Pushing Limits and Plugging Leaks

/

Children go through regular developmental stages where they are pushing limits and challenging those around them. It is a natural response to brain development. The brain growth lets them view the world in new ways. The new perspectives lead them to ask knew questions and to wonder if that limit is really a limit, or if it can be bent. As with any living system there is variation, but these challenging periods are approximately 3-6 months out of every twelve. I try to keep this in mind when one child is driving me crazy while another is a delight. In a few months they’ll probably have swapped spots.

Last Fall I had three kids hit “challenging” all at once. It was something of a perfect storm and about all I could do was batten down the hatches and hope to navigate through. We all survived. Life has settled down quite a lot for both Kiki and Link. Gleek is still struggling. In fact the level of challenge seems to be increasing rather than tapering off. Which has me laying in bed at night and worrying that maybe the last four months have actually been the calm ones. I hope not. I really hope not. Because I don’t want to have to deal with harder. I don’t want Gleek to have to deal with harder, she already feels lost, caught, and lonely.

Two months ago I decided to have Gleek write in her journal before bed. The idea was to give her a tool to sort through her tangled emotions. It was a great idea and it worked for about 3 days. After that she started writing Mad Libs in her journal and then she lost interest completely. I shrugged and let it go. I knew we could always pick it up again if necessary. I think I’m standing in the middle of necessary. Gleek needs something. I know she needs something. But I also know that whatever it is that she needs, I can’t be the one to build it for her. She needs to find her own strength that she can carry with her rather than having to flee to me as her only support.

This independence from me is something that I am working on with all of my kids. My natural reaction to problems, particularly those of loved ones, is to stretch myself to fix it. This sometimes solves the problems, but it leaves me plugging the leak with with my finger. Eventually I run out of fingers and there are still leaks to be plugged. Since last fall I’ve been focusing on helping my kids build structures for their lives where I am a useful support, but where they do their own maintenance. I’m attempting to teach them how to man their own leaks. They don’t like it much. It was much more convenient to them for me to plug the leaks. But until they stand there themselves long enough to get thoroughly tired of plugging leaks, they don’t understand why everyone is much happier if leaks are prevented rather than plugged. Long term this is better, short term it is exhausting.

Pushing Limits and Plugging Leaks Read More »

A Snowy Walk to Church

/

The snow was one of those ultra-fine powders that is a mere glitter in the air rather than proper snow flakes. Not much had accumulated. There was a bare fraction of an inch coating the ground as I left to walk to church. I was late, Howard and the kids had gone ahead of me. I could see the separate trails of footsteps leaving from our door and tracking off down the cul de sac. It was like one of those “guess what made these prints” books. I stepped lightly, making toe-heel impressions with my boots. Winter is not my favorite, but this was beautiful. Even this light coating of snow dampened the normal sounds of my suburban neighborhood. I looked up for a moment, letting snow sparkles fall onto my face. I listened to the hush. Then I followed the trails of footprints toward the church building.

I saw the scuffs and shuffles of my two youngest, their feet leaving evidence of snow joy. Howard’s long stride was all focused, except where a print turned to connect with the prints of a child. All the trails had started out separate, but the closer we got to the building, the more the footsteps overlapped. My family’s footprints were not the only ones anymore. They were mixed with dozens of other footprints, all heading the same direction. Those not headed to church at that early hour were keeping their footprints indoors.

I passed a bush with fingernail sized leaves. Each curled leaf had caught a little pile of snow. The bush looked like a child holding up a hundred handfuls of snow. See? Isn’t it pretty?
Yes. It is beautiful. I can see that it is beautiful. I can appreciate it, but I’m also very glad that poking through that fraction of an inch of snow are the first sprouts of Spring bulbs. March is almost here.

The glitters on my scarf turned into water droplets moments after I entered the warm church building. I hung up my coat to wait for the return trip. Then I went into the meeting to contemplate less visible, but no less wonderful, creations.

