The thought process goes like this:
Hmmm. I think I want some fudge.
I shall make fudge.
*cook stir pour wait*
Yay! I have fudge!
*Nom nom nom*
I have to stop eating this fudge.
Quick! Give away all the fudge.
Whew. Now my pants will continue to fit.
Hmmm. I think I want fudge.
“I hate myself! I’m stupid!” Gleek shouted from her curled-into-a-ball spot on the corner of the couch. She was wet from the knees down and cold. I’d had to drag her indoors from the slushy snow because she refused to come in when I called. She had directly defied me and now was berating herself for it, but that did not change the fact that consequences still needed to be applied.
Among the things that parents don’t want to hear, an impassioned “I hate myself” ranks right under “I hate you.” My mind spins so many unpleasant futures from theses statements. People who truly hate themselves develop all sorts of self-destructive patterns. Most actions motivated by hatred are destructive. I want to argue with Gleek, but I’ve had that conversation before. It goes like this:
Me: “You don’t hate yourself. You’re just mad right now.”
Gleek: “Yes I do!”
Repetition only makes Gleek more upset and more firm in her determination that she hates herself. My attempts to pull her out of the mood drive her further into it instead. I don’t want to waste effort on that dead end tonight.
So sit on the stairs and look at my little girl. She sniffles and curls tightly around her pillowcase filled with blankets and stuffed animals. I can’t remember when she started using the pillowcase as a bag for her comfort objects. It was a while ago. She hides her face from me. She knows she was wrong and she feels terrible.
Howard suggested that her consequence for defiant disobedience could be being sent to bed and missing all the evening activities. It is a stricter consequence than we usually apply, but then this defiance was more direct as well. Perhaps they match. Perhaps the strict consequence will help her remember and avoid making the same choice again.
Upon hearing the suggestion, Gleek cries out “Just do it! I deserve it!”
I rub my face in my hands. If we send her to her room, she will curl into a ball in her bed. She will feel miserable, lonely, disassociated from the family, left out, and ostracized. These are all feelings I have been working to reduce in her mind and heart. She wants to feel these things because they give her reasons to hate herself and that is the mood of the moment.
I look over to Howard and I see that he realizes that his suggested consequence is not going to provide the resolution we hope for. I just wish I had an alternative to offer. So I sit on the stairs and throw a little prayer heavenward.
“Please help me see a way to apply consequences which makes her a stronger happier person instead of a more miserable one.”
There is no rush of inspiration, no answer becomes clear. But I can tell that I am waiting for something. I am like a person walking through the fog. I can see the lamp post ahead of me, but nothing beyond that. I just have to keep walking and trust that the next lamp post will be visible once I’ve passed this one.
Howard suggests that perhaps a chore would be a better consequence. That way Gleek could do something hard, but feel a sense of accomplishment about her work when she is done. It is a good suggestion, but I don’t see how to make it fit yet. So I keep sitting.
“I hate myself.” Gleek mumbles again.
I am tired, and I don’t have a better answer, so I say “Okay. So you hate yourself.”
Gleek’s head raises a little at my atypical response.
“So what are you going to do about it?” The words are spawned by the memory of a conversation I had with Gleek a week ago. We talked about how the only person you can change is yourself. “If you don’t like yourself, then it is your job to change yourself into a person you can like.”
As soon as the words are spoken, I can see the next lamp post. I know what the consequence should be.
“Gleek, you need to choose a consequence for yourself. Mom and Dad have to approve it, but you have to pick it. I’m pretty sure the consequence needs to be a chore of some kind. And you have to stay right here on the couch until you pick it.”
Gleek does not like this. She would much rather be exiled to her room. But the more she complains, the more I know the direction is right. We have given her power over her own destiny. We have put the responsibility into her hands. Now it is not Mom and Dad forcing her to stay on the couch. She can get up as soon as she chooses to take action rather than cuddle her misery. Suddenly she is no longer a victim and she does not like that.
