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“See Wendys is over here and the art store is here by the grocery store. So if we go to the art store first, then we can stop at Wendys on the way back.”

Two heads were bowed in concentration over the hand drawn map. Kiki and Link both had money in their pockets and they were planning an expedition. All of the locations in question were within walking distance and the big street to be crossed made the trip sufficiently adventurous. This was the night-before planning session. The trip was to be executed the following afternoon.

After the planning was over, Link came to me with a nervous smile.
“I was thinking that Kiki and I are going together and it is just us. It is kind of like a date, cause we’ll be going together and getting to know each other.” We then talked about dates and dating. We talked about how a date with a sister isn’t quite the same thing, but how it is similar in other ways. Mostly Link was thrilled that Kiki wanted to share this outing with him. He was very sad when she turned the corner of teenagerhood and stopped playing games with him. But now he is rounding that corner as well and is discovering that once again his sister is ready to include him in her plans.

The next day arrived and all the intervening events (such as school and chores) were dispatched. The two explorers geared up to head out. I reviewed with them their routes and admonished them to be home before dark. Then I watched as they dashed out into the neighborhood. I was nervous. This trip was farther afield than I am accustomed to letting my children wander. But I can not hope to help them build independence if I hold them so tight that they never have the chance to test their wings. They had planned well. The neighborhood is a safe one. They would stay together. So I let them go.

They returned triumphant 90 minutes later, blown into the house on a gust of chilly air. Their eyes were bright, their cheeks were red, and their smiles were broad. They felt strong and independent and triumphant. They each clutched a bag of Wendy’s food purchased with their own money. They’d decided to bring the food home because they wanted to be home before darkness fell. Happy energy filled our home as Kiki and Link shared fries with those of us who had stayed home. Kiki also shared spoonfuls of her cookie dough milkshake. They chattered about their adventure. And Kiki displayed her spoils.

Art supplies had been the driving force behind the trip, but she had also acquired nail polish and mascara. These treasures were displayed along with a request that maybe I could show her how to use the mascara. Kiki hasn’t been interested in makeup until just lately. Link didn’t buy anything at the stores. He was in it for the the food and the adventure. He took the mission to get better acquainted seriously. Apparently he asked conversation-starter questions like “what do you like to do?” Which made Kiki laugh. But they giggled and goofed and made it home safely.

The happy mood was contagious. It spread to the whole family. I truly hope that this is not a singular event. I hope to see many more outings of this nature. I hope that even though it will make me nervous every time. If I want to see them fly, I have to let go.

It is eleven o’clock. Everyone else in the house is already asleep and the house is quiet. It is so tempting for me to stay up. I want to revel in the fact that for the next eight hours no one will be asking me to do anything. No one will call on the phone, or ask me to pour milk, or need me to find something. I can just sit and listen to the sound of silence. I can hear my own thoughts. I can compose words without interruption.

Unfortunately 6:20 am will come at the same time whether or not I’ve slept. Tomorrow will arrive and it will have demands upon me. I will be much better equipped to meet those demands if I’ve had a full night’s sleep. So I should go to bed. I really should. But instead I stand at the window. I stare out into the darkness and wonder if we will get snow tonight. I’m not ready for snow. I want more sunshine. The house is already chilly, so I head toward my bed. But then words collect together in my brain. They come together and crystallize, much as molecules of moisture freeze together in the million beautiful patterns of snowflakes. The words are there. If I crawl into that warm bed, they will melt away.

I step lightly down to my office and I type. I type and capture the words. I pin them to the page so that they will retain their shape. When I am done, I will go sleep.

We each have a limited amount of time and energy to spend. Choosing to do one thing invariably leaves less energy and time for everything else. It is a very simple calculation. We grab handfuls from our store and spread them around. When we run out, we must rest or do something else to replenish our reserves before we can hand out any more.

And yet this week I have experienced the miracle of the widow who fed Elijah. I encounter a great need in someone close to me and I empty out my reserves to respond. But need followed need without stopping. Each time I was sure that I had used the last emotional energy that I had available. But when the next need arose, I went to my store I discovered I had just enough to manage. It happened again and again all week long.

