Sandra Tayler

The most intense experience I had during my week of vacation was the “High Ropes Course”. This is a 15-20 foot long log with notches in it hanging from a chain that you climb(Yes it swings while you are climbing). At the top of the log you switch to a rock climbing wall with itty bitty little plastic rocks to acend another 20 feet or so. Once you’ve achieved the wooden platform 40 feet off the ground you take to the wires. These are 1 inch thick wires strung 50 to 100 feet between trees. One wire for hanging onto, one wire for walking on. After a circuit of wire walking you arrive back at the wooden platform where you rappel down the climbing wall and the empty space below it.

I actually did all of that. I still wonder why. It was definitely interesting from an introspective psychological standpoint. I KNEW it was going to be a terrifying experience. I knew that before I started. Yet I wanted to do it. To face my fears I guess. Perhaps to prove that I am stronger than my fear. That’s the answer that pleases me. The answer that I want to believe. Maybe it is even the right answer.

During the experience there was a definite split between my animal brain and my logical one. I was wearing a climbing harness with double safety the entire time. During the climbing and rappelling there was a staff member on a belay line who could have hoisted me with no effort on my part. Logically I knew I couldn’t fall. Despite that, I was terrified throughout the entire experience. In order to not be frozen by the fear I had to concentrate on movements. Specifically the NEXT movement. Hand. Foot. Breathe.

When I arrived back on the ground my first reaction was “I’m NEVER doing that again!” Ten minutes later I was reconsidering. I’m curious. Now that my adrenal system has figured out that I survived what looked like a deadly situation would I be as scared the next time? Part of me wants to know. Part of me doesn’t want to be that scared again.

Howard took pictures and video. I saw them later. They are far too short. Surely it took longer than that for me to climb. And why doesn’t the fear I felt show in the motions or expressions? I’d post a picture or two if I knew how, but as far as I’m concerned they don’t accurately represent the experience.

I’m very glad I went through the course. I’m glad to know that in a faux do-or-die situation, I did it. The doing is enough, I don’t need to buy the t-shirt.

Here I am, back in my real life. I’m going to miss the woods. Lots. That was the foremost thought in my head as a drove into my neighborhood. Everything looked so cultivated and surrounded with concrete.

My second thought occurred when I came into the house to admire the shiny, newly re-finished hardwood floors. It was along the lines of: “Smelly! Open some windows, no make that ALL the windows, and I’m going to have to put furniture back and 4 suitcases full of laundry to wash and I need a shower and there is dust everywhere from the sanding I have to go back to making meals again Look EVERYTHING needs vacuumed and swimming lessons start next week, agh the lawn minion didn’t mow the lawn while we were gone, why is there that brown patch out there? I’ll have to check the sprinklers. . .”

Did I say I’m going to miss the woods? I miss them already.

Family vacation commences on Saturday. Between now and then my mission is to pack duffel bags full of clothing for 4 kids and 1 adult. Howard packs for himself. I also have to make sure that I unpack the extras that Gleek and Patches put in the suitcases in their efforts to help. All of that goes into the van.

I also have to pack books to read at bedtime, games to play in our cabin, vitamins and medecines, Snackfood, toothbrushes and toiletries, the play pen, the baby backpack, sippy cups, diapers, wipes, and bunches of other things that I have on a list around here somewhere. All of it goes into the van.

Then there are MY things, Bird books, and wildflower books, and Butterfly books, and sketch pads, and watercolors, and a novel to read, and the story I’m working on, and anything else that I might want to do with the free time I’ll have while the kids are off playing. All of that goes into the van. On Saturday all the people go into the van too and we drive away.

But before we can drive off I’ve got to empty the front room and the kitchen. The couch, the rocking chair, the japanese screen, 3 large plants, 2 plant stands, a bench seat, an end table, a music cabinet, a piano, the kitchen table, 6 chairs, and 3 barstools all need to be moved. Fortunately none of that has to go into the van. It’s all going into the garage. While we are gone some nice men will come and make our hardwood floor all shiny and smooth. Then when we get back we get to relocate all that furniture again. Whee.

The point that I’m circuitously trying to reach here is that starting Saturday afternoon I won’t be online for a week. I’ll be outdoors taking pictures of the kids or off doing something with Howard or something by myself. Maybe the camp will offer a watercolor class again this year. Maybe I’ll try pottery. The camp does in fact offer internet connections, but they keep the computers in the basement of a building and I really have no intention of shutting myself up in a room of florescent lights and computer screens with so many other things available. I can do that when I get back home.