The fog has cleared and I see the path. I get up off the stairs and go about my business. I have to give time for Gleek to think things through. She makes a cry of dismay as I leave the room. She does not want me to go. But alone with her thoughts and with the path we’ve set, she quickly chooses a chore.
The chore is done slowly and with much complaining, but the shape of the conflict has changed. Gleek tries to reclaim victimhood a time or two, but I just reiterate that she can be done as soon as she chooses to work. She finishes the job and the rest of the evening goes pleasantly.
I must remember this consequence structure. I’m sure it will be useful again.
From For One More Day by Mitch Albom. The narrator had a 10 year career in minor league baseball:
“I hate my job,” I said.
“Well…” Miss Thelma shrugged. “Sometimes that happens. Cain’t be much worse than scrubbin’ your bathtub, can it?” She grinned. “You do what you gotta do to hold your family together. Ain’t that right, Posey?”
I watched them finish their routine. I thought about how many years Miss Thelma must have run vaccums or scrubbed tubs to feed her kids; how many shampoos or dye jobs my mother must have done to feed us. And me? I got to play a game for ten years–and I wanted twenty. I felt suddenly ashamed.
“What’s wrong with that job you got anyhow?” Miss Thelma said.
I pictured the sales office, the steel desks, the dim, fluorescent lights.
“I didn’t want to be ordinary.” I mumbled.
The “didn’t want to be ordinary” really hit home. Most of my life circles ordinary things, and I sometimes complain about that. I often feel the desire to be extraordinary, special. I write my blog and give presentations. Sometimes I feel that doing these things is the adult equivalent of the four year old child who shouts “Watch me!” while slipping down the slide.
I don’t want to be ordinary because ordinary feel like a synonym for boring. Only that isn’t true. The world is full of ordinary things that are amazing. Snow is everywhere. We stomp through it, slide on it, shovel it, and curse it. It blankets my yard right now. But if I get down close, I discover that this ordinary thing is not a single thing at all. It arrives as beautiful crystalline shapes. It transforms when it lands. It can be packed into snowballs, made into sculptures, or tracked into the house. It is completely ordinary and also amazing.
I am in favor of savoring the ordinary. Not because it lowers expectations and makes life easier, but because so much of what we consider ordinary is actually special. Terry Pratchett brilliantly pointed out that the most amazing capability that humanity possesses is the ability to be bored. Without it we would all sit around being perpetually stunned by the world we live in.
This is what Mitch Albom’s quote does for me. It reminds me that a life spent in the ordinary pursuit of a worthwhile goal will not be wasted. My efforts at house cleaning, or clothes washing, or package shipping, are not wasted. They each contribute to the benefit of our family. Being notable may or may not happen to anyone in life. What really matters is usually ordinary.
The actual words were a bit different, but this was the gist of the conversation.
Howard: I’m going to need a list from you of things you want for Christmas.
Me: I’ll put together a list of suggestions for you to work from.
Howard: I don’t want ‘suggestions’ I want ISBN numbers and specific instructions.
Me: But then it feels like I’m just handing you a shopping list, sending you to fetch the things that I have already picked out. I don’t care if things are not perfect. Opening things that are unexpected is part of the fun.
Howard: (sigh) okay.
I’m so glad that he puts up with me.
It started with the telephone. I was going back to bed after getting the kids off to school. The head cold and the interrupted night’s sleep had rendered bed necessary. But if the phone rang, I did not want to have to get up, so I picked up the handset and carried it with me into the bedroom.
I also collected the portable DVD player. It had a half-watched movie in it and that would be a good follow-up activity to sleeping. Then I remembered that the first half of the movie had triggered some writing thoughts. If I was going to have writing thoughts, I needed my notebook. I retrieved that. Then I also retrieved a brand new notebook from downstairs because I’m almost out of pages in the first one. If I used the last page I didn’t want to have to get up for another notebook.