This week has not left me much time to rest or rejuvenate. There have been no spaces to process. I have poured myself out to answer the needs of others and somehow I am not empty.

It is 8:48 pm and this is the first moment I’ve had to myself all day long. Most of today has revolved around providing structure for Kiki so that she could get through her pile of homework. The other priority for the day was some long overdue house cleaning and decontamination. I’m still washing everything after the illness we had. I still have copious amounts of laundry to run through the machines, but at least the homework is under control. Even better, Kiki has not been fighting me over it.

This week it has been hard for me to find words. I have to have space in my thoughts to process my experiences and for words to come together. There has to be space for me to hold on to those words until I can write them down. One of the most frustrating experiences is when the words are just starting to come together. I’m just tentatively arranging them and then something else demands my attention. The words break apart, spinning into the corners of my brain like the shards of a dropped vase. When I find space again it is not a matter of fitting the pieces back together. It is melting down the shards I can find so that I can make something else.

This reminds me that there used to be a glassblowers stall in our local mall. It is not there anymore. This saddens me even though I never actually bought anything there. I always intended to buy something when I had more money, but now the chance is gone. I wonder what happened to the artisans who used to work there. I wish now that I’d struck up a conversation to learn more about the art of glass blowing. I hope the artists are still working somewhere because the things they made were beautiful.

I still remember the glass rose under a glass dome that was prominently displayed the year I met Howard. It was also the year that Beauty and the Beast hit theaters. I loved the movie since that particular fairy tale has resonance for me. I always stopped to look at the glass roses. That Christmas Howard and I were at a delicate point in our relationship. I was a bit overwhelmed by the whole thing and rather frightened. Howard wanted very much to show how much he loved me, but was afraid of frightening me off. I don’t remember if we exchanged gifts that year. I do remember that I put together a box of notes for him to read while I was at home for the holidays. But I remember clearly when Howard told me that he’d stood in front of those glass roses and almost bought one for me. He didn’t because he wasn’t sure if the gift would be too much for me, even though he felt like it wasn’t enough to express how he felt.

It was years later when Howard did buy me flower decorations. He came home from a trip to the Netherlands with a pair of carved wooden tulips. They sit on my dresser and make me happy when I see them. They are a beautiful thing that Howard got for me just because. On the whole I think I prefer these to the unpurchased glass rose. They are warmer and less fragile, just as Howard and my relationship has grown warmer and more durable. But still lovely.

If the glass blower’s stall were still there, I would now be tempted to go and buy a glass flower. I would do it to support a beautiful art. But I don’t know that I would choose a rose. It is perhaps just as well. Glass flowers lack scent and touch, which is what I need most from flowers. So instead of wandering the mall in search of glass, I wander through the floral section of the grocery store. I am watching for the day when Christmas lilies go on sale. I need lilies and hyacinths in the winter time.

It was only a month or so ago that I was at Writer Girls and I kept catching wafts of the most wonderful scent. It was flowers and after a bit of puzzling, I identified the scent as lily. The flower stand was fifty feet away and down some stairs, but the smell still made me happy. It is a bit silly of me to regret not buying the lilies. Buying them two months ago would not give me blooming lily now. At the time the scent was all I needed.

I can tell that my brain needs to unwind. It is traveling down odd eddies of memory this evening. But I think I’ve now wound to the end. I still have two kids to get into bed.

The company of good friends is a balm to my soul. I feel like I’ve emptied out my head and heart. It is not that any of my things were taken away, but they somehow feel much lighter when someone else knows about them and agrees that they are heavy. This is particularly true when it is the accumulation of burdens which weighs me down. Somehow it is easier to feel justified in being overwhelmed by a large thing rather than small things.

I am incredibly fortunate and grateful for the friends I have.

I feel much lighter. The last two days have been heavy. Yesterday was so full of child management that I do not see how I remained calm and coherent through the end of it. I’m pretty sure I was loaned some strength.

But this evening I’ve gotten through all the events. I helped manage the bi-weekly activity for fifteen little girls aged 8-11 and it went well. I nudged two reluctant teenagers out the door to an activity that they were dreading. They both came home from it happy and glad that they went. I went to three parent/teacher conferences and I learned that I don’t have more work to do. The structures I have struggled to put in place are succeeding. The kids are doing well. And I walked away convinced that all three kids are in class situations which are ideal for them at this time. (This is such a relief considering how much my fourth has struggled with teachers this year.)

