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Loosely connected thoughts on blogs, speaking up, venting, grouchiness, and when to say nothing

By / August 27, 2008 / 3 Comments

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.

Bedtime

By / August 26, 2008 / 2 Comments

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.

Storing Food

By / August 26, 2008 / 2 Comments

Every year, about the time the kids head back to school, Macey’s grocery store has a Case Lot sale where I can buy large quantities of food for reduced prices. I always stock up on the stuff that will keep for six months to a year. This kind of stocking up is often called “emergency preparedness” but really I do it because it is a way to lower my grocery bill all year long. Also it means that I don’t have to go to the store as often since I have so many staples stashed away. We have a small storage room in our basement that is devoted to this food storage. It has big shelves covering the walls so that I can stack the food in easy-to-see rows.

Last year I went shopping as usual, but I was too busy and stressed to unload all the cans from their boxes and onto the shelves. I meant to, but instead the boxes got stacked in the corner of my office. I periodically fished through the stacks of food to fish out cans, but this past year was not notable for the amount of actual cooking that I did, so mostly the stacks just sat. Today I finally made the shelves full and the boxes empty. It is wonderful to see all the food organized again. And now I can see clearly what I need to stock up on at this year’s sale (green beans, corn, chili, peaches) and what I should not bother to buy again (Mac & cheese. Only Gleek likes it anymore and we still have bunches of it.)

This year I’ll empty the boxes right away and I’ll even get back to scribbling the purchase price on the tops of the cans before I load them onto the shelves. Writing the prices on the items helps me keep fresh in my mind what a really good price for that item is. That way I don’t get fooled by those sales which seem like a good deal, but really aren’t. The sad thing is that there is not much that I need to buy. We still have plenty of almost everything. I really need to cook more this year.

The sound of silence

By / August 25, 2008 / 4 Comments

The morning scramble was over. I’d taken kids to school, given Patch his first-day-of-kindergarten send off, and returned home. I walked into the house…and it was quiet. No thumping, no yelling, no video game sounds or music, not even the quiet clack of lego bricks. It is amazing how loud silence can be. I frequently crave silence, but in the silence of this morning I was able to see how too much of it would be as oppressive as too much noise. This morning’s silence did not last very long, only until 10:45. I used the time to do accounting an business tasks so that by the time Patch came home I could spend time with him.

I sat with Patch and just listened to his chatter for about 45 minutes. His thoughts about kindergarten were not organized. He just said things as they occurred to him. So I learned random rules, and that there was a kid in his kindergarten class who had the same name as a different kid who’d been in his preschool class. His thoughts wandered all over as he was processing the experiences and trying to internalize the rules. I’d planned to work on reading with him, but realized that his head was already full of new things. He needed to assimilate, not learn more. He ran out of kindergarten thoughts and cookie at about the same time. Then he ran off to play.

Tomorrow will bring with it more silence. I’m glad. I need some silence in my days. The summer had none and I frequently wanted to just flee the house. Some people honestly lament when their little ones go off to school. I’m happy to see them go, because the space of silence allows me to be happy to welcome them back.

Planned Parenting

By / August 24, 2008 / 6 Comments

I always knew I wanted to be a mother someday. I was not a girl who ran around borrowing babies, or playing with young kids. I did not even enjoy babysitting much. And yet all my plans for my future revolved around my intention to have children of my own someday. Naturally I intended to be a good mother. Even in my teen years I was watching parents and either deciding I should do the same, or thinking though how I would handle it differently. Not all the time, of course, I was a normal teen, far more focused on peers than on parenting. But I was beginning to define the kind of parent I wanted to be. I exited my teen years with the feeling that I wanted to be one of the “cool” parents. I wanted to be a parent who remembered what it was like to be a child. I wanted to be a parent who would play with her kids. I wanted to be the mom who could still do cartwheels.

I’m now more than 13 years into this parenting gig. It has been years since I’ve done a cartwheel. I am not the parent I pictured myself being. This is in part because my teenage view of parenting was romanticized and unrealistic. I pictured charming, well-behaved children. I pictured joyful picnics in the park. I pictured family vacations to exciting places. I pictured myself as Maria Von Trapp from The Sound of Music. I never once pictured vomit or snot. I never pictured a red-faced child ready to scream, kick, and bite because there were no more crackers. I never pictured myself 8 months pregnant trying to catch a naked, giggling toddler who was intent on never wearing clothes again. Reality was not exactly a shock. Part of me was expecting reality to be different. But reality was far more mundane and real I could have imagined before I was a parent.