I carried these things to my room. Where I saw my laptop plugged in across the room from the bed. I might want to write straight to the laptop rather than just scribbling notes, but I didn’t want to have to get out of bed to retrieve it from the other side of the room. So I picked it up to carry it to the bedside table. Next to the laptop was the book I read yesterday. There were some quotations in the book that I wanted to blog about. In the same stack were my paper journal, and my scriptures, and the next book to read. I might as well carry them all to the bed.
At about this time I realized that some deep place in my brain had no intention of getting out of bed again. It planned to stay there all day and was nesting appropriately. The deep place of my brain was right. Other than getting kids from school and supervising some homework, I’ve been in bed. Often sleeping.
Howard laughed at my nesting, but he has taken good care of me. He fixed me both breakfast and lunch. He brought me extra blankets and he kept me company when I was awake.
The nesting was not futile. For some reason my half-asleep brain kept composing essays and blog entries. I kept trying to soothe it; petting it like a mother pets the head of a fretful child. I tried to convince my brain that we could let go of the thoughts, that they would be waiting for us on the other side of sleep. My brain was not convinced and could only be appeased by the copious scribbling of notes while laying down with one eye cracked open. Precious thoughts preserved, I was able to sleep. Viewed with a little more objectivity, some of those precious thoughts were…not so precious. But I find it encouraging that writer thoughts are so pervasive even when I am sick.
On a meta level it was amusing to watch myself this morning. I was aware that my thought processes were askew. My time sense certainly was. I am still a bit unfocused, but three hours of sleep made things somewhat better. More sleep is in my future. I also intend to summon pizza via the internet in order to supply dinner. Pizza sounds good. I still have that movie to watch. Today I am really glad that my kids are old enough to take care of themselves while I sleep.
(Yes this entire entry was written on the laptop while laying in bed.)
I once heard a radio program which was lamenting the negative savings rate in America. The guest was an author of a book about saving for retirement and naturally had lots of opinions on the subject. She gave tips from her book, telling listeners how to improve their financial situation and save money. Among the tips were:
Setting up an automatic debit from paycheck into savings account.
Only having one credit card.
Using cash to purchase whenever possible.
Impose a waiting period on purchases to avoid impulse spending.
Doing the math on a purchase to figure out the final price with interest.
All of the tips are good, but I’ve heard them all before in many different iterations. The media is full of similar tips and exhortations for people to save money. What none of these reports or books make clear is why people should save money. Well okay, they say “for retirement,” but retirement is only a concept. Without a concrete plan it is hard to feel that saving for it is important. Saving for retirement is much easier when you know what it looks like.
So ask yourself, what is your dream? If your dream is to own a farm in the countryside, figure out how much it will cost to buy and to run. Then save money hand-over-fist to make it happen. Set a goal that by age 60 you’ll be able to afford that farm and have enough money to keep it running for the rest of your life. If your dream is to take trip around the world, do some research. Figure how much it will cost and set a goal for when you’ll have that money saved. If your dream is to never having to work again, figure out how much money you need to have saved so that you can live on the interest. If you dream of making pottery and selling it, find out how much money you need to have saved so that you can live on it for two years while your pottery business gets off the ground. If you dream of owning a fancy car, research how much it will cost to buy it and maintain it, then save for that.
The key here is to plan ahead. When Howard and I got married we had several goals. We wanted Howard to be able to earn his living creatively. We wanted to own a house. We wanted to have several children. All of our spending was structured to accommodate those long-term goals. When Howard got a pay raise, we didn’t raise our standard of living much. We saved the extra against a planned goal. Even when we had the house and the kids, we still spent carefully because we had the dream of Howard being able to make a living as a cartoonist. We did spend some money on luxuries like nice furniture and new cars, but each of these purchases was balanced against the larger goal. Each time we carefully considered whether the expense added more value to our lives than having Howard work from home would. Eventually we reached the day when Howard quit Novell. That was scary and I confess I did some second guessing about some of the things on which we’d chosen to spend money. Particularly during the first 15 months when we supported ourselves on a few corporate cartooning contracts and our savings. We made it through thanks to the previous planning and saving.