Tomorrow there will be more work to do. I will have to confront kids and require them to do things that they don’t like. I will have to stay calm while the kids attempt to punch my buttons to get emotional reactions. But all of that is tomorrow and I can contemplate it without dread. For right now, I feel light.

Two hours spent making much-desired rag doll for Gleek who has been reading Little House in the Big Woods and who really needed loving attention. Check.

Two-hour-long homework showdown, Mom vs Kiki with ultimatums. Check

Fix dinner and feed it to kids. Check.

Corner Link and make him add details to a bare bones writing assignment. Check.

Remember to eat some dinner. Check.

Introduce Patch to Frog and Toad. Check

Make kids go to bed. About 50% at the moment.

My day appears to be all used up.

I’ve mentioned before how I arrived at this Fall and my children transformed into pits of need. I’ve speculated that some of this transformation was driven by the fact that I was truly available to them for the first time in months. The months prior had been overwhelmed by business tasks. I felt guilty about how much the business stuff displaced the family stuff and so it was with relief that I turned a large portion of my creative energy toward the needs of my kids; figuring out what they need, then attempting to supply it. I call it my “Mommy sense.” I’ll observe a child’s behavior, know what is driving it, and how to come around from the side to meet the need so that the problematic behavior is eliminated. In essence, I’m circling around and flanking them, which means that for every step forward the child makes, I’ve taken a dozen steps.

Of late I’ve begun to get the feeling that I’m too available. I’m running around in circles. There are legitimate needs which actually require my focused attention, but I’m also noticing places where kids are waiting for me to solve problems rather than taking initiative. For example, certain of my kids think nothing of calling me in from another room to ask me to pour them a glass of milk. On the one hand I understand how struggling kids need reassurance. They need to feel safe, and cared for, and nurtured. Small acts of service from me go a long way to fill those needs. On the other hand, kids don’t need as much nurturing when they are confident in their own capabilities. The gripping hand is that I hate being paged from another room to perform menial tasks that kids are fully capable of managing themselves.

The milk example seems pretty clear cut, but some of the other things are not. When Kiki is over-tired, feeling blue, faced with a pile of unpleasant homework, and complaining of soreness in her back, it is very tempting for me to let the chores slide, to let her play a game to relax for awhile. Sometimes I’m even tempted to do the chores for her as an act of love. She is always grateful when I do, but it doesn’t make anything better in the long term. We end up in the same place the next day or the next week. She’s struggling and it seems strange that the right answer, the best answer, is for me to push. But it is. When I stand up to her and tell her that she will do her homework now, she sticks out her chin and scowls at me, but then she plows through the homework and feels much better for it being done. Letting her relax solves nothing. It is just easier. Doing things for her solves nothing. I’ve got both Kiki and Link fighting me in this exact same way. I have to stand firm against them both to get them moving. Then there is Gleek whom I have to reign in. Patch is less demanding at the moment, but he also needs me to stand firm to get him moving.

And so I need to be simultaneously available and unavailable. I have to structure my availability carefully. I have to be ready to drop everything and jump to help a child, but also be prepared to look that same child in the eye and say “do it yourself.” And I don’t get advance notice which I need to do. I have to be ready to evaluate and switch tactics at a moment’s notice. Sometimes I choose wrong. Sometimes I get it right. Either way I’ll have to do it again. And again. And again. No wonder I’m feeling so worn out.

Children lack self-awareness. They are not alone in this. Many adults lack it as well. In fact I think everyone fails to recognize their own motivations at some point or another. It can be very frustrating to me because I can see both the behavior and the needs which drive it. I can see when the behavior actually makes the needs less likely to be met rather than more.