A Snowy Walk to Church Read More »

Association for Mormon Letters Annual Meeting

/ / 3 Comments

Next Saturday I’ll be attending the Association for Mormon Letters Annual Meeting at the Utah Valley University library. AML is an organization older than I am, but I only learned about it a few weeks ago when a friend asked my permission to use my blog as an example in a presentation she is doing for the meeting. Intrigued, I wandered over to the AML website and discovered a thriving community of people who are examining the intersection of art and LDS beliefs/culture. That intersection is fascinating to me since I live there.

I poked around for a bit and realized that it is going to take me a very long time to get through the website. This is not light reading, but already I have found several blog posts which have given me new thoughts to think. I love having new thoughts to think. One of the blog posts I read was James Goldbergs’ post where he talks about the annual meeting. I read that post and realized that I wanted to attend. I want to hear some of these conversations and maybe dip my toes the conversational pool.

I am particularly interested in the presentations about online writing, since that is most of the writing I do. Naturally I’m curious to hear what my friend has to say about my blog, One Cobble at a Time. First I have to decide whether my being there would be awkward for her or for me. So if you’re in the Provo/Orem area; and you’re interested in art created by, for, or about LDS culture and faith; you might want to make time in your schedule for the AML Annual Meeting next Saturday.

Association for Mormon Letters Annual Meeting Read More »

The makings of a better day

/

Yesterday was a bad day for Gleek. It was an epically bad day. It was a day which resulted in a calm down time in the principal’s office, a visit to the time out room, a phone call home, and her teacher walking out to the car to speak with me for a few minutes when I came to pick Gleek up from school. She was not naughty, but she reacted to each small problem with an overflow of emotion that the staff at the school worked hard to help her manage. Since she has been generally doing well in school, we’re all pretty certain that yesterday was a random rogue wave in her sea of emotion, rather than the front edge of a hurricane. But we’ve got folks on the watch towers just in case.

One of the hardest parts about emotional break downs in public, is going back out into public where the people who witnessed your break down can see you again. Since hiding in our house forever is not a good option, I knew that Gleek needed to go back to school today. I also knew that I needed to do everything in my power to make today go well. The only thing harder than going back after a break down is going back after two break downs.

The first thing I did was to let Gleek sleep in late while I got the other kids off to school. Then it was Howard, Gleek, and I in a quiet house. There was space for me to focus just on her and for her to feel calm. I also cooked a breakfast that was heavy on complex carbs and proteins. Endurance food. I sat with her while she ate. In part this was to ensure that she did in fact eat, but it also provided us a chance to talk. I could listen to her random thoughts and use them to form a picture of how her life has been at school lately. The answer is “not easy.” She struggles with teasing, jealousy, and frustrations. There are also things that she enjoys. I carefully stored all the information so I can sort through it later when I am deciding what long term changes may need to be made.

It became apparent to me that Gleek needed to take something with her to school. She needed a symbol, a tactile reminder of how she plans to make today different than yesterday. It could not be a toy, since the presence of a toy was part of yesterday’s upsets. We decided to fix her hair into a style rather than her usual wild tangle. Gleek selected a style in which lots of little ponytails divide and rejoin to create and attractive net over the top of her head. It is an extremely controlled hair style. She too wants today to be in calm contrast to the usual wildness.

So I begin gathering hair and dividing it into little ponytails. Gleek sits quietly and makes plans for how she is going to handle the day. She rehearses how she is going to return a carrot shaped eraser to another child. It belongs to him, but she loved it so much that it came home with her. Now she will return it and apologize. I hear her plans and I worry that the other child will not be gracious about the return. She wants to make amends, but I don’t know if he does. So I focus on the net and hope we can catch enough calmness in it to help her today.

There is a story, I can’t remember now if I read it or invented it, about a Native American weaver who whispered stories into the threads of her blankets to guide the dreams of those who slept under them. I don’t exactly whisper to the strands of hair, but each band added carries the hope that today will contain confidence and calm. That Gleek’s teacher will see when she runs fast and wild, it is really herself she is trying to escape. That people will see when Gleek shows anger she is really feeling lost, alone, or hurt. That this beautiful, amazing, strong, little person can believe in her own strength and beauty.

I know this is a lot to ask of a hair style, but it is all I can give her today. She must brave school alone. She must face the peers who saw her out of control yesterday. I can not go with her. The success does not belong to her unless I am absent.

