Family

Two Kids, Two Schools

By / August 18, 2010

Gleek and I climbed into the car and I backed out of the driveway. We were our way to meet her new Fourth Grade teacher and to take a quick reading test. Gleek sat quietly in her seat. Subdued. Not a typical emotional state for her.

“Are you worried about school starting?” I asked her.

“Yeah.” she said quietly.

“Last year was pretty hard.” I said, hoping to give words to her feelings.

Gleek nodded and blinked several times in a way which is common when she is trying not to cry. She was so small in her seat, even though she has grown this summer. Usually she fills more space by sheer force of personality.

“This year will not be that hard.” I tried to reassure her. “I won’t let it be. We’ll do whatever we have to do.” I didn’t say that my determination extends to switching her to a charter school or pulling her out of public school completely. Home school is not something I want to do, but I will if she needs it. Gleek and I both need to give her current school, with its current administration, a solid chance to be better. I need to know that we did everything we could before leaving. So I didn’t tell her about the escape routes I have already begun to map. She would want to run down them now.

We get to the school and meet the young, soft-spoken teacher. I study her as she interacts with Gleek. Will this teacher be able to handle my child? I could not tell. Gleek was tense in the classroom. She got angry over her handwriting and spelling on a quick survey. I saw Gleek ready to burst with anger, and I looked at the mild-seeming teacher. I worried. Then came Gleek’s turn to read, and Teacher spent quite a bit of time talking with Gleek about books. Teacher listened respectfully and made a solid suggestion about how Gleek can find books in the school library. I sat silent, hoping things will be well.

We left the classroom and Gleek began to chatter. She noted that one of the trio of boys who were troublesome last year is in her class.
“But he’s kind of okay. As long as B isn’t in my class. B is like Captain Hammer for Dr. Horrible. A nim … ner…”

“Nemesis?” I supply the word.

“Yeah. B is my nimisis.”

I nod and continue to listen as she relives some of the altercations she had with B last year. Most of them I’d already heard, a few I hadn’t. I will check the class listing for B. I suspect that the trio of boys has been deliberately split into different classes and that Gleek will not be trapped in a room with her nemesis. The answer will add another tick into either the worry column or the hopeful one.

We returned home and the day moved onward. In the afternoon it was Link I loaded into the car for a trip to a school. He also was quiet in the car, but this is normal for him. When we walked into the Junior High Building, I watched his stride. He walks on his toes when he is nervous. He clomped along slouchedly. He has adapted to the idea of Junior High and is looking forward with more anticipation than apprehension.

“How long will this take?” Link asked

“I don’t know. We have to fill out some forms, pay school fees, and pick up your schedule.” I pointed out the multiple lines we would need to stand in before we were done.

Link scowled. He’s become quite good at scowling this summer. Most of the time it is a humor-filled scowl, not an angry one. It matches his leaner face and his greater height. He’ll be taller than I am soon. We stood in lines, mostly silent, except when my worries spill into words.

“So you know how A days and B days work, right?”

“Yes mom.” Link rolled his eyes.

“You go to four classes on A days and four different classes on B days.” I continued, compelled to state the information just in case he doesn’t know what he thinks he knows. I’m constantly startled by astonishing gaps in my children’s knowledge, this leads me to repeating important information until the kids roll their eyes at me.

“I know mom.” Link said, then he turned to wave to some kids that he knew.

We collected his schedule and discovered that the Co-taught English class, which will help Link with is writing, is taught by the same teacher that Kiki loved in 7th grade. We also discovered that Link has been scheduled for German rather than the writing review class I discussed with his counselor last spring. Link was pleased. He wanted German, not more writing practice.

We tromped through the hall so Link could find his locker and open it. I made him do it twice, not because he needed to, but because I wanted to quiet the voice in my brain that worries for him. Junior high can be tough. He’s going to have a lot thrown at him in the next few weeks. So I make him practice his locker combo. One less thing to be new next week.

Papers in hand, we headed home. Next Tuesday he’ll climb on the bus and navigate those hallways solo. I wonder if he’ll be worried about it between now and then or if today’s calm will hold.

A Trio of Thoughts on a Sunday Afternoon

By / August 15, 2010

I have succeeded in rummaging through everyone’s drawers and assembling a set of clothes that will look coordinated for a family photo tomorrow morning. The intelligent thing to do would have been to do the rummaging yesterday so that I could go shopping if necessary. But I was not ready to think about it yesterday. Instead we are loaning shirts to some family members and hoping that they will not retain the unpleasantness of loaned-shirt as the primary memory attached to the photo.

