Kiki and the Photo Shoot

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When someone says they are a model, it conjures images of a beautiful person who is dressed up fancy, gets a lot of attention, and sometimes fame or wealth as well. Those thoughts about modelling are products of the post-supermodel era that we live in. Prior to the supermodels of the 70’s, modelling was not about fame. Yesterday I accompanied my daughter Kiki on what turned out to be 8 hours of modelling work. It showed both of us that the real work of a model is not the be the center of attention and adulation, but to be a blank canvas or a mannequin upon which someone else hangs a concept. The shoot that Kiki posed for was an art shoot, so every step of the process aimed to create an effect. The final photographs are fascinating and compelling, but they do not in any way represent Kiki even though it is her face. The same is true of commercial shoots, where models are dressed in casual clothes and are smiling. Those models are still subsuming who they are to present an image that will attract buyers to purchase the item being advertised. Modelling is not about being the center of attention, which is not something I fully realized until yesterday.

Kiki was told to show up with no makeup and clean hair. The stylists needed a clean slate, a blank canvas.

The array of tools for make up was astonishing. I wish I’d gotten a shot of this table after the make up was applied. It was a complete jumbled mess which contrasted with the array in the picture.

The photo shoot was arranged by Rebekah McKinney who designed and made the dress that Kiki wore. Rebekah has become a friend of our family over the past year, enough so that Kiki felt comfortable asking to borrow the dress to wear for Prom, but once the dress was altered, everyone wanted to get some fun pictures of Kiki wearing it. So Beckie arranged for two stylists and a photographer. The stylists worked at 9 Salon and Spa. The photographer was Gary of Meaux Photography. I’ll have pictures from him to post later after he’s done processing. All the pictures in this post are ones that I took.

Every time Kiki and I thought things looked done, the stylists would add more: more hair, more sparkles, more eye liner, more lashes. I think the hair was Kiki’s biggest surprise. She has so much hair of her own that she was astonished that hair pieces could possibly be necessary. Before the stylists were done, they’d added a volume of hair approximately equal to a cat, in four colors.

There were some stages where the hair looked like something from an 80’s band.

After four hours of hair and make up, we paused long enough for Kiki to eat then made her sit down for another half hour of make up. Kiki was enjoying the process, though she confessed afterward that some stages of the hairdo made her wonder if anyone knew what they were doing. She also still has some sore spots on her head because the stylist pulled hard while braiding. Things got fun again at the photography studio.

We were extremely fortunate in our photographer. He coached Kiki, explaining to her that he was trying to create an S shape in each shot and how that was usually achieved using a human body. He also explained that she should make small moves when adjusting her body, because lots of small corrections would create the right effect.

My favorite moments were when the photographer said “relax” and then held the camera so Kiki could see the photo.

Kiki would melt out of her self-effaced art pose and become a girl who bounced from excitement. She would view the photo with her artist’s eye and see how a pose which felt awkward, yielded a highly effective image.

The photographer did not take any pictures of Kiki smiling. I did. Because I like her smiling, even if it ruins the artsy effect.

Also, sometimes she was a punk and made faces.

Yet I was impressed, even with Beckie and I poking fun at her, Kiki would quell her giggles and get back to striking the requested pose. One of the reasons this experience was so fun is that we were working with people who are very good at what they do, but who also don’t take themselves too seriously. The designer, stylists, and photographer were all fashion people who know that there is an element of the ridiculous involved with fashion. We all embraced the ridiculous and had fun.


I did have one concern about my daughter modelling. Lately I’ve been doing a lot of reading and thinking about how much value and emphasis US society puts on physical beauty, particularly for women. I feel it is very important that women know that beauty is not required to be a valued and valuable person. Kiki has always been beautiful, both physically in ways that are recognized by society, and in her mind and heart. This photo shoot showed Kiki her own beauty in a way that she had never seen it before. Seeing that changes her own mental image of herself, and I was concerned about the shape of that change.


We talked afterward, as I was carefully unpinning and untangling all the extra pieces of hair to separate them from her own. This experience has been completely positive for her. She sees and understands now how very constructed all those media images are, that they are creations of concept, not reflections of a reality to which we should aspire. She’ll look at catalogs and remember the ache in her back from when she leaned the same way. Because of this photo shoot she is more able to see the artifice and know that it isn’t sustainable for any length of time. She is best off being herself in clothes that are livable. That’s a pretty good lesson for a girl who is launching into adulthood on her next birthday only weeks from now.

This is my favorite shot from the day.

It is the moment when Kiki had to figure out how to fit all of that skirt into the seat of a car. I love it because it catches her smile and catches a moment when the very ridiculousness of the beauty made us all laugh.