When all is ready, I drive her to school and walk her to class. She seems happy. She is happy much of the time, but this happy seems calm rather than urgent. I think the sleeping, talking, eating, and weaving worked the necessary magic to launch her into a much better day. I stand at the door of her classroom and watch for a moment as she drops the carrot eraser on to a boy’s desk and then goes to speak with her teacher. The teacher’s eyes meet mine for a moment and I give her a fraction of a nod. I can now climb off my watch tower and rest for awhile. Someone else is on duty until school is out.

I really hope Gleek has a better day.

The makings of a better day Read More »

Loose thoughts rattling around a tired brain

/

A duck sails smoothly across the pond, but under the water it is all a mad chaos of paddling. What we see does not always match the experience. Sometimes an aching arm indicates a larger posture problem rather than an arm problem. All of this is particularly true when dealing with psychology, particularly the psychology of children. Children are not very self-aware. The don’t spend time reasoning out their motivations. They think, they feel, they act. But a more accurate way to state it is: They think, they feel, they think, they feel, they feel, they think, and then they react upon the thoughts and emotions at the beginning of the chain. When asked why, a child can’t often tell you. They rarely know why.

Part of my job as a parent is to be a psychologist. I watch for the odd reactions and indications that the child is feeling stress. When I see the indicators, I then have to sleuth out the causes. Patch keeps getting out of bed and claiming he is hungry, but he had a good dinner. Is he worried about his make-up work? Does he need someone to listen while he talks? Is there an assignment at school he dreads? While I’m at it, I should also figure out why he’s been deliberately provoking Gleek. Is he jealous of her? Did she ignore his game suggestion? Is he mad at a friend and taking it out on his sister because he knows she’ll love him anyway?

Often the sleuthing is straightforward. Most of the time the answers do not matter all that much. But other times, it matters a lot. Children do not break down into major tantrums because they enjoy it. When a normally resilient and happy child has a major meltdown, something else is going on. The something else may be as simple as illness or hunger, but it needs attention.

It seems like the majority of this year has been about Kiki and Link with a side order of Gleek. This week Gleek and Patch have claimed center stage. I suspect the stress of having me busy with LTUE helped trigger the various meltdowns, but the causes were in place before that. I’m still sorting it out. I’m still sleuthing to find the motivations.

I am also still wearing my talent wrangler hat and as a result I’ve taken over some more business manager stuff.

Bottom line: Today was tiring. I’m hoping I’ve slogged through most of it so that tomorrow can be more restful.

Loose thoughts rattling around a tired brain Read More »

The Road from Traditional to Modern

/

For much of our marriage Howard and I split the family work load along very traditional lines. Howard worked at a corporate job, I tended house and children. I sometimes felt self-conscious about this. I knew our decisions were right for our family, but a part of me felt bad that I had been given so many opportunities by the generations of women before me who struggled for equality, and I was using my freedom to choose changing diapers. I felt a subtle need to justify my choices, to explain. There was also a large part of me that didn’t like following the beaten path, and staying home with the kids is a wide and well-traveled path for women. There are good reasons for this. Those good reasons are exactly why I chose it for so long. But it isn’t surprising that I eventually found myself wandering around in the brush off to the side of the well traveled road.

When Howard and I first began to have conversations which included building a family together, neither of us expected to take on traditional roles. Howard wanted to be a musician. He intended to work from home. We pictured me having a job out of the house. But then he landed a job doing tech support and it paid a princely sum to our college student eyes. It made no sense for me struggle doing both school and a part time job. So I quit. Letting go of the meager additional income was no struggle, but I felt the loss of independence. I felt the same loss when we merged our bank accounts. I had just begun to discover who I was as an adult, when my focus shifted to discovering who I was as part of this new married entity that Howard and I were creating together. The creation was lovely and filled with potential. Melding our independence was a necessary step. Each step was necessary, each decision carefully considered. And we ended up in a very traditional place without exactly intending to go there.

