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Gleek had a rough time at church. It was primarily because she is still easily fatigued after a week of being sick. She ended up sitting with me in the adult class with her head in my lap. She lay quietly and drifted off to sleep. The lesson involved a discussion where class members offered stories/thoughts/opinions. Voices of various loudness spoke from various points of the room, but Gleek slept completely undisturbed. Until I raised my hand and offered a comment. My voice caused Gleek to stir and wake up though by the time she sat up, I’d finished speaking.

I guess it is part of the mother package. My voice is fundamentally different for my children, just as I am different from other adults that they encounter. My actions will create reactions in them merely by the fact of me being their mother. I think I’ll know that my kids are grown up when they stop reacting to me unconsciously.

It is daunting to see the ripple effect that I have on the kids. It makes me worry about every choice and every word. But then I remember that patterns matter more than incidents. So long as I am building good family patterns, we’ll be okay.

Gleek has recovered from her week with the flu except for the cough that looks likely to linger for another week. Link had a miserable couple of days but seems all better now with no residual cough. Kiki is just hitting the upturn from her misery. She still isn’t well, but she is on the mend. Patch has been cheery and healthy throughout the whole time. Until today when he started coughing. This evening he spiked a fever. I expect him to be feeling poorly for the next five days at least.

Through some miracle, neither Howard nor I have caught this thing. We’ve both felt a little off, and spent some time wondering if we were coming down with it, but this one is hard to mistake. Tomorrow will be the fourth Sunday in a row that either Howard or I has stayed home from church with a sick child.

All the tending of sick children has begun to blur together. It becomes a wash of sleeping on couches or air mattresses next to fevered kids, thermometer readings, notes on medicine to make sure I’m tracking dosages, and an endless stream of drinks and snacks to tempt appetites. There have been occasional moments of amusement as when a sleepy/fevered Kiki told me very earnestly that her pinkies had gone for a walk and she wanted them back.

Is this swine flu? We haven’t had anyone tested, but I suspect that it is. It has all the symptoms. I’ll just be glad when it is gone.

I figured out part of what has been throwing me off balance since school started. My hours feel spacious and empty, but my head is constantly full. I have lots to think about, but not all that much which requires instant action. This is not the same as having nothing to do; laundry, dishes, cleaning, gardening, and writing are always waiting for me to get them done; but for the most part those things are not urgent. The things that are urgent tend to be homework management or helping a child sort through today’s flavor of drama. These can occupy hours of time, sap all my energy, and the result is completely intangible.

I’m left with a feeling that time is slipping away and simultaneously plodding. I can hardly believe it is November already and yet so many emotional events have been crammed into the time that I sometimes marvel that it is only November. Sometimes I look around and feel like I’m at a really good place that efforts are coming to fruition. Other times it all feels like a hopeless tangled mess and there is no measurable progress. I look ahead to the pressures of book launch with anticipation because it will force me to focus and create forward momentum. I also dread the pressures of book launch because I can not picture myself properly managing the current parenting load while also under a time crunch.

This all swirls in my head until I just want to find a way to turn my brain off. That leads to playing too many levels on Plants vs Zombies, or watching movies, or re-reading books. Then I get to the end of the day and look around guiltily at all the non-urgent tasks which still need doing.

I feel like we’re slowly working through this. As their needs are being met, the kids are being less needy. We’ve got the homework structures into place. I’ve solidified my relationships with this year’s crop of teachers. It is getting better and I feel like we’re doing solid foundation work that will carry us through the next few years. This time is important. I can’t skip it. I don’t want to skip it. I just wish it didn’t wear me out so fast with so little tangible evidence of my efforts.

This morning I had one sick child. By 2 pm I had two confirmed ill and a third probably ill. It has been a day of watching movies which was preceded by several days which were also days of watching movies. This has frequently been distracting when the kids select really good movies. So I’m going to share the distraction. Here are lines from the movies that we’ve watched. See if you can figure out which movies they are:

1. “We have our heading!”

2. “We found our second clue!”