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The Fear of Failing as a Parent

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It is the things I say when I am exhausted and under stress that I must remember later and pay close attention to. Those are the moments when my guard is down and I can finally hear the fears that lie so deep that I’m unwilling to admit they exist when I am in a calmer frame of mind. The one that surfaced this past week was when I heard myself say to Howard “I’m afraid I’m going to get this parenting thing wrong.”

Logic tells me that I’m not and that I won’t. Yet the fear is real and its existence shapes my reactions to a host of events. Because of the fear, I am highly sensitive to anything said or read which supports the theory that I’m making parenting errors, even if that is not at all what the speaker or writer intended. My fear layers on extra implications to the words of others.

The place I’m currently seeing this is my foray into psychology. I’ve been doing reading and have had the chance to visit with both a psychologist and a psychiatrist in hopes of figuring out why my usual means were not enough to help my daughter with her anxiety. It seemed that I was not able to do enough on my own. Except then the troubles all but vanished, and they did so before any of the new interventions had enough time to be effective. It is hard to claim that therapy helped my child when the anxiety abated three days before therapy began. Unless the fact that there was going to be therapy was a sufficient fix. I’m left as clueless as I began, not knowing why my methods where not working, not knowing what suddenly did. I really want to have something repeatable. Instead it feels like if the anxiety swells again I’ll be thrashing about in the dark again.

On the first appointment, the therapist talked about the importance of setting up consequences and applying them consistently. Part of me was agreeing completely. I could see some structures and consequences which, if applied, would resolve some repeating conflicts in our house. I let that part of me control my face. I nodded and took notes, making plans to apply at home. Another part of me was resentful. I already knew this. I’ve already done this. Yes it works, but I wear out and fail to maintain it. I’d hoped for new solutions and the therapist was suggesting long-familiar ones which depended upon a significant commitment of energy from me. I had to be willing to spend that energy no matter what other demands had been placed on me that day and no matter how exhausted I was. The resentful part of me did not want to be asked to do more.

Then there was the wailing little voice in the core of me who was only able to hear that my daughter’s troubles are all due to my failures of parenting. I’m not completely consistent. I am great at creating structures that encourage growth and discourage unwanted behavior. I have learned over the years to try to create structures that function with as little maintenance from me as possible, but I still fail to maintain them. I allow them to fall apart because I’m too tired or busy to enforce. Thus a time limitation on playing Minecraft–which is valuable and useful in encouraging the kids to explore other interests–somehow morphs into them coming home from school and playing Minecraft until dinner time. The therapist says that consistent rules and consequences make a difference, and I know that she’s right, but deep inside I hear “You would not be having this problem if you hadn’t failed at rules and consequences. You already knew this and you failed at it.”

My logical brain tells me that I’m doing fine, that even when things slip, we pick up and rebuild. I tell myself that circling around is the best anyone can do, that no one can be perfect all the time, that over the long haul it is the average patterns that matter most. But my logic brain also knows that the way we live has been teaching my kids that rules will relax if they just wait it out. I’m not sure that is a good lesson, but it is one they definitely know. My logic brain also knows that I’m doing the best I can and I should cut myself some slack. I’m not consistent, and I’m not sure I can be, and it may be that the best I can do is not good enough. This certainly seemed to be the case with my daughter’s anxiety.

One solution I’ve been applying to this dilemma is to turn my kids lives over to them as much as I possibly can. I build structures that emphasize taking responsibility for choices. I offer them as much control as I can reasonably give them for their age. Empowering children is a good thing because it acknowledges the importance of free agency in human existence. The choices my twelve year old makes have far more power over who she will become than the choices I make for her. Or so I want to believe, because then it is not completely my fault if some disaster lays in the future. If I am not solely responsible, then it is okay for me to rest. It is okay for me to let down my guard, and I am exhausted from the quantity of on-duty time I’ve been assigning to myself lately.

A very wise friend once told me that all parents get it wrong. Every single last one of us. I guess then the goal is not to prevent making mistakes but to get it wrong and move on. All I can hope to do is get things less wrong each time I circle around and rebuild the systems that have fallen apart. I have to accept that not only am I unable to predict and fix the challenges of my loved ones, but that I am not supposed to. Their struggles are not about me nor my parenting. I need to acknowledge my fears and let them go, because yes I’m going to get it wrong. Again and again I’ll get it wrong. Yet somehow my kids grow strong and bright despite my failings. I must spend less time trying to figure out why things happened and how I could prevent them from repeating, and spend more time just responding to the needs of each day.