I find it very interesting to listen to myself when I talk about these traditional years. I sometimes say that I lost my self in motherhood, that I forgot who I was and had to spend effort to find myself again. Other times I say that it was a wonderful time and I was completely fulfilled and happy while staying at home with the kids. These two versions of my life contradict each other, and yet they are both true. I was both lost and found during those years. I sometimes hope that I can help friends, who have the young family years ahead of them, to find the fulfillment while skipping the loss of self. Except I wonder if the loss of self is part of the fulfillment, if one is necessary to the other. Regardless of whether it is avoidable, I do not regret any of it. It was right at the time, just as my current choices are right for now.

I can’t point at the place when our roles stopped following the traditional pattern. It was not when Howard quit his corporate job to take on full-time cartooning. He still scrambled to bring in money. I still scrambled to manage home and family on next to nothing. But somehow, as we figured out how to make the cartooning business pay the bills, more of the business tasks ended up in my pile and more of the household tasks ended up in Howard’s. There was no fanfare, not even much discussion. We had never divided the work according to gender, just according to personality and logical time-management. There was no ego to overcome in rearranging the tasks. Piece by piece we went from a stay-at-home mother with a working husband to a pair of work-from-home business partners.

Our current lifestyle is far more modern than traditional. This appeases that part of my self which used to explain my choices. But appearances aside, Howard and I have not really changed the way we assign chores. We still consider all of the tasks to belong to both of us. The dishes are ours even if I am the one washing them today. The fact that some chores consistently are assigned to one person is an indicator of skill. Howard is better at cleaning kitchen. I am better at laundry. Also hidden from outside perception are the invisible ways that I have earned far more confidence and independence than that which I relinquished as a newlywed. It has been a long and winding path, but the journey continues to be a good one. I wonder what unexpected place we will travel to next.

The Road from Traditional to Modern Read More »

Recovery Day

/

My facebook status this morning declared my intention to practice a lack of ambition and to sleep. So far so good. Aside from communicating with some people via the internet, I have done nothing today which resembles work. On a normal day this would be worrisome, but I can’t even muster the energy for a good worry. I used up all my social and emotional energy for three days at LTUE and then hosting a farewell party on the day following. I loved all of it. I love talking to adults who listen to what I say and carry their part of fascinating conversations. I love inviting people into my home and providing food. I love watching group social interactions and making sure that everyone has someone to talk to. I love getting to talk, and listen, and participate.

So it was all wonderful, but now I am tired. Coherent thoughts have been sparse. Mostly I’ve spent the day staring at nothing in particular while thoughts and memories dance around in my brain. Sometimes the thoughts and memories form themselves into sentences or into proto blog entries. Then I move my heavy arms long enough to scribble notes in the book I have laying conveniently nearby. It is amazing how physically exhausting socializing can be. Notes written, I go back to watching the show in my brain.

When I first encountered this post-event lassitude, it concerned me greatly. Now I know it is simply the price which must be paid and I plan time in the schedule for it. In some ways the recovery day is nice. I spend so much of my life running, striving, reaching. I like having the experience of just drifting. Besides, by tomorrow I’ll be less tired. Then I’ll get bored and I will be off and running again.

Recovery Day Read More »

Promise to Patch

/

Patch woke up sad this morning. He came to breakfast fairly willingly, but ran back to bed right afterward. I found him there, curled into a little ball under his covers.

“What’s the matter kiddo?” I asked. He looked at me with his big blue eyes, but did not answer. I climbed into bed with him and reached my arm around him. I remembered his words of the day before, wishing that I did not have to go away to the symposium.

“I’ll tell you what, I promise that I won’t go anywhere today unless I take you with me.”

Patch’s shoulders unhunched and his eyes met mine. “Really? You’ll stay home?”

“Really.” I answered. “I’m not planning to go anywhere today, except church and I promise to take you with me. In fact, tomorrow is a holiday. I promise to stay home tomorrow too.”

Patch grinned and hugged me. “Okay.” Then he climbed out of bed to get dressed.

The promise to stay home is a familiar one. I think I made exactly the same promise to my kids last year. Local shows are hard on them because the world is a topsy-turvey mix of familiar things out of place. It is unsettling, particularly for the younger ones. Promising to stay home provides a way to reassert to the kids that they have a primary importance in my life.