Patch woke up with a fever this morning. I discovered it after I was already dressed for church. So I sent everyone off without me, sent Patch back to bed, and sat down to have church at home. Mostly this involved reading scriptures, singing a hymn, and studying the lesson I would have heard if I had gone. The largest part of the time I spent writing a journal entry in my hand-written journal. That is the place I spill my rambling thoughts without editing. In my blog entries I try to retain some semblance of focus. In the paper journal I just spill my thoughts onto the page. Often I am surprise to see what lands on the page. Today the page was much covered with specific concerns for each child as they begin school. I also spent time contemplating my stalled writing projects. I reached no startling new conclusions. I just need to keep on going and hope that the path lays somewhat closer to my hopes than to my fears.

I have three social events this week and I actually have time and emotional energy to look forward to them. This is very nice.

Dinner, Driving, and the Impending School Year

By / August 12, 2010

I made dinner from raw ingredients and the kids did not like it. This is completely normal, except for the part where I made dinner from raw ingredients. Today provided enough space in my brain for me to notice the half dozen apples which had gone soft, but not yet rotten. I not only noticed the apples, but was able to formulate a plan for turning them into Sour Cream Apple Chicken over rice. I enjoyed it quite a lot once it was done. Getting started was hard though. My reserves of creative energy are still running low.

Kiki kept me company while I chopped chicken, apples, and onions. In front of her was the Utah Driver Handbook. She is currently studying to take the written test to obtain her driver’s permit. I have many feelings about the idea of her driving, but I’ve squelched them for today. She paused frequently in her slog through the text to ask me questions and to snitch bites of apples or chicken. We discussed right-of-way and where-not-to-park while rice boiled and chopped bits simmered.

“This is all common sense. I already know everything in this book.” Kiki complained, angling to get out of studying.

“Yes, you probably do and that makes me glad. However I’m not going to spend $70 on a test until you have at least read through the book.”

Kiki said nothing, but looked at me with a level gaze, as if not quite convinced that I was really going to require her to read the boring book.

“Also.” I added “I really don’t want to stand in line twice.”

“There will be a line?” Kiki asked.

“Honey, the DMV is made of line. I’m figuring the excursion to get your permit will take at least 3 hours. The smallest piece of that will be the test. Hopefully we’ll get to stand in more than one line because that will mean you’re getting your picture taken for your permit. I really don’t want to go through it twice, so we won’t go until I know you’ve studied.”

This convinced Kiki. Her complaints dried up and we worked through a couple of chapters. The reward for studying real driving was some pretend driving via MarioKart Wii. I can hear them downstairs right now, cackling with glee while the food sits uneaten on the stove.

I’m not really minding the uneaten food today. I already knew they were not fond of this recipe. Making it was a symbolic gesture, a stake in the ground to re-establish normal. We have just under two weeks until school starts. In that time I need to bring all the chaos back into balance. We need to find our center because last year school hit us like a wave and threatened to swamp us all.

This year has the potential to be just as hard. Kiki is starting high school with a full load of homework-heavy classes. (This is also the reason for the hurry on the driver’s permit. We want it out of the way before she has school work too.) Link is starting junior high and will need to figure out how to manage 8 different classes per semester. Gleek is headed into fourth grade, which is typically a difficult grade. And so I view the onset of school, not as an escape, but as a shift in my work load. I will have space in the day where I can work in solitude, but the rest of the time I have to pay attention to the kids. Not so I can carry their loads or do the work that they should do, but I need to stand ready to teach them how to manage. Then I have to hope that they learn quickly because it hurts when I know how to fix it but I can’t without stealing the lessons they need.

I am afraid of what this school year will bring, so I’m trying not to think of it except in scheduling terms. I need to know what to watch for and deal with what is in front of me, not fret about how it might go wrong. So I made dinner. And they didn’t eat it. And that is okay. Because today they live in a world where Mom made dinner for them and expected them to go to bed on time. There is security for them in that. I can see them unwind when the day has meals as signposts to mark the progress of hours. They are happier and less stressed. Two weeks just might be enough to give us a good start on school.

Opening Day of GenCon

By / August 5, 2010

My job at this event is to be a facilitator. I run for packages, fetch food, shepherd kids, assure communication, and monitor the emotional states of those under my care. The kids weathered the first day really well. Link divided his time between the Lego giant inflatable pyramid and the electronic gaming room. Kiki was more eclectic and made friends with an artist who is exhibiting there. They each had a couple of tired spots, but for the most part they did not become over stimulated or stressed. I expect them to burn out some time before the convention is over. We’ll get through it.