Or maybe I just need to get more sleep and exercise so that I spend less time angsting over whether or not I’m a good parent and spend more time just enjoying the fact that I am one.

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One of These Things is Not Like the Others

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As a kid I watched Sesame Street. Along with some really memorable songs and how to count in Spanish, the one thing has stuck with me was a type of segment where the screen was divided into four quarters and four things showed up in those quarters. The audience was invited to figure out which of these things was different from the other three. There was even a catchy tune to help everyone get in the mood to find sameness and differentness. No judgement was passed about better and worse, the differences were just noted. I was good at the game and playing it made me happy in a preschool way.

Now I’m all grown up and I have four kids, I still play that game all the time. The trouble is that depending on what parameter I pick, each kid has a chance to be the different one. This pleases the child in me who could always see how blue vs red was not the only available difference between the four fuzzy monsters on the screen. My kids are all similar and they are all different.

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Homework Consequences

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I’m sitting here typing on my laptop while my ten year old son is crying over his homework. This is not the sort of moment that gets immortalized in photos or regaled over Thanksgiving dinner. It is not a moment that makes me feel like a good mother, but it is exactly this sort of moment where I am one. My son is crying because the work he is doing is work that ought to have been done yesterday. Not only did he not do it yesterday, he implied to me that it was done. He didn’t outright lie, but through some verbal mumbling he managed to slide by without doing it. Then at school today he was not prepared and that was unpleasant. Then his teacher communicated with me and I had a talk with him about responsibility and paying attention in class. We talked about how all humans, me included, have a tendency to procrastinate and avoid work. We talked about how we have to curb that impulse in ourselves and learn to do the work anyway. We talked about carrots, sticks, and motivational plans. We decided on a point system and a reward structure. Then I declared that if any work is overdue, he is not allowed to play on a computer or video game until it is done. This last part was not news he wanted to hear. So now he is working and sniffling. I am watching, typing, and hoping that inside his head he is taking responsibility for his choices instead of ranting about how mean I am.

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Snapshots of the Tayler Household Today

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I sat on the couch next to Kiki, her legs draped across my lap as she told me about her friends. Kiki loves them and worries for them, but is not sure how to help them as they struggle. I listened to Kiki and tried to give her good advice, but mostly just to listen because the answers she finds for herself are better than any I can give. This is true for her friends too. They must find their own answers. But being the one who sees a good path, and has to wait for a loved one to stumble around blindly until they find it can be hard.

Link and Patch sat at computers side by side, Minecraft on the screens in front of them. Listening to them made little sense because the words seemed like random phrases punctuated with laughter, half the conversation was typed in text on the screens in front of them. Lately Link has been saddened by the fact that his gaming abilities far outstrip everyone else in the house. He wants to play with his little brother, but sometimes it is hard because of the skill disparity. On this day they’ve found a happy medium, a place where they can meet and have fun.

I sat with Gleek on the leather couch with the therapist across from us and we had no tales of meltdowns to share. I suppose it is good to be in that position, where most of the stress evaporates, but it does feel odd to have it happen just before the measures which were supposed to help have had a chance to affect anything. There are still things to work on, we’re not going to simply shrug and assume we were mistaken. On the other hand, the breathing space is very nice. Instead of discussing recent crisis, we talked about how it might be time for me to back off on managing Gleek’s homework. I went very hands-on while we were in the middle of the stress, it is time for me to back off again. Gleek didn’t like that idea much, she likes having a security blanket. This lets me know it is the right approach, because the point of all of this parental and therapeutic effort is to put Gleek in a position where she has the tools and strength to manage by herself. I expect it to take years, because really that is the entire developmental purpose of adolescence.

Last week Howard had diverticulitis which resolved fairly quickly with antibiotics. Unfortunately strong antibiotics have consequences of their own and these hit Howard hard yesterday. I can’t count the number of times when Howard and I have bemoaned how we just want to have an uneventful work week. Howard has a final push on the Privateer Press project, a final push on The Body Politic, and regular buffer work. We just need him to have several good work days in a row. For the moment, he’s sleeping late because, as he tweeted at 2am: “Exhaustion, dehydration, diarrhea, and insomnia: these are the four horsemen of my current apocalypse. They are very effective team players.”

Hours after the couch conversation with Kiki, just before bed, she came to my room and gave me a hug. She’d prayed for her friends and felt strongly that they would be fine. “Mom, I don’t know how anyone survives without prayer and inspiration.” I don’t know either. I know people who seek peace from other sources. I’ve seen those sources work for them, but I have to say that I’m glad to see my children choosing prayer and inspiration in times of stress. They are choosing resources that are familiar to me which means I am able to help them as they seek. It is really hard to not understand (and thus now understand how to help) someone you love when they are in pain.

