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I have just returned from my family reunion. It went well. Everyone had fun and we all had some good bonding time. The location was a set of storefronts that had been turned into a reunion center. The downstairs contained a rec room, an ice cream shoppe, a bunk room, and a living room area. Upstairs contained a kitchen, a dining area, a TV room, and 8 bedrooms. It was a neat location. Everywhere I looked there were reminders that I was in a small town and that the building was old. I liked that. I liked that the bathroom “locks” were all hook-and-eye arrangements. I liked that the glass was wavy. I liked the big 10 foot wide hallway with doors down the sides which was just begging for a ghost to come floating down it. Not that I actually wanted to see a ghost or be near one. It was just the right setting for one. That effect was greatly enhanced last night when a storm blew through and knocked out the power for about 4 hours. We got to spend the final night of the reunion telling stories and playing games by candlelight. I think that was my favorite part. It was interesting and exciting without actually being dangerous.

This morning we all got up and cleaned for two hours. This particular reunion center keeps prices low by asking that guests clean up after themselves. The cleaning wasn’t hard, but it was tiring. The drive home was made interesting by having to drive an hour down Logan canyon at 5-10 mph because we got stuck behind the truck that was painting new lines on the road. We hit additional traffic near Ogden because of an accident. So our 3 hour drive home was actually 4 hours long.

When we arrived home we discovered that turning off the AC may not be a good idea if you’re going to come home at 4 pm on a 95 degree day. It is definitely not a good idea if you’re going to accidentally leave two catfish fillets on the counter for the three days that you are gone. I suspect that having the AC on would not have helped much, but 90 degrees inside a house full of putrid dead-animal smell was a really unpleasant homecoming.

Febreze Spray is my new favorite cleaning agent. We used clorox and fans. We did all we could to make the smell gone, but hours later it still lingered. Then I grabbed the Febreze Spray and squirted it in the air all over the house. It is magic. It pulled the last putrid molecules out of the air or neutralized them in some way. I like the smell of “I’ve just cleaned” far more than I like “dead animal.”

So now I’m back. Tonight I’ll sleep in my own bed. And tomorrow I’ve got to start getting ready in earnest for the looming start-of-school. One week and counting.

We’ve arrived at the reunion and the facility is much bigger than expected. Our group rattles around in here, which is a nice change for a reunion. Usually we spend 3 days crammed into one house tripping over each other’s feet. I’m still a little anxious though because the reunion isn’t really rolling yet. I’m worried that while this place is wonderful it is a bit of a financial stretch. We’ll see. Personally, I love it here. I would love to come back here again. And if we can get more siblings here that would be even better. It is nice to have a place where we’d love to have more of us rather than being glad that there aren’t any more.

But I’m tired now. Getting here and getting set up was a lot of work.

Every August I have to deal with the nail-biting issue of class placement. The teacher my child gets could be the difference between a wonderful school year and a disastrous one. It is not the only factor by far, but it is the one factor that affects all other factors. If I can not establish a rapport with my child’s teacher, that creates problems for the rest of the year. For some kids it doesn’t matter much. Kiki had a teacher in 3rd grade with whom I was never able to establish clear communication, but Kiki thrived that year. The teacher in question developed a good rapport with the kids and Kiki is highly motivated to seek teacher approval. The fact that I could not communicate effectively did not matter at all.

But this year my two kids in Elementary school are Gleek and Link. In both cases it is very important that I be able to communicate with the teacher. Link did not do well his first three years in school. During all of those years he had quiet female teachers close to retirement. I struggled to establish a rapport with each of these teachers, but never really managed to do so. Last year I met Link’s teacher and we were instantly on the same wavelength. She was young and energetic. We plotted together and Link had a great year. He finally closed up some of the lingering developmental gaps. Gleek has only had one year of Kindergarten. I liked Gleek’s teacher, but the teacher was very different from me in organizational and discipline styles. It made for an extremely rough start to Gleek’s Kindergarten experience. Toward’s the end of the year the three of us reached an understanding and it was working, but it took a lot of work to get there. I’d really like to skip the “extremely rough start” and jump right into the part where the teacher and I communicate well.