Now we have reached the point where all our just-got-married dreams have come to pass. We have a house, four kids, and our income is from a comic strip which Howard draws and I make into books. We have not stopped saving. At the moment our monetary focus is on paying down debt and creating a financial buffer. We like our life style and want to be sure that we get to keep it. This is particularly important because we know that our current good health will not last forever. Beyond that, we have new dreams. We want to help pay the way for four kids to attend college. We want to travel interesting places. We want to remodel the house. We want to be able to employ others so that they can reach their dreams. We use these new long-term goals as guideposts to decide how to spend the money we have in our pockets today.
What we don’t do much of is stash money away for retirement. We don’t really plan to retire. We like to work and we plan to work as long as we are able. Instead we are constantly updating our financial plans to match our long-term goals. Frequently this means that we put off buying things that we want, but don’t particularly need. This process is much easier because I am able to picture what that money will be used for instead. This is why we save.
Edited to add: A couple of people have made excellent points about the need for saving against emergencies and the value of sheltering money from taxes via IRA accounts. Both of these have merit and really ought to be considered when making a long term financial plan. And we do think about them at our house, but somehow they slipped my mind while writing this post. I guess I was trying to introduce the concept of making saving specific and directed to those who don’t think much about savings. However I now see that this entry is an incomplete picture.
This afternoon was calm. Homework was accomplished without battles, in part because the two kids who have been fighting me both decided to get most of it done while still at school. It makes me hopeful that we’re nearing the end of the swirling emotional chaos that I’ve been swimming in since school started. On the other hand, I’m a bit afraid to get my hopes up for fear that this calm will merely prove to be the eye of the storm.
Because of the calm I got to spend an hour drafting an essay. This one is longer than is usual for me, but it is within the word limit for the contest where I intend to submit it. I just need to figure out the last paragraph and it will be ready for first readers.
Howard and I were discussing our experience with publishing. It has been far from typical. We aren’t even typical for webcomics which publish books. Once again I was reminded what an incredible gift the Schlock readers give to us. We are truly honored by their loyalty and support.
I’m sitting on my bed composing this entry. Next to me sits a stuffed Opus wearing reindeer horns. (From Bloom County by Berke Breathed) The horns used to have ball ornaments hanging from them, but those have gone missing in the decade since I acquired him. Mostly Opus has spent his lifetime being pulled out as part of the Christmas decor. But in the past three years he has a new lease on life. He is our Christmas elf, an emblem of good works. It begins with a good deed. This year Link made my bed. Then he placed Opus on top as a sign that a good deed had been done. It was then my job to do a good deed for someone else. Then that person has to do a good deed and so on. In theory Opus should be hopping around regularly all month long. In reality he’s spent almost a week waiting in my room. It is not that I don’t do things for the kids. I do all the time, but Opus is supposed to go with something extra, something beyond the call of duty. Unfortunately I haven’t had much time for anything extra, so Opus waits. I really need to get my act together though. Patch keeps noticing that Opus hasn’t moved. He really wants the Christmas Opus to show up for him. He wants a turn at good-deed-doing. So tomorrow I need to find something nice to do for Patch.
Also, I need to help Gleek make more paper crafts to give to Kiki. That project fell off the radar over the weekend, but it needs to go back. Gleek needs it.
Facebook Status:
Dear Children, Monday is not the best day for you to get sick, as your mother is too busy working to be very sympathetic. I suggest you select Thursday next time.
Schedule note:
There is no such thing as a “quick errand” when snow is falling and the snow plows are awol.
Observation:
When movies and video games are forbidden, two semi-sick kids will find ways to occupy themselves quietly by reading and writing stories. There will be a period of squabbling, but then they will break out the legos and spend nearly two hours experimenting with making and spinning lego tops.
In the category of miraculous occurrences:
Kiki cheerfully scheduled her afternoon and managed her homework sans drama. Perhaps the two hour long battle last Wednesday was worth it.