I bought Talenti Sea Salt and Caramel gelato. It sits in my freezer waiting for the days when I write 1000 words of which 500 are fiction, a small treat to encourage me to write. It’s presence in my freezer demonstrates that the writing portions of my brain are ready to unfold again. The fact that it has been opened and the first serving removed is a triumph. I’ve tasted writing success for the first time in two months. It tastes of caramel.

“Can you send me some pictures of Kiki for the stylist?” the text said. So Kiki and I took some quick shots with my phone while giggling because neither of us ever pictured her getting to have the services of a stylist. Yet this is part of the package deal that comes along with getting to borrow an amazing dress for prom. The dress is being tailored to Kiki and she agrees to pose for a fashion photo shoot while wearing the dress. The dress designer has the satisfaction of seeing the dress worn more than just for a runway, the stylist has the chance to practice her art, the photographer also practices, and all of the professionals walk away with photos they can add to their portfolios. Kiki gets a dream come true experience and owes a few drawings to the dress designer. This is one of the things I love about being part of a creative community, people coming together to create something amazing just because everyone loves the idea of it.

“Gleek’s focus for the history project is not yet approved. She has some fascinating facts about East Germany, but she needs to show a specific turning point and how it changed the world.” It was not news Gleek wanted to hear, but she did not melt into a puddle of stress. Instead she and I talked through how to present various escapes over the Berlin Wall as turning points in the history of Germany. It is the escapes that fascinate her, the bravery and ingenuity of people who risked everything to change their lives, sometimes successfully, sometimes not. Once her project is approved, we’ll have a diorama to make. I’m certain that before this project is complete, Gleek will have ample opportunities to feel anxiety and manage it. So far so good.

It was time for me to drive Link to school and I heard conflict downstairs by the computers: Link’s angry voice and Patch crying. Link had gotten up from the computer to leave and Patch sat down and logged in. Using Link’s profile and password. Which Patch had memorized. It was a thing Patch had done dozens of times before, Link has been happy to share his Minecraft profile with everyone, however at that moment Link realized that he’d lost control of the profile. Patch was using it without asking. All. The. Time. Fortunately it is an easy fix. Link is right that he ought to get to control the profile he purchased with his own money. Patch is right that he needs to be able to log in without having to bother Link to type the password. After school we’ll sort it out and all will be happy in Minecraft again.

My house needs to be organized. Every room has piles in the corners. They aren’t big piles and mostly they’re full of things that sort-of belong in that room anyway, but it is cluttery. I’ve been too distracted to require chores and too tired to do it all myself. Yet on Saturday I tackled the front room. Looking around now, I’m really not sure what exactly we removed, but it is a nice place to be again. I hope in the next two weeks I can give other rooms the same treatment before the coins start to arrive and shipping begins in earnest. That will make a mess all over the house until it is done.

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Trials and Pushing Through

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In church we had a lesson on enduring trials. The topic was introduced with an explanation that hard things are an expected part of life and they come to all of us, but that there is purpose to the difficulties we face. They help us grow. I believe this is true, but there are times I don’t like it much. I’ve heard lessons similar to this one before. When I’m in a calm space, I can appreciate them and understand the plan and purpose behind difficult things. This particular week has been a calm after a storm. At least I hope it is after the storm rather than a calm in the eye of it. It meant that I listened to the lesson with caution, not sure when I would become upset or irrationally irritated by something that was said. I’m still sorting through decisions made and seeking for peace with the plan for going forward. There were a few moments when a part of my brain supplied an unkind interpretation to something that was said, fortunately I had enough emotional space to know that my thoughts were the result of my current level of sensitivity, not because of what the speaker intended.

During the past few weeks while I’ve been worn and scrambling, Kiki has been dealing with a flavor of artistic crisis. She keeps getting 3/4 of the way done with a piece and then to use her words “It dies.” Somehow the life has gone out of it for her and completing it feels like complete drudgery. Among all the other things going on, I watched as the array of incomplete art began to accumulate on the piano. In my eyes they were all beautiful, worthy. I wanted to see all of them done, but Kiki couldn’t do it. This made her very upset. She doubted her chosen life path of illustration art as a career. She doubted herself. Mostly she struggled with this solo because she new how busy Howard and I were. This morning in church she got up and shared a story that made it clear how this particular struggle is going to result in her improving as an artist. There were times when I wanted to lecture her about pushing through, telling her that she can’t learn the lessons she needs unless she finishes what she started. I suspect she was able to see the shape of that lecture in the things I was carefully not saying. She probably gave that lecture to herself. This is one of the things I am trying to do as a parent, step back and let my almost-adult daughter find her own way. And she will, because she is amazing. Also, I think most of my frustration is just a selfish desire to see the beautiful pictures complete. Hopefully she too has come to the end of the struggling part.