Conventions always have lots of emotional highs and lows with accompanying anxieties. Yesterday I was worried that we had not brought enough merchandise. Tomorrow I expect to worry that I brought too much. Today featured many moments of tiredness where I could hardly find the energy to interact with people. But often a few minutes later I found myself on my feet cheerfully talking to strangers about our wares. Howard has similar highs and lows. We try to bolster each other through the lows and it seems to work mostly. It helps a lot that we now have enough experience to recognize that the lows are temporary and not an accurate assessment of how the convention is going.

The convention experience washes over me. There is so much to process that I can not possibly retain it all. But bits and pieces stick, sometimes without particular reason. Like the beautiful petite Asian woman I saw walking through the dealer’s room. She looked straight out of a fantasy painting with her beautiful features and long black hair. I also remember bits and pieces of the stories people tell me as we stand chatting at the booth. I realize once again that every life is full of stories to tell. Then I finally met in person the guy with whom I’ve corresponded multiple times because the postal service in his town seems nigh incapable of delivering a package without losing it.

By dinner we were all a bit frazzled and ready to collapse. Instead we found an odd little Italian place which made us wind our way through the kitchen and a maze of twisty white-tiled passages in order to get to the dining area. The restaurant had an earthy aesthetic about the black and white photographs adorning the walls. They were the visual equivalent of fart jokes. But the food was good, so we concentrated on that instead.

The kids and I are spending the evening in our room. It is nice and quiet here. Howard ventured out to find a game to play.

The not-so-typical teenager in my house

By / July 31, 2010

The following conversation is a shortened representation of what was a much more convoluted discussion. I’ve just skimmed the essence of what was said to present here:

“He’s squashing my life!” bemoaned Kiki. We’d just spend an evening with a writer’s group in our home, during which Howard had pulled Kiki aside and corrected her on a particular social interaction. After the group left, Kiki and I washed up in the family room and her woes began to spill forth.

“Yes. Dads do that sometimes.” I answered. “It is impossible for your behavior not to be affected by the presence of your Dad. It is also impossible for my behavior not to be affected by the presence of one of my children. This is still true for me and my parents.”

Kiki nodded. I could see she got what I was trying to say, but she was not yet calm.

“But Mom, I don’t want to be that teenager. I don’t want to be crying about how my parents ruin my life. But that is how I feel. I don’t want to feel that way. I don’t want to be that person.”

“Feelings are not really in our control. You are having a specific reaction to a specific situation. The fact that you are not generalizing that reaction, making your dad into the bad guy, demonstrates great emotional maturity. The truth is that you and your dad are increasingly sharing adult friends, and what he did embarrassed you in front of your friends.”

“Yes. And I felt squashed.”

“So you’ve identified a specific interpersonal situation that troubles you. You can either respond by spending less time with your dad to avoid the situation, or you can confront him about it in order to stay close.”

Kiki nodded and our conversation wandered for a time into topics that were tangential. This continued until Kiki saw that Howard was upstairs cooking in the kitchen and said “I’m ready to talk to him. You have to come with me.”

And so I did. The conversation began a little on the wrong foot. Kiki expressed her squashedness and Howard responded with a bit of a lecture about how people who hadn’t done the reading should not speak up in writer’s group. Kiki folded inward and I intervened just a little.

“There is a larger issue here than just writer’s group. Kiki feels the same squashed feeling sometimes when you are playing RPG games together.”

Kiki nodded. “Getting into the role is easier when you’re not there. I can just be the person.”

Howard turned and leaned against the counter. He was quiet for a minute, then said. “Sorry. I’ve just had a whole chain of thought and there is some stuff you need to know Kiki. Any time one of my kids gets up to speak in public, I feel a sick feeling in my gut. I know how hard and humiliating public embarrassment can be and I don’t want my kids to ever experience that. This is why I always step in and correct. I’m trying to prevent you from having pain, and therefore also prevent my pain at your pain. The result still causes you pain, but prevents mine. I need to learn how to step back and let you make your own mistakes.”

Kiki nodded, absorbing this new information about how her father thinks. Then the conversation moved on, but not before there were hugs.

Once again I am impressed by Kiki and Howard. I was not able to have that sort of peer-to-almost-peer conversation with my father until I was much older than she is.

Epilogue: They had a game session two days after this conversation. It went very well with no squashing.

Pets of four varieties

By / July 31, 2010

“What is that chirping noise?” Howard called from his office.

“That’s Sweetie. We’re babysitting him for the next week.”

“What?”

“It’s a parakeet honey. We have a bird in our house. He’s trying to get someone to come talk to him.”