After years of viewing parenting from the other side of the fence, I now understand why so many parents stop doing cartwheels. Yes there is the sheer physical factor of aging joints and probable weight gain, but there is more than that. Parents have learned the vitally important skill of energy conservation. Children and teens will run full-tilt until they physically collapse. I can’t afford to do that. If I use up my energy and cheerfulness doing cartwheels on the back lawn, then there will be none left to make sure that bedtime runs smoothly. If I sit and give my full attention to every stream of childhood babble, dinner would never get cooked. I’m not always a “cool” parent in the way I’d envisioned as a teen because I can’t be and still be doing my job.

That said, some parents take it too far. They spend all of their time and energy on being responsible, making sure bedtimes happen, making sure money is earned, making sure homework is done, making sure groceries are bought, and meals are cooked, and chores are done. These parents are over-worked, over-stressed, and over-whelmed. They’ve forgotten how important it is to take time to play. I’ve been such a parent all too often lately. I know I have because when my kids see me dancing to music in the kitchen, they are surprised. It shows in other things too, small comments that the kids drop which tell me that they consider it normal for a mother to spend hours holed up in her office asking to be left alone. Part of that is a result of all of us being home all day all summer long. Part of it is a symptom of the scrambling that Howard and I have done this last year to put out merchandise. Part of it is because of the hectic convention schedule during the past 9 months. But no matter what good excuses I have, the reality is that my kids consider mom playing to be a rare event. I need to fix that.

This next year should be slower. Howard will be at home far more and our focus will be here. Yes, we’re planning to crank out books, but with the kids in school, I can do most of my work while they’re gone. This leaves the after school hours available for me to focus on the kids and to play more often. And maybe I’ll even take up cartwheeling again.

A worthwhile read

By / August 23, 2008 / 5 Comments

Posts like this one are the reason that I love reading Jim Hines’ journal. Like Jim, I’ve noticed prejudices/judgments in my own brain. I try to control them and eliminate them. Jim is braver than I. He doesn’t just quietly try to remove the prejudices from his brain, he kicks those prejudices out in the open where everyone can see his process of examination and elimination. My method of prejudice removal makes me a better person. Jim’s method has the chance to make many people better, because we can all see what he has done and may realize we need to do it ourselves. I recommend you take the time to read Jim’s post and examine his process even if you have no particular feelings about Gaming/Tie-in books.

Blogging

By / August 22, 2008 / 2 Comments

Some days I stare at the blank “journal entry” box and feel like I have nothing to say. I want to write something brilliant, or witty, or thought provoking; something that will inspire people to comment and drag their friends here to read my words. I want that, and some days I feel close, but other days I stare at the blank white box and feel that my life and my every thought is just… boring, uninspired. So I hammer out an entry about the thoughts in my brain and it all feels prosaic. Every writer I’ve ever talked to has times when they feel like what they’ve written is worthless. Blogging does not get a pass on this. The bloggers I’ve talked to all have moments of wondering why on earth they do it. I no longer wonder why I blog. It has reached the point where blogging has become part of my emotional process. Even things that are too personal for the internet get processed in writing. Not blogging would take a serious readjustment of my psyche. So I don’t wonder why I blog anymore, but sometimes I wonder why other people show up to read it. Some days I can see value in what I write, other days I can’t. That is just how it is.

Talking about my feelings about blogging always feels awkward. It feels like begging for compliments. It feels like the classic public-speaking mistake of getting up in front of the crowd and expressing why I feel like I’m not qualified to give the speech, thus undermining everything that comes afterward. Is blogging about blogging meta-blogging? I’m not sure. But the experience of blogging and of reading blogs has a major impact on my life and so not talking about it feels like ignoring the elephant in the room.

