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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.

It is a night for home made pizza and a movie. Each kid got their own little pizza to deck out with toppings. “You mean I get the whole thing? And I can put whatever I want on it?” Link asked with amazed delight. Then we sat down to watch Bolt. It was found under the couch yesterday and thus has all the shine of being new since the kids haven’t seen it in awhile. Here’s to home made fun which costs nothing but foresight and effort.

I feel like that digression in the book The Princess Bride which explains why three years of events are summed up with the words “what with one thing and another, three years passed.” It has been a one-thing-after-another kind of day. None of the things were urgent or stressful. Nothing made me sad or upset. Several things made me happy. But I don’t have the energy or clarity of thought to pull the day together around any kind of a focus. My mailbox is emptier. My house is cleaner. The last of the make up homework is done. The packages are shipped. Meals were cooked then eaten. And if the kids were a bit wild and inclined to squabble, I choose to blame it on the dropping barometric pressure which preceded the rain. On the other hand, two of those same kids spent time today writing fiction stories and the results were good. The mailman brought me the last disc of Bones so Howard and I can watch it tonight. And I even sneaked a little bit of writing time.

It was an ordinary, mostly good, occasionally frustrating, day. The kind of day that passes and is forgotten because it contained nothing momentous. It is the kind of day about which I can say “what with one thing and another, the day passed.”

Some mornings I just want to curl up into a ball and cry.

It could be that the mood was started late last night when I once again realized that I had completely spaced Gleek’s art lessons. These are the same art lessons that two weeks ago I realized really are emotionally important to Gleek and so should be high on my Things to Remember list. But then everyone was sick and the days got all muddled and I forgot about the significance of Tuesday until after 10 pm. Granted, I’d spent the afternoon taking Kiki to the doctor for an ear infection and back pain. Then there had been dinner and the management of much make-up homework with accompanying crying. Then bedtime when Gleek once again complained of being too creeped out to sleep. This indicator speaks of an un-met emotional need, one I’d hoped to address by prioritizing her art lessons to the top of the list. I was busy all afternoon and evening with important and urgent things. My mental glitch was understandable, but that doesn’t make it acceptable.

Then this morning Patch was not all better. He was sniffling and coughing and laying limply on the couch. He was supposed to go to school so that I could accompany Gleek on her field trip and so Howard could get piles of work done efficiently. While trying to decide what to do I discovered that a still-pajama’d Gleek had loaded the washing machine for me and was ready to start it. She was trying to help. It was a lovely thought, but she’d loaded the washer full of already clean clothing. I should have just dumped the soap in and let the clothes get washed again, but I didn’t think fast enough. So Gleek ran upstairs and wrote a note about how no one understands her at all. Then she showed me the note right as I needed to drive Kiki to school.

Gleek needed me to sit down and listen to her, to sort out her feelings. It was a window of opportunity with a child who usually dashes off distracted.

Kiki needed a ride to school, and a check for lunch money, and an excuse note for the days she was sick.

Link was laying flopped on the couch with one sock on the other in his hand.

Patch was valiantly getting dressed while coughing up a storm.

Howard was helping nudge Link into motion, heading for a shower, eating his breakfast, prepping for the gym, and trying to get into the right headspace so he can get loads of work done today.

Also: There were piles of laundry which need to be sorted; the fact that I need to sort through the kids winter clothes and see what gaps need to be covered; the fact that Gleek has holes in the toes of her tennis shoes and therefore needs new ones; Dishes to wash; my breakfast partially eaten; myself to get dressed; the feeling that I really need to get back to the writing work which has lain idle for more than a week; Schlock Mercenary email and shipping waiting for me on the computer; and the house has felt like a cluttered disaster for two weeks.

I know my life is good. I know that my problems really are small. I know that it is all going to be all right. Somehow knowing all of that makes the feeling worse because it adds a layer of guilt that I can get overwhelmed by problems that are so small in comparison with the blessings they are attached to.

Then I remember a blog post I wrote long ago. I was at a grocery store and the clerk said the perfunctory “have a nice day” My answer was “actually it has been a lousy day.” Somehow that admission and acceptance of the lousy day made all the difference in the world. Accepting it gave me the power to put it behind me and the rest of the day was good.

So this is what I am doing this morning. I’m typing out exactly why I returned from dropping kids at school (except for Patch who is being Howard’s buddy today) and wanted to sit down and cry. It is okay. Some days are just like that. So I write a moody blog post. Then I get up and make the rest of the day better.

Tomorrow, for the first time in almost two weeks, all of my kids will be at school simultaneously. This brings the joyous possibility of me having some time during which I am not doing 24/7 on call nursing/parenting duty. Except, I’ve already committed to chaperon for Gleek’s field trip. This means I’ll be helping shepherd excited third graders to a play rather than being at home reveling in the fact that no one needs me to fetch anything. But I can see it on the far side of tomorrow. I can see time when I have my house to myself. I can see when the morning routine is back to normal and the house is getting cleaned up and all the make-up homework is done.

Fevers are more common for babies and toddlers than they are for older children. My kids used to have fevers all the time. I got to the point that I could tell how high a fever was just by putting my cheek against the child’s forehead. Often I used a thermometer just to verify, but I was right within a degree. I can’t do that anymore. It has been so long since fevers were a regular part of our existence. Although after the past couple of weeks I’m starting to regain my skill. Its a skill I’d just as soon stay rusty.

Today is Patch’s miserable day. He just lays on the couch and tries to get comfortable. This means he’ll still have a fever tonight and probably tomorrow. Then the cough will settle in but he’ll feel better. I’m expecting to keep him home from school all week. Patch benefits from my experience with the prior three kids having this same flu. I know what to expect and so I can tell him.

Patch is often the beneficiary of my experiences with the other kids. That just comes with the territory of being fourth. He benefits from the routines that I figured out when the other kids were his age. He doesn’t feel very scared about growing up because he’s watched older siblings tread the path before him. On the other hand, he always feels like he his being left behind, last one to the party. I know how he feels. I’m a fourth child too. Only I had three siblings following me as well, so I didn’t feel like I was trailing everyone.

There have been lots of studies done on birth order with lots of conflicting results. In my observation of my own kids, the older two have more pressure placed upon them to be responsible, but the younger two succeed at responsibility younger because the structure is in place to support it. The older two had more individualized adult attention at younger ages but the younger two had role models who spent time playing with them. I don’t know that any of them are better off for when they were born. They each have their own package of challenges. I do believe that our family as a whole improves the more experience we have in being one.

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.