Today I got the placement letters for Gleek and Link. Gleek is in the class taught by my friend’s mother-in-law. From what I’ve seen and heard about this lady, she’s good. I was kind of hoping Gleek would get this teacher. It was really fun to call my friend and let her know. Link finally got placed with a male teacher. He’s been hoping for one for the past 2 years. I don’t know anything personally about this teacher, but I have good reports from my backyard neighbor. In short, I couldn’t be happier. Now I get to wait a couple of weeks until Open House when I get to practice my meet-and-greet skills to try to establish a rapport.

The plan for today had me getting up early and hustling to get the car packed and all of us out the door to go to my family reunion. I was going to have to move really fast because there were things that I should have done earlier, but didn’t.

At 1 am this morning Patches got out of bed and asked for a pot. He then used the pot repeatedly.

We have a family reunion every year and almost every year someone has some variety of flu. I have frequently bemoaned the fact that it is usually my children who are the vectors for this stuff. We bring new and exciting illnesses to share with all my relatives. Whee. Usually the illness does not manifest until after we have arrived and it is too late to prevent passing it around. We had one extremely memorable reunion where 20 of us all spent 2 days sick simultaneously. This time we are forewarned.

This morning we called around to talk to everyone and ask opinons. Did we need to exile ourselves to prevent passing the bug along? Everyone agreed that taking an extra 24 hours to observe would be a good idea. So instead of running out the door today, I have an additonal day to get things done.

The consensus is that if no one new gets sick between now and tomorrow morning, then we’ll proceed with the reunion as planned. We think that this illness is “Con Crud” that Howard brought back from Comic Con. Several people in our household have had various digestive discomforts over the past week. Patches is more prone to full on stomach flu than anyone else in the family. So we think that Patches is just the last one to catch a fairly mild bug. The Comic Con theory would also explain why my kids always have new and exciting germs to share. My family typically holds their reunions a couple of weeks after Comic Con. This is just about perfect for Howard to bring stuff home, vector to the kids, and then we share with everyone else.

Some day I’d like to have an Owens family reunion with no illness attached. If that is totally impossible, at least I’d like someone else to be the vector. I’d be almost happy to bring kids home sick, knowing it is only my just due for the quantities of illnesses that I’ve inflicted on others.

Last night I informed my two sons that they would need to clean up their room again. Link objected on the grounds that they had cleaned it only that morning. I pointed out that since morning they had played games and left toys strewn over the floor. I further pointed out that if kids just cleaned up when they were done, none of the rooms would ever be a mess and we would not have to have enforced cleaning times. This was not a unique conversation. I’ve tried to teach this concept repeatedly, but apparently the concept never clicked for Link before. This morning he got up and before I was even awake he picked up his room, his sister’s room, and the entire family room. I woke up to a gloriously clean house. Link was much hugged and praised for this event. He even got to take his money and go shopping with his dad.

I have no illusion that this behavior will continue indefinitely. But I’m so glad that I had a chance to praise Link. Lately most of our interactions have been negative, me trying to enforce bedtime or clean up time. And if nothing else I am now armed with this experience. At a future date I can remind him of this time when he cleaned everything up all by himself and how good it felt.

It is a bad habit in our house. Whenever we open a package or a letter or a food item, we hold onto the contents and drop the packaging on the counter. In some cases this makes sense, for example while cooking a meal we need to move quickly to get all the steps done. But then we don’t go back and pick up the garbage. Often these little peices of detritus are small. Those plastic things you tear off of milk jugs to open them. Little packets of Splenda. Twist ties from bread. Other times these things are larger. Cheese macaroni boxes. Tortilla bags. Envelopes. All of these things accumulate on our counters creating a feeling of chaos. When I want to clean up the kitchen, the first thing I do is grab a garbage bag and collect all the loose garbage from the counters. By the time I’m done the kitchen looks 50% better.

The puzzling thing is trying to figure out why we do it. I mean the garbage can is right there only three steps away. Is it really that hard to just drop that milk jug ring into the trash instead of on the counter? Apparently so, because we all do it. Howard and I and the kids are all guilty of this. It is a bad habit. Like any bad habit it will take a concerted effort to change it. Most of that effort will have to come from me. I’ll have to add “garbage police” to my roll call of jobs. I know I can do the job of garbage policeman. The problem is being consistent about it. Some days I just don’t feel like picking a fight with my kids over garbage left on the counter. And I really can’t start policing anyone else until I’m no longer guilty. I suppose I could call a family meeting and make a pact with everyone policing each other. That could work. Particularly if there is some kind of motivational chart or prize. Hmm. More thought is required here.

