all of this with a very cheerful tone. Her whole attitude said that while the experience had been miserable, it had also been worth it. Three months so sick she couldn’t even speak, and she’s considering doing it again one more time. I admire her courage and devotion to raising a family. I admire her ability to come through medical hell and still be cheerful about it.

Neither of these mothers will get recognition for their bravery and devotion. There are hundreds of thousands more like them. People who quietly act to follow their convictions. People who reach out to make the world better for those around them. Everywhere I look, I see such people. I see the mothers in the PTA who give hours and hours each week to run school programs. I see neighbors who bring dinner to each other. I see children who do extra chores to be nice to their parents. All of this is out there if we only look for it.