At Ad Astra I was a panelist for an hour long discussion on “The Experience of Blogging.” At that panel there was a moment when time seemed to slow down and my words felt heavy with truth. It was my moment to give last words, and I said that the reason I blog is because there is a possibility that my words will be exactly what someone else needs today; the possibility that my thoughts will make someone else’s life better. The truth that I did not say, is that sometimes that “someone” who needs my words is my future self. Sometimes the words she needs are not the brilliant ones, but the “boring” words that will echo through the years wafting with memories of a time gone by. Sometimes I find in someone else’s blog a thought or idea that is completely new to me. Sometimes the thought is so profound that it sets my head spinning. Often that profound thought comes from a blog entry that the writer probably considered boring.

Are some blog entries boring? Of course they are. I’m definitely a blog skimmer. I’ll skip entries that cover topics that don’t interest me. Many of my own entries are similarly boring. But “boring” is not the same thing as valueless. Often blogging is like building a sandcastle. The point is the process rather than the result. Also like sandcastles, blogs often change shape in the making. An entry that starts out as one thing may end up being a very different shape than intended. This entry for example. I meant to write about having nothing to say, but once I started digging, I found thoughts that had lain buried for a long time. There is another way that blog entries are like sandcastles. They never seem to be truly complete. There’s always something else that could be built up or smoothed down. But in the end there comes a time to call it done and walk away.

Sandcastles. It has been a long time since I’ve built a sandcastle. We have lovely new sand in our sandbox and tomorrow is Saturday. Perhaps it is time for me to remedy that.

My marketing brain is tired

By / August 22, 2008

I spent several hours yesterday sending emails to book bloggers who I thought might be interested in reviewing Hold on to Your Horses. It took so long, not because of a gargantuan list, but because I agonized over the wording of the email. It is tricky to send out an advertisement/request without making it sound like spam. I seem to have done alright though because I’ve gotten positive responses from most of the bloggers that I emailed. Then this morning I spent several more hours responding to the responses and shipping out books. The positive responses were so encouraging that I spent another hour or more researching even more blogs that I’ll contact on another day. Oh, and I finally finished up that press release. All the packages are in the mail. Hopefully in weeks to come, I’ll be able to do a Link Salad to all the lovely reviews. Now it is time for me to shut down the marketing brain and go do something else. This is necessary because the thought of further marketing is currently exhausting. But turning off the marketing brainis proving difficult. I keep spinning further plans for both Hold Horses and for Schlock Mercenary. The thought of executing on these plans is completely unappealing right now, but my brain continues to provide the plans. Sometimes my brain won’t shut up.

Out From Under begins

By / August 21, 2008

The first layout pass on Out From Under is done. The book will be in the 80 page range. This is so much shorter than Teraport Wars. The layout went much more quickly and will continue to go quickly. As usual, the biggest tasks are Howard’s. He has some coloring to do, a bonus story, and a cover. But right now he’s working to replace the buffer that he lost because of Comic Con and Worldcon. It just feels good to get the project started. It feels even better to realize that I’m looking forward to seeing this book come together. It is going to be a fun book.

The third day

By / August 20, 2008 / 2 Comments

…and on the third day of the new schedule we’re starting to find the rough edges. Getting up for school is no longer shiny and new, it is now just early. Way early. Especially considering that the kid’s bio-clocks think they shouldn’t be going to sleep until after 9 pm. I’m trying to adjust the bedtimes earlier, but it is difficult when the sky is still light and some of their friends are running around our cul de sac right outside their bedroom windows.

So far there have been no Incidents at school. Everyone still likes their teachers. Mostly. Kiki wants to drop one class because it is annoying her greatly after only two days. Since it is an elective, I’m going to let her. That’s tomorrow’s task. Patch had his kindergarten assessment. He was very subdued and concerned about getting things right. He did a great job, but the change of context meant that he wasn’t able to provide sounds for all the letters he knows. This upset him a little because he knew he should know them. But his teacher worked with him perfectly and I assured him that “I don’t know” can be the right answer. In the end it was a positive experience.

Today had an extra layer of emotional difficulty because the backyard neighbor’s dog was put down yesterday evening. My kids were just as attached to the dog as her kids were, so there has been some emotional aftermath. Both Kiki and Gleek came home from school and burst into tears within minutes of entering the house. In both cases it was because they realized that the little dog who’d greeted them so happily after school would never do so again. The raw reality of dozens of “never agains” loomed large. For me too. I wrote a big long post and then realized that no one but me needed the litany of memories about my neighbor’s dog. I’ll save it for when the kids need to hear stories about the dog.