Those of you who’ve become frustrated with the way I litter your friends page once or twice daily will get a welcome break. (why do you still have me friended if I bug you anyway? 🙂 Those of you who’ve enjoyed my ramblings, don’t worry, I’ll be back after my vacation.

I’ve already commented in another entry that Gleek has entered the “why?” stage with a bang. She’s also developed another amusing trait; tall tales. She’ll begin telling me how she went to the neigbor’s house and jumped on the trampoline and then she’ll add a small detail which is plausible, but unlikely: “we jumped higher than the fence.” Then she’s off: “Then a bird came flying down and jumped with us and catched us and we flew in the sky and we were all birds and we flew and flew but then we were rabbits and hid in a hole.” Most of the time I can tell where reality departs the story, but sometimes it is harder. I’m not always sure Gleek can tell though. In her mind one segues into the other with no dividing line. I think my favorite one so far is the one where Hummingbirds have no wings and so they have to go and buy them from the store. But they don’t have money so they go to Gleek who sells them money.

Gleek isn’t the only one who has made developmental leaps recently. Patches has discovered the joys of foraging. He can open the pantry and help himself to cheerios. He can climb on top of the table and help himself to whatever was left there. (Suddenly I’m much better about making sure the table gets cleared immediately.) He can also go to the garbage can and get stuff out. Fortunately he doesn’t seem to eat stuff from the garbage can. Mostly he grabs something and comes around the corner and grins and me as if to say: “Mom! Look what I did! Now you have to scold me and pay attention to me!” It works every time darn it. I’m not sure how to NOT reinforce that behavior because I can’t let him keep the garbage.

The other attention-getting works-every-time tactic that Patches uses, which drives me nuts, is that when he wants picked up and I am busy he grabs both of my legs in a bear hug. I’m usually moving at a brisk pace when he does this. I have to come to an immediate halt or risk injuring Patches or falling myself. I frequently have my hands full of something or other, so I can’t pick Patches up immeadiately. I end up shuffling slowly, dragging a crying, bear-hugging toddle-boy closer to the counter so I can put whatever I’m carrying down and pick up the boy.

My kids are too smart for my convenience.

Online friendships are backwards. When I meet a person in “real life” (As if all the living that people do online these days is somehow fake. It isn’t.) the very first things I find out are what they look like, their approximate age, and their gender. All of that before I’ve even spoken with them. Within minutes of speaking I’ll probably find out thier name, where they live, and the names and ages of their spouse and children if any. All of this information gathered within minutes of meeting.

Online those bits of information are only revealed later in the friendship. We all wear masks. But wearing masks makes us feel safe and so we say and do things we wouldn’t otherwise dare to say or do. Those of you who read this journal almost certainly know more about my thoughts and my life this week than any of my neighbors even though I count my neighbors as friends and enjoy visiting with them.

There are good things and bad things about being masked. The mask allows a shy person to step forward without fear, to make jokes, to tease. The mask allows us to vent. The mask also allows the angry person to flame and spread vitriol. The mask allows us to pretend to be something else, sometimes harmlessly, sometimes dangerously.

Do I like the masking? For myself I’ve chosen a limited usage of a mask. Mostly I mask for the protection of others in my care. I do not parade the real names of my children, perhaps in some subconscious belief that like in the fairy tale rumplestilskin the knowledge of a name brings power. Someday they will be strong enough to defend their names, for now I do it for them.

I’ve so many more thoughts about masks and online friendships, but they seem to be jumbled in my head and I can’t pull them out in any organized fashion. Unfortunately I need my mental energy for other things this week, so an organized essay won’t be forthcoming. Oh well. The thoughts will roam my head and bump into each other spawning new thoughts quite possibly on entirely different subjects. And then I’ll spill them in here as a way to capture the shape of them before they mutate yet again.

It’s funny how people run on auto-pilot, talking without even thinking. At the grocery store today, only moments after overhearing me loudly scolding my kids, the clerk said “And how are you today?” I was also on auto-pilot and answered “Just fine.” then I thought for a moment and added “No, actually I’m not. I’ve had a really lousy day.”
She then expressed sympathy and I made sure she was aware that I didn’t blame her. It’d feel better if I could blame someone. That’d give focus the anger and frustration (which have faded to a lingering grumpy) But sometimes it really isn’t anyone’s fault.