“Oh. I thought someone was torturing a computer.”

****

Yesterday Bob and Joe the grasshoppers were freed from their glass holding tank. They were quite the adventurous creatures, having been born in Idaho and smuggled home to Utah in a small girl’s suitcase. Gleek tended them lovingly for three weeks, adding daily doses of grass and water. But in the end she decided that they would be happier where they could jump and fly. So Gleek, Link, and Patch trooped outside for the momentous occasion. Bob and Joe consented to sit on hands and be examined for awhile before we found them a nice hidden spot where the birds would not see them.

****

This next week will also be one of Rat care. The rats don’t come to our house, but Gleek visits them daily and plays with them. She has even set up a special box so that the rats can have exploratory adventures.

****

Our first try with Sea Monkeys was extremely disappointing, leading to a jar that was completely empty. The second attempt reaped exactly one Sea Monkey. Gleek named it “It” and watched lovingly while It grew. So the third attempt included two packets in two different containers. Both succeed in little swarms. Yesterday Gleek decided that all the Sea Monkeys were lonely and wanted to be together, so we combined the colonies. Now we have a bowl full of a mult-generational eco-system. They really are kind of fun to watch as they swarm around the bowl.

Gleek’s possibilities

By / July 29, 2010

I was in my room when I heard the piano music. It was a fairly simple piece, but it was played well and it was far more complex than any of my children could produce. I went to see who was playing. Gleek sat on the couch and Bestfriend was at the piano. The scene made me a little sad. The two girls started piano lessons at the same time, but life around here got crazy, I forgot to remind Gleek about lessons, and they became a chore rather than a joy. We let her quit. Now she can hear what she gave up. It makes her a little sad too.

I suppose the lesson is a good one. It is good for people to see the results of diligence if it then inspires them to work hard themselves. Gleek is not afraid of hard work or pain in pursuit of something she wants. But she is prone to giving up without trying if she believes she will fail.

This Fall music will be in our house again. Link has band. I’m thinking it is time for Gleek to try music again as well. We recently acquired a guitar, and I’ve thought of helping her work with that. I’ve also considered finding a new piano teacher. I’ve also thought of re-enrolling her in gymnastics. Just last week she was practicing walking on her hands. Gleek has so much potential in so many things that I could completely fill her days with lessons. But that would not be good for her either. So I keep turning over the ideas in my head, waiting for something to become clear.

I’m not sure it can become clear until after I’ve found a school routine. So much has yet to be determined. I need to figure out the rhythms of the days once I’ve got one kid in high school, on in junior high, and two in elementary. There are pieces I need to set firmly into place before I start adding ancillary activities. And I can not get started on any of it right now. So in idle moments my brain examines the shapes of the possibilities and plays with putting them together. It is actually kind of pleasant. All of it is shiny and new, none of it has become work yet.

Yesterday’s Clothes

By / July 27, 2010

2005 was an extremely lean year for us. Howard had quit his corporate job and we had not yet released the first Schlock Mercenary book. I watched every penny, knowing that the longer I could make the money last, the longer Howard could stay a cartoonist. All our resources were tracked and carefully managed. This included outgrown clothing which was carefully boxed to wait for the younger sibling to grow. These boxes of clothing sat in a row in our garage, and I kept careful inventory.

In 2006 we released the first two Schlock books. Our long-term financial prospects shifted dramatically. My purchasing and resource management techniques changed in response. At first I still stashed away all the outgrown clothes, then I began to be more selective, only saving a few items. Later I noticed how the six year gap between my daughters was sufficient time for styles to change, and many of the clothes I’d carefully saved were being discarded in favor of hand-me-downs from more recent sources. So I shifted to giving out-grown clothes to friends and neighbors who could use them right away. I figured it was my turn to be the one giving out bags of clothing instead of receiving them.

All of this is on my mind because today I dug through the last of the boxes of carefully saved clothes. My youngest two are now the same ages that my oldest two were in 2006. It gave me pause to pull out Link’s old clothes and remember what life was like when he wore them. We had a good life then. We have a good life now. They are just different shapes of good. I miss the slower pace, but I love the exciting things I get to do now. I don’t want to go back. I’m happy to continue forward, shaping my present so that it brings me good tomorrows and a wealth of things about which I can be nostalgic in years to come.

A normal week ahead

By / July 24, 2010

“So did you do anything for Pioneer Day?” Asks the grocery store clerk as she passes my selection of boxes and cans over the barcode scanner. The question is automatic, just a thing for her to say since she has to work on this state-wide holiday.