3. “Why are you circling me? What, were you a vulture in another life?”

4. “I killed you too quickly the last time, a mistake I don’t intend to duplicate.”

5. “The pellet with the poison is in the vessel with the pestle.”

6. “I’m just like you, you’re just like me. Anyone can plainly see.”

7. “What’s up doc?”

8. “You are one lucky bug!”

9. “So, how’s the escape plan coming?”

10. “Magic, magic do as you will!”

Some of those will probably be really easy. Excuse me. I need to go watch a rat cooking dinner.

Gleek is sick again. She spent the week before last laying on the couch with a fever, body aches, and a rash. Then she got better and we figured she’d had her bout with flu for the year. No one else got sick and we counted ourselves lucky. Then Halloween night Gleek spiked a fever again. She has spent the last two days laying on the couch with a high fever, sniffles, a cough, and body aches. It is the flu again, only a different strain this time.

I’ve spent the last couple of days tending to her. It has been harder this time around because we went through most of our stock of infrequently watched movies just a week ago. Also Gleek feels the cosmic unfairness of the fact that she is the only one who has been sick. Twice.

I worry that this particular cosmic unfairness is likely to be rectified. A sniffle/cough illness is harder to contain than a rash illness. I’ve been in the most contact with Gleek, so I’ve been monitoring myself all day. It isn’t always easy to determine if that sneeze and slight sniffle are allergies or if it is is the beginning of something more dire. Are those body aches, or just stiffness from sleeping on an air mattress next to a sick child? Is that a slight fatigue headache?

I feel like a swimmer in the water during one of the Jaws movies. I’m out there in the open, completely exposed and I can’t tell if that thing which just brushed my leg is a piece of harmless kelp or a monster that will swallow me whole.

I really don’t want what Gleek has. I don’t want Gleek to have what she has. But if she still has it tomorrow, we’re off to the doctor again. Whee.

Both Gleek and Link are feeling a little under the weather today. This means that they want to sit on the couch and watch movies. For some reason the kids have been picking movies on our old VHS tapes. Those movies don’t get watched much, but they have a strong nostalgia component because they used to be watched all the time during our baby/toddler/preschool years. Now Gleek is 8 and Link is 12 and they’re curled up on the couch watching Blues Clues. It may be silly, but it warms my heart that they aren’t too old to shout instructions to Steve. If I squint I can almost see Preschool Link and Baby Gleek. It is good to know they’re still here even though so much else has changed.

A super spy white cat girl with sparkles and a ninja jump out of my car and dash into the church building. It is the night of the Halloween carnival and they have been looking forward to it for at least a month. My feet are slower, in part because I have to shut the car doors that the others left open, but also because my head is full of worries and things not yet done. If I had only consulted my own desires, I probably would have skipped the carnival this year. But if I had, I would have missed out. The carnival is nominally for the kids, but there truly is something for everyone.

The event is wrapped around food. Many good events are, because people enjoy sharing food. In this case there were ten different pots of soups, chilis, and curries lined up. All had been donated by members of the congregation. Sign-up sheets were sent around at church for weeks in advance until enough people volunteered. Howard was already there with our curry. He’d been simmering it all day to make sure the flavors were right and that it was sufficiently spicy. For those who like things even hotter, Howard had a bottle of Dragon’s Breath hot sauce in the pocket of his mad scientist lab coat.

The opening prayer was said and the line began to form. The potluck meal always takes place before the carnival games. This gives the parents a fighting chance to shovel some real food into small mouths before the candy is dispensed. Unfortunately the effort is undermined by the fact that the second half of the food sign-up is all about the desserts. Those are laid out right after the big pots of chili. Many a child has been known to pass on all the dinner food only to load up a plate full of dessert. By “many a child” I mean “my kids in particular.” Some years I have tried to fight the tendency. Other years I just let them eat whatever they choose, promising myself that I’ll feed them a solid breakfast the next morning.