Maybe we’re done struggling, maybe we’re not. Either way the answer is to keep going, keep starting over when things go wrong, keep finding ways through, and have faith that we’ll get to have smooth travels again.

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Picturing Family Change

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Sometimes Kiki brings home friends who are guys. They are people she likes to spend time with and sometimes who she likes in a way that is different than the way she likes her female friends. Some have made more appearances at my house than others and thus far I’ve liked all of them. I’m also glad that Kiki’s first impulse is to bring home the guys she wants to spend time with. One of the things that is fascinating to me is watching the three younger kids interact with Kiki’s guy friends. Thus far all of these guys have been very kind to the younger siblings, playing with them, teasing them, talking to them. I watch Link, Gleek, and Patch blossom under this friendly attention. They like Kiki’s friends and so do I.

Someday Kiki will bring home a guy who will be part of our lives for more than an afternoon and I can now picture that being a happy thing for all of us. Thinking even further, I can picture how other spouses will join our family and the shape of the family patterns will change to make space for new people. The next ten years are going to change our family pretty dramatically. It is nice to be able to visualize that change as a good thing.

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Vehicular Repair and Convenient Inconveniences

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I suppose I should count it as a blessing when inconvenient things happen in the most convenient way possible. As an example, our Chevy Venture broke down this morning. Howard and I were on a run to Sam’s club together to confer about patio furniture. We stopped for gas, but when Howard turned the key to restart the car, nothing happened. The same nothing continued to happen the next twenty times as both Howard and I kept trying. We ended up pushing the car into a parking space and calling a neighbor to come retrieve us so that Howard could get back to work while we considered what to do.

In the end the car was towed to an automotive place within walking distance of our house. They determined the starter motor had died. An hour and $525 later, we have a functioning vehicle again. It was inconvenient, and more expensive than I wanted it to be. It also underlined clearly that our van is pushing twelve years old and 100,000 miles. It is show its age and moving out of the realm of quirky and into being unreliable. So I’m contemplating the further expense of replacing it. Not something I really wanted to do this year. But it didn’t break down in Goblin Valley last week, when we were 150 miles from the nearest tow truck and automotive repair shop. It didn’t leave my seventeen year old daughter stranded and in need of rescue. It didn’t fail on a day when I needed to rush down to a school to help with a child emergency. It even failed early enough in the day that I was able to arrange alternate rides for my kids after school, and I had the car back before the time that Patch and I picked for his special Mother son outing. The inconvenient thing happened as conveniently as possible.

Similarly, we’ve incurred quite a few extra expenses this month. The process of evaluating Gleek has not been covered by health insurance, nor will her therapy appointments be. Howard’s visits with a psychiatrist for depression have also not been covered. Link and Kiki both had minor medical issues requiring visits and lab work which are somewhat covered. Gleek got braces. The car needed repair. Our vacuum cleaner died. Sometime in the next month or two Kiki’s college is going to start asking for payments against her tuition and dorm registration. Yet, we have the money to cover all of this. It arrived before all of this did, in a completely unexpected level of success during the challenge coin kickstarter. My ballpark mental math says that even with all the unexpected expenses, we’ll be in better financial shape than we were before the kickstarter. Though I will be happier when the flow of bills and money has settled down enough for me to really see what is going on.

Patch and I were able to go on our planned date this evening. It was a special outing that we’ve been planning for a week because he needed it. So we went to see The Croods, which we’d both seen before, and out to sushi. It was a lovely time that I’m extremely grateful I did not have to reschedule at the last minute. Now I have to start shopping around and considering options for a replacement vehicle. I’m not looking forward to having payments again.

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Calm

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After storm, wind, and rain, the sun comes out to warm the world. At first the memory of the storm is strong and evidence of it abounds, but then things dry out and the air is so calm it becomes hard to believe that it used to thrash about. In the midst of calm, the storm is hard to believe, in the midst of storm, calm is what seems unbelievable.

This week has been calm. Finally. I’ve been busy all week, my days full of things, but it has all felt calm, which is a huge difference. And I find myself musing that I must have been blowing all the stress out of proportion. Mostly though, I’m just accepting the calm. It may be a gift of the vacation. It may be that all the steps we’ve taken have begun to have an effect. Maybe we would have hit this period of calm even without all my running around trying to make things better.

I’ll take it.

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