I used to agonize over these times when I have to step out of my mother role. I worried that taking off my mother hat for two or three days in a row would cause long term harm. I don’t worry so much anymore because they stabilize quickly afterward. A three day break in good patterns is not a cause for concern. Vacations cause the same amount of readjustment afterward. So I no longer agonize, or worry endlessly. Instead I have a quiet guilty voice that whispers and I make promises to my kids. Then I keep the promises. Tomorrow will be a day with no agenda. I’ll get stuff done, but the rhythm of the day will be dictated by the mommy stuff rather than the business stuff.

Promise to Patch Read More »

LTUE a success, but now I am tired

/

Conventions are wonderful and exhausting. I always come home thrumming with thoughts to process. So much is packed into such a short span of time that it is a bit overwhelming. To give you an idea, I present this incomplete description pulled from the experiences of the last two days.

Attending a convention is:

Carting piles of stuff into the building and setting up a table and trying to arrange merchandise attractively.

Greeting friends I haven’t seen in months (or years) and being greeted in return with hugs.

Explaining the process of printing things in China and handing out contact information for our printer.

Sitting on a panel and feeling unqualified, but talking anyway because I’m already in front of people with a microphone in my hand.

Sitting behind a table while no one comes by or stops to talk.

Scrambling to cashier for a line of people who all want to come to our table to buy our books or Brandon Sanderson’s books, or Dan Wells’ books.

Making conversation with people who stop by the table. Talking with friends who sit down to keep us company.

Looking out over the audience as I speak and realizing that I have exactly the right words to say, words which are important and may make a difference for others.

Shuffling merchandise on the table so that Howard has room to draw.

Shuffling things back so that I have room to cashier.

Pulling books from boxes under the table to restock the arrangements on the table.

Eating dinner with friends and laughing until I nearly fall out of my chair.

Fielding phone calls from kids during dinner and trying to talk them into going to bed nicely.

Being glad when Howard volunteers to be at home so I can stay out a little later.

Driving home very carefully because I am aware how tired I am.

Finding my six year old still awake when I come home and listening to him as he tells all about his valentine’s party.

Hugging my little boy tight when he says he wishes I did not have to be gone the next day too.

Laying awake in bed unable to fall asleep because my brain will not stop thinking loudly.

Getting up in the morning and really wanting to just stay home while also wanting to go back to the event.

Having my two youngest kids wish that everyone could just stay home. Especially me. They want me at home.

Hugging them tight and sending them off to have fun at the neighbor’s house while I’m gone.

Knowing that they did have fun and that three days of mixed up schedule will not hurt them, but still feeling a bit guilty about leaving.

Walking into the dealer room to discover that Howard bought me a flower and put it on our table.

Howard coming in after his panel is over and asking me “So do I win at husband?” Yes he does.

Stumbling over my own words in front of an audience because my brain is so tired I can hardly put sentences together.

Having people come up to me and thank me for things I said on panels, I’m glad I said good things. I’m too tired to remember what they were anymore.

Introducing my oldest daughter to many of my friends because she came along for Saturday.

Having hundreds of brief conversations, being introduced to dozens of people, trying to remember names, being grateful for name badges.

Not being able to talk to all of the people I want to have time to talk to, not being able to attend all the events I wished to attend.

Packing up the table and hauling everything out to the car while Howard is busy podcasting.

Having people volunteer to help with the packing and the hauling.

Fielding phone calls from my six year old during dinner wherein he tells me small things about his day just because he wants to hear the reassurance of my voice and because he wants to know when I will be home.

Listening during dinner because I am too tired to actively participate.

Being one of the first to leave because I am tired and my kids at home need me.

Driving home carefully while trying to mentally sort all the conversations which need follow-up email or phone calls.

Pulling off my high-heeled boots and feeling my feet creak as my heels sink into the softness of the carpet. Shedding the nice clothes for shapeless comfortable pajamas.

Blogging because so much happened and I don’t want to lose any of it. Knowing that I already have forgotten things because my brain was too tired to retain them all.

LTUE a success, but now I am tired Read More »