Today Kiki called me from school. She was rambling and tired on the phone. She mentioned that her head hurts and then requested that I bring her bag to school. The contents of this all important bag were pencils and erasers. She was requesting me to take 20 minutes out of my day to deliver pencils to the school. What she really wanted was sympathy, and mom to come to the rescue so she can feel loved, and possibly even that mom would see how poorly she is feeling and just bring her home. Unfortunately she’s been calling me to rescue her a lot lately. After the last time, I warned her that me delivering items to her at school would cost extra chores and would only be done in case of emergency. Pencils do not qualify as an emergency. I told her to borrow a pencil from someone. She said “I’m mad at you!” and hung up. By the time she got home, she wasn’t mad at me anymore and I offered all the sympathy and nurturing that she’d wanted in the first place.

My other daughter Gleek is also frequently lacking in self-awareness. She will end up in fights with other kids and be righteously angry with their actions. But when I start sorting through all the he said / she said and accusations, I invariably discover that Gleek provoked the other child to the point that the child had to defend themselves. Then Gleek is angry and hurt by the defense. But I can’t get Gleek to see it. And spending hours trying to explain how the conflicts are her fault don’t do her any good. They just make her feel bad about herself and that suppressed emotion makes the next conflict much more likely. So much of it is driven by sadness and feeling left out. Gleek feels these things and so she provokes the other kids into paying attention to her. Not all the time. Many times she is loving and thoughtful. Many times she plays with friends peacefully. But some days I just want to put her in a room by herself until the mood to provoke passes.

My girls aren’t alone in not seeing their motivations. When Link is faced with a task he does not want to complete, he gets angry and obstructionist. He lashes out at everyone and claims that they are preventing him from concentrating. He tries to pick fights because the resulting argument delays the task. And he can’t see why he is doing it. On some level he knows he is being unpleasant and he feels badly about it, but he can’t just see the task he doesn’t want and plow through it. I have to corner him and not let him escape.

In my kids’ defense, I think they are far more self-aware than other kids their age. They have a mom who pulls them aside and points out what they are doing and why. I doubt they like when I do that. But I can’t help but try to teach them what I see. I can’t just look at behaviors, I have to ferret out why they exist. I have to understand what is going on. I do it to myself too, except that I’m sure I don’t have a clear view on me. Just as a person has difficulty seeing the back of her own head. I need to remember that when I feel frustrated about what my kids don’t see.

Before rolling out of bed this morning, I contemplated my day. In that quiet, before-the-chaos moment I realized that I have three big projects on my plate. Each is important and none of them can be completed in a single day. I need to go through the Schlock Mercenary archives drawing frame boxes so that we can launch the iPhone app. We want to release the app as soon as we can. I need to assemble pictures and layout for the 2008 and 2009 family photo books. I want them done in time to order books as Christmas gifts. I need to collect and revise essays into a book. I’d like to get it ready for submitting within the next month or two.

My preferred mode of operation is to tackle a big project and complete it before taking on another large project. So I lay in bed trying to decide which thing to tackle first. But every time I was leaning toward one of the projects, I could feel the other two pulling at me. If I decided that business came first and I should just get the frames done, then my head would be filled with thoughts about how family things should have priority over business. If I decided to let the frames lay idle in favor of the photo book, then I would remember the feeling I’ve been getting over the last month that the essay book is important and I need to get back to it. (No idea why it is so important, just that I need to finish it.) But if I decided to dive in to the writing, I would remember how the other two projects will both take less time and so I should probably complete them first and clear my head of the conflict. Around and around I went with significant mixing and matching of arguments and counter-arguments.

It was paralyzing. And over the jabber I could hear clearly the voice that claimed I should just scrap it all and go play a computer game instead, because at least a computer game would be relaxing. Then there was also the voice which reminded me that big projects are well and good, but that there’s a pile of house cleaning to be done as well.

This is when I remembered my good friend the timer. I have 16 waking hours in my Saturday. That is enough hours that I can spend time on each of the big projects and still get the housework done. So I got out of bed and made breakfast. Then I set a timer and worked on frames for an hour. Then I took a break to change laundry loads and tend to kids. Then the timer and I worked on the photo book for an hour. Then came a break to make a fresh batch of play dough to occupy bored children. Now I am having an hour of writing. I’ve done all of that, and it is barely lunch time.

I feel so much better about all of the projects. I feel much calmer when I can see that by choosing one project I am not sacrificing the others. They each get their turn in rotation. After lunch I may rotate through the turns again. Or perhaps I’ll give that computer game a turn for awhile.