I’ve decided that I’m allowed to have lousy days. I can have all the lousy days I want as long as I don’t try to lay blame elsewhere just to feel better. If I’m having a lousy day, I need to face up to the fact that it is MY lousy day and if I want it to be not lousy I am the one who needs to do something about it. In a weird way, just sitting here and laying claim to the lousiness of this day has made me feel alot better.

Now if I can just keep the kids from getting sick. We’ve had 10 doctor’s appointments and 12 prescriptions in the last month. Even with good insurance that starts adding up. Not to mention the costs in energy and lost sleep.

Anyway, I’m off upstairs to go kick the lousy out of the rest of my day. He’ll have to go find somewhere else to camp.

I just skimmed back through my journal and realize that it’s all full of kid-stuff. This mommy gig has really taken over my life. In fact in a recent conversation with Hawklady she asked about my hobbies and all of my aswers were in the form of: “Well I used to ( ), but I haven’t had time for it lately.” I was going to put a metaphor here that used the phrase “tendrils creeping through my life and taking over” but the metaphor engine seems to have seized up. I think you get the idea anyway.

I guess I’m just most comfortable talking about the kids. I know I can spin the words right to make things funny. It also helps that I have lots and lots of material to draw on. Finding other things to say is harder. For in-person conversations I can follow the lead of the other person or people. My preferred mode is to lurk and people watch. It’s one of the reasons (far from the only one) I find being married to Howard so nice. He does “outgoing” better than I do.

Anyway the point of all of this is that I intended to write an entry about something besides children. I guess I kind of did, but I think talking about being Mom is only just this side of the line.

So, um. . .Fandemonium! It’s coming up this August and I’m really looking forward to it. It’ll be my first chance to meet in person some of the friends I’ve made online. A fact which will no doubt have me really nervous as the event gets closer, but right now it is comfortably 2 months off and so I can be excited without stress yet. Howard and I will be bringing along our Star Munchkin cards in hopes of rounding up a small group of people to play with. It is a really fun game. We may also bring along Falling and Give Me The Brain neither of which we’ve really had a chance to play yet, but which also look like lots of fun. Cards anyone?

I’ve begun prepping for our family vacation which begins one week from Saturday. Mostly I’m making lists. This trip is to a family camp where the kids run off with counsellors all day leaving parents to their own activities. There is even a day care for Patches. So what I really need to do is figure out what I’m going to do with myself with no kids around. I had the same problem when we attended the camp last year. Who am I when I’m not Mom?

The question has been underlined by some conversations I’ve had lately. One was a really nice online chat with Hawklady. She was kindly interested in my hobbies and I found myself saying many variations on the them “Well I used to do this, but I haven’t had time for it lately.” I’ve also gained the impression that some of you who have friended me, veiw me as some sort of uber-mom or mecha-mom. Someone who Has It Together, what ever “it” is. There are certain days I’d agree with you. It’s the other days and hours and minutes that don’t get elaborated into this journal in detail. The times when I just want to hide from the children. When I over-scold because I’m stressed about something entirely different. Those are the moments when I long to have something besides being Mom.

I have no major regrets about the choices I’ve made in my life. Perhaps I’m unusual that way. I don’t know. I love where I am. I love my life and my family. And the larger part of me feels that I’ll get back to all those things that I haven’t had time for lately. But there is a small voice in the back of my head that wishes this Mom busines hadn’t threaded it’s tendrils so thoroughly through my whole existence. Who would I have been? Who am I now besides Mom?

I’m not even sure it is a fair question. I don’t think I can dissect the peices of myself to get a clear picture of what the whole is. Taking out the parts of me that are Mom would surely destroy me. Something might rise from the ashes, but she would be changed, not the Me that I am now. I don’t wish for that. I don’t wish to be Not-Mom. Even though that may seem to contradict what I’ve said above it is very very true. Perhaps what I really wish for is more time and energy. I wish I could be an even better mom than I currently am and still have time and energy to write stories, or draw, or sew, or do something else that is just for me.

Here is my assignment. During Aspen Grove I have to write a story, with pictures. A short story and I need to finish it.