Note to floral department at Albertsons:
If you want to sell flowers in winter, try stocking brightly colored ones. The last thing I want is white flowers, which make me think of the six inches of slow I had to slog through just to arrive at the store.
Parental Judo at it’s best:
For family activity have a lesson on teamwork while the entire family cooperates to mix up a brownie fudge cake. Then use the baking time to split the family into teams and assign them rooms to clean up. The lesson on teamwork and the promise of a treat can get two rooms clean in less than 30 minutes.
Addendum: Now figure out how to make them excited about cleaning the rest of the house.
Additional house cleaning addendum: They might do better about keeping things clean if you offered a better example. Have you looked at your office or bedroom lately?
At our church Christmas party the children were taken in groups to participate in a little nativity play. The casting was very simple. To one side of the room was a bin full of multiple costumes for each part. Kids declared which part they wanted to play and the costumes were distributed. Then the costumed children then stood while a man read out an abbreviated version of the biblical account of the birth of Christ.
When it was my kids’ turn to participate, Joseph stepped forward with three Marys. They shuffled their way over to the single manger and then faced the logistical dilemma of placing three dolls in it. The resulting compromise was to stack the Baby Jesuses like cord wood. Next came a small herd of be-dish-toweled shepherds. Each carried a small stuffed sheep. The stuffed sheep proved to be excellent missiles for knocking the tinsel halos off of the angels. Last to shuffle forward were the two wise men. Apparently turbans and boxes are not as exciting as dish towels and sheep.
All the actors huddled around the manger with their backs to the audience. There was much nudging and shuffling as the story was read. Several angels ran to parents for halo replacement. From the middle of the crowd a sheep made a ballistic arc to land on the floor and then had to be retrieved. I pulled out a notebook and began to take notes. It was either that or give in to a fit of giggles. I pondered whether the whole affair was a tad sacrilegious. I mean Joseph looked like a polygamist standing up there with three Marys.
Then the program reached a point where everyone was invited to sing. By the second measure of Silent Night both the audience and actors had stilled. Suppressed giggles from the audience subsided and even the sheep stopped flying through the air. I watched as the youngest Mary reached out and tenderly touched the head of her Baby Jesus doll. For just a moment it was perfect and beautiful.
Then the song ended and chaos renewed. But the sheep didn’t fly quite as hard or as fast. The audience was still smiling, but less inclined to giggle. Despite the amusement it was a very good pageant indeed. No one was excluded or shoved into a role they didn’t want. Everyone had a chance to huddle close and contemplate the religious center of the Christmas season. I looked again at Joseph, and his three Marys, and the babies stacked in the manger. It was all just as it should be.
I really want to take the title for this post and draw great big arrows pointing to it with exclamation marks. I can not remember the last time that Saturday was pleasant. I think it might have been sometime during the summer. Maybe. Mostly Saturdays have been chaotic and full of squabbling. By early afternoon I’m ready to flee from the house. Only I usually can’t because my house is full of neighbor children playing with my children.
But today was pleasant. Peaceful. I am trying to deconstruct where the difference lay so I can repeat the experience in future Saturdays. It wasn’t lack of neighbor children because those were here in abundance. Nor was it some edict from me about cleaning the house and banning video games. Our house is still cluttered and the sounds of repetitive game music abound. I can only find three things about today that are markedly different from other recent Saturdays.
1. Gleek was focused on playing nicely and being a good sister. This means that an accidental injury in the course of playing was met with sympathy and care rather than indignant protests that it was not her fault. Also she provoked no one and was accommodating to other people’s ideas.
2. I went to the gym. This got me out of the house and invigorated. I’ve exercised three times this week. I don’t think it is a coincidence that my mood has been better.
3. Kiki got herself out of bed. Then she proceeded to do her chores and get started on her homework without me commanding any of it.
All of these things are wonderful, but only #2 is in my control. So I’ll be getting myself to the gym more regularly and just cross my fingers that the kids will decide that being kind and responsible are more fun than the other options.