This year I opt for the latter, and I’m pleased to note that my two boys actually select real food. Link selected his dad’s curry. I warned him it was spicy, but he merely answered that he knew. He sampled it and said “Oh man! That’s good!” A moment later he winced a little and said “But then it goes up to your brain!” He nibbled a few more bites before abandoning the curry in favor of a dessert.

As I ate, I watched the joyful chaos surrounding me. All of the kids, all of the teens, and about half of the adults were in costume. Many of the kids were running around in the big multi-purpose room. I watched a pair of Wolverines converse over the pots of chili. Iron Man dashed by followed closely by a pair of princesses. Ninjas and pirates engaged in epic battles full of running and giggling. Holly Golightly was carrying water back to her table. Superman and Wonder Woman strolled arm-in-arm. I was one of the boring mundanes. I thought about claiming myself as a browncoat based on my brown leather jacket. Unfortunately I lacked the props to really carry it off. I was just me, in full observer mode.

As I watched, I began to think about how amazing this particular event actually is. There were about 200 people participating together in an event which depends upon volunteerism to run at all. People volunteered to bring food. The people on the activities committee volunteered to organize. Someone had to come early and set up nearly 30 banquet tables, then cover them with brown paper, and scatter candy corns across them for decorations. Decorations adorn the walls as well. Other people stay after the event to clean up. The teens plan and then run carnival games for the younger kids. There are adults guiding that process to make sure that the games are ready on time and are run safely. In past years the evening has included shadow plays, skits, or pinatas. It is a lot of work to put together and yet the work is spread across so many willing hands that no one is crushed by it.

The more I thought about this Halloween Carnival, the more amazed I was by it. The fact that such an event can exist without drama is a testament to the amazing neighborhood community in which I live and participate. It was not always this big and amazing. I remember when we first moved here, how the teen groups griped about running games for kids. I remember that there were minor squabbles about who had to run the thing. There were some years when the carnival almost didn’t happen at all. None of today’s teens complain about running games because they grew up playing them. The event has a momentum of it’s own. Everyone knows ahead of time what their jobs will be. The people on the activity committee have in past years been in the youth leadership or have been among those who bring food.

But even more than the momentum of tradition, this carnival builds upon all the community connections that are built all year long. We live next door to each other. Our kids go to the same schools. We meet on the street, at the grocery store, at church, or during church assigned visits. Our church is one that emphasizes reaching out to others, helping each other, getting to know each other. We try to extend this community to those who do not attend church or who attend other churches. The fliers listed the carnival as a neighborhood carnival to which all were welcome. Because of all this community building during the year, people are willing to put in extra effort to make the carnival happen.

The carnival is worth the effort. Just as I was scraping the last of my soup from the paper bowl, the carnival games were opened. Children and teens scattered to the classrooms surrounding the big multi-purpose room. Many parents went as well, particularly those with small children the shepherd. My kids all ran off without me. With the room less crowded, I was able to observe as groups of people gathered, talked, and broke apart to form new groups. I finally got out of my chair to go participate actively instead of passively. I can entertain myself for hours just people watching, but it was in participating that I found the true value of the community. I had several conversations that eased my heart. I now have new information to apply to the challenges my kids are currently providing for me. It is so nice to discuss these things with other parents who are or have been in places similar to mine.

It takes a village to raise a child and the carnival gave me a chance to reconnect with my village. I see many of these people frequently, but we are all running around getting things done. The carnival is unique because the only agenda is social. It provides time to just visit, to commiserate, to catch up.

The closing events included prizes for adult costumes. This was announced in advance to encourage adults to dress up. There weren’t prizes for kid costumes because “all kids are winners.” This was a nice solution. Besides all the kids got prizes from the carnival games. The last event was a costume parade. All the kids lined up and snaked their way past the tables of adults. They marched triumphantly, joyously. The costumes showed the ravages of the evening. Make-up was smeared, wigs were askew, many a shirt had smears of chocolate or frosting, some eyes were red with the aftermath of a child size tragedy, but they marched smiling and waving.