“Absolutely nothing.” I answer. “It was wonderful.”

She looks up at me, attention drawn by my non-standard answer. “That actually does sound nice.” She sighed. Then my groceries were in the cart and I left the store.

Doing nothing is something of a lost art for Howard and I. We’ve had to rediscover the uses of leisure time. Howard and I even had a conversation which included the parameters for his time off. Rule one was “plan nothing in advance.” Rule two was “Figure out what you feel like doing in this moment, then do it.” No guilt attached, no demands to be met. I think Howard finally got the respite he needed. I think I have as well.

Next week has no events on the calendar. Everything there is routine, the same things that happen every week. We all really need that. Even the kids.

Kiki just got home from girls camp and she needs to ground herself at home before we expose her to the stimuli-fest that is GenCon. She talked to me for an hour, processing all the experiences she had at camp. Then she asked when we could go visit her art mentor in Salt Lake. I answered that even though she really enjoys spending time with her mentor, it is draining and she needs to be storing up energy this week, not spending it. She nodded, seeing the logic.

Patch had a non-linear tantrum this morning. Everything was awful, particularly the fact that Howard attempted to help him when he wanted to get the chocolate milk himself. Patch needs a quiet house with regular meals and normal bedtimes. He also needs to be re-centered.

Gleek and Link are more resilient to the scattered schedule we have been running. However I suspect that in my distraction Gleek has been substituting glasses of chocolate milk for meals and Link has gone through an entire stack of frozen pizzas.

We all need the calm of next week. Then after Gencon we will need to settle in again. It is time to find a rhythm which includes schedule and leisure.

Swimming in deep water

By / July 13, 2010

Dierkes Lake has an area set aside for swimmers. The shallow area is cordoned off by an orange mesh fence, while the deep water is edged by a long dock. One can walked the dock perimeter of the swimming area without ever getting wet. This presumes that one wears shoes. Otherwise one will walk about halfway around the dock, realize that the sun-baked dock is quite hot, and then stop to cool one’s feet in the water. The focal point of the swimming area is the floating dock. The only way to get there is to become fully immersed and swim. (Or have an inflatable boat, which we were sadly lacking that day.)

Kiki and I went to the dock early. Link took a little longer to find his courage. The swim was not really far, 15-20 yards. But the greenness of the water, and the unknown depths made him cautious. I swam alongside him for his first trek. Patch looked at the dock and knew it was beyond his skill. He happily spent the day in the shallows. Gleek really wanted to be on the dock. She demonstrated her strokes for me and for the lifeguard. We agreed that she could go if I swam with her.

She began strong. The distance was not too far for her, but her awareness of the deep water distracted her. She did not swim efficiently. Her limbs tired too quickly. My words of encouragement did not help her to stroke calmly or surely. I offered to let her put a hand on my shoulder for a moment. The hand clutched my shoulder and she leaned upon me, sinking me deeper in the water. My limbs redoubled their efforts, striving to get both of us to the dock, but her weight threw me off balance. I swallowed water, suddenly aware of the depths below and of how easily a panicked swimmer can drown a rescuer. There is a reason that lifeguards use flotation devices for rescue. Gleek was anxious but not panicked. I remained calm, so sputtering and tired we made it to the dock. Both of us were very aware of how badly things could have gone, and grateful that they didn’t. When the time came to get Gleek back to shore, I borrowed an inflatable toy to tow her to shore.

Of late much of my life has felt very similar to that moment in the water with Gleek. It takes all my energy to keep me afloat, but then Howard is having an especially rough day and so I lend him my shoulder. Or sometimes it is the other way around and Howard lends his shoulder to me. We cling to each other and keep swimming, trying to reach a place where we can rest a little bit. Even as we swim we know that we did it to ourselves. We are the ones who scheduled so many things in our lives. We are the ones who set the goal and set out on the journey. That knowledge doesn’t help much when we’re trying to keep our heads above water. I think we’re just a hair’s breadth from the dock. I can almost touch it and begin to catch my breath.

Not every day in the last few months has felt like almost drowning, but far too many have. It is a small comfort to me to look back and realize that I really could not have changed any of it without giving up something that matters to me. Sometimes you just have to make a hard swim to get where you want to be. But once you’ve reached the dock, you make plans that next time you’ll remember to bring the boat. And so I’m going to try to plan differently for next year. But I do so knowing that this was not how I’d planned this year to go and it happened anyway.

The thing is, we all had a great time swimming at the lake. Gleek loved being on the floating dock and she loved getting to ride back to shore. I’m not at all sorry about a bit of it. Even a hard swim can be a good thing.