Fourteen years ago today I got married.  Howard often jokes that he had to talk me into it, and he did sort of.  I was bewildered at how easily Howard sailed into my life and changed the shape of it forever.  I was no longer me by myself, I was part of We. 

August 5 1993 We don’t look exactly like this anymore, but the smiles are still the same.

Periodically either Howard or I have a breakdown of sorts and we end up tearfully asking the question “Why on earth do you put up with me?”  When I am the one asking, Howard doesn’t even pause for though before he rattles off a list of things about me that he can’t do without.  He tells me I’m wonderful and does it in a way that I have to believe him.  Why do I put up with him?  Because he doesn’t have to pause to think for an answer to that question and because he keeps listing things until I feel better.

I am not the person I was when Howard and I met.  We have grown into each other and taken on some of each other’s attributes.  Howard taught me how to be aggressive and handle confrontations.  Early in our marriage I just handed off all of those to him, but over the years I’ve watched him and learned.  Now I can handle anything from asserting about a billing mistake to telling a family member a necessary but unpleasant truth.  Howard’s self assurance was something I admired and over the years I’ve managed to make some of it my own.  I love Howard’s ambition.  He is never content unless he is reaching for a goal or pursuing a project.  I love that and I do all I can to help his dreams come true.  I can throw myself 100% behind his endeavors because I know without a doubt that he will abandon those dreams should I or the family need him to do so.  I can not count the number of times that he has dropped everything to come to my rescue.  The rescues have varied in scope from small to huge, but he was there for me when I needed him most.

I love that anytime I come to Howard with an interest or hobby or dream that I want to pursue, he supports me 100% in whatever decision I make.  At every turn, in every conversation, he affirms his belief in my intelligence and capability.  At times when we disagree about a course of action, he never impliesthat my preference is stupid or lesser. 

I love that he makes me laugh and that he laughs for me.  I love all the stupid running jokes that we have which evolve over months or years of interactions.  I love how he deliberately builds such jokes with the kids.  I love that he makes me laugh even when I’m in tears over the tragedy of the day.

I love watching Howard as a father.  I love the very different relationships he has constructed with each of the kids.  I love the silly games they play together.  I love how when I’m at my wits end trying to manage four kids, Howard steps in and backs me up with his big Daddy voice.  I love the times he shushes the kids so that I can take a nap.  I love the times when he assigns work to kids so that I won’t have to.  I love having a tag-team partner in managing kids.

Why do I put up with him?  Because he has grown to be so much a part of myself that I couldn’t remove him without ripping all that I am apart and building it new.  Because I am stronger, surer, better than I could be without him.  Because he sees the good in me when I can’t.  Because 14 years ago I promised to be with him forever and it was the best decision I’ve ever made.

Gah. I think that my latest short story idea may actually be a novel. No matter how I twist and turn and try to compress I can’t make it fit into a short story format without spending pages telling about backstory. I can’t fill a story with all that telling. Not when taking the time to show would make it all so much more compelling.

But I’m not ready to do a novel. I’m not supposed to be doing novels yet. I have too many other things in my life to give space to a novel. … but I think this story is a novel and it won’t leave me alone. I’ve never written a novel before. I don’t count the ones that I started and never finished when I was in my teens. They were more pretending-on-paper than true novel writing.

I’ve got outlines done for plot and for character arcs. Scenes are starting to form in my head. But the very size of it is daunting. To finish a novel will require so much effort and it will be spread out over a long period of time because I have priorities that come before writing. I’ll probably start with the scenes that are ready to go. Maybe when they’re done some of the inbetween scenes will come to me. That’s the way my friend Janci writes and she’s written five novels so far. I’ve no idea how long this thing will be or how saleable it will be. It may only be a novella. But I have to give it the space it needs to be whatever it will be.

But…but…I was going to write short stories. They were small and nice. I could finish them and move on inside a month. I’ll still write some of them. A novel is so big that it will require breaks.

Sigh. I’m supposed to be refocusing on family and schedule right now. I’m supposed to be planning a family reunion.