Then the event dissolved into scattered conversations, parents trying to herd children into vehicles, and the clatter of tables and chairs being stowed into their racks. Within 40 minutes the space that had been full of activity and laughter would be dark, clean, and empty. I took my crew home. We went through the spoils of the evening. My daughter had harvested candy corns from the tables and packed one of her white gloves full of them. She ate a few, but the rest we stowed for later. I hustled them off to bed. They needed to be rested for trick-or-treating the next day.

People think that Halloween is about costumes, candy, and creepiness. For me, Halloween is about community. It is groups of people stepping outside their regular lives. It is ringing the doorbells of your neighbors and smiling. It is the school parade and waving not just at my kids, but also the kids from church, neighborhood, and friends. It is trailing your six year old son down the street as he collects candy and stopping for a moment to say hello to the parent traveling the other direction down the street. It is the Halloween Carnival where dozens of people work together to create an event for everyone to enjoy. Such things take hard work and effort, just like building a community. But it is effort well spent.

I used to be the person who had her Halloween costume planned months in advance. This was true even after I was an adult and even after I became a parent. We have portraits hanging on our wall of the year our family went medieval. Howard and I smile in our garb while holding an adorable pair of dragons. There were cyberpunk years and more eclectic years as well. It was a tradition, part of who we were.

I look at the pictures and I am not that person anymore. I do not have the time and creative energy to spare for elaborate costuming. I sometimes miss being that person. I particularly miss it today when I sit to watch the school Halloween parade wearing my mundane clothes. I feel boring, uncreative. I miss it when Patch turns to me with his wide eyes and asks “Mom? What are you going to be for Halloween?” and I realize that he can’t imagine why anyone would choose not to dress up. It is hard to explain to a six year old that I barely found enough energy to help four kids scrape together costumes, finding further effort to create a costume for myself does not feel worth it.

I don’t regret the person that I am. I don’t hit October with ideas burning to be created because I’ve been using my creativity all year long. The enthusiasm that used to be spent on costume creation is instead spent on writing; and on book layout; and on figuring out where my kids needs and wants diverge; and on meeting all the needs and some of the wants. My creativity has been particularly tapped out this Fall. I feel like I spend all week flailing around trying to keep everything afloat. I look ahead to the weekend like a swimmer striving to reach a log where she can rest. Only when I grasp the log, it often twists in my grip and I am as likely to end up underneath it as on top of it.

So I will participate in Halloween to the extent necessary to make sure that I don’t spoil the enjoyment of my children. They need to have the fun holiday to which they have been looking forward. Some other year I will fully embrace the joy of Halloween again. I will make a glorious costume. I will have someplace exciting to wear it. I will find happiness in having energy to spare on the creation of a holiday that is all about imagination and possibilities. This year, I will wave at the parade and hand out candy.

Dear Universe,

This note is to excuse Sandra from today’s task list. She has been feeling under the weather and also very burdened by the unrelenting list of things to do. She noted that while the things on today’s list really do need to get done, none of them are either urgent or critical. She’ll work extra hard tomorrow to catch up.

Thanks.

I had my house to myself for three whole hours today. Two of them I spent asleep. The other was in pieces before and after the sleeping. It was so marvelous to have the house quiet. No one needed anything from me. No one called. The doorbell did not ring. Days like today I understand the attraction of the hermit life. I could use another three hours just like it.

I don’t get another three hours of quiet today. I have to pick up the kids from school and resume answering their needs. But I don’t mind too much, because the quiet hours today reminded me that quiet hours exist. I will get to have them again. I may even get to have them tomorrow.

I don’t have an infinite capacity for the absorption of silence. If I had uninterrupted days of silence, I would soon be longing for interruption. I would be longing to be necessary and needed. I just crave silence right now because the needs have been abundant and the silence has been scarce. I think a better balance is in my future, possibly before New Years. With the turn of the year, the kids will settle more. They will not need so much intervention. So I may have a peaceful month in January before business tasks fill up the available space as we gear up for a Schlock shipping.

Until then, I will treasure the small spaces of silence I can find and protect them from random small tasks.