Family

The Road from Traditional to Modern

By / February 16, 2010

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.

Promise to Patch

By / February 14, 2010

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.

Leaving LTUE for the day

By / February 11, 2010

It was time for me to go home, but I did not want to leave. The day’s symposium schedule was only half complete. I had half a dozen conversations begun and interrupted. I wanted to stay. I wanted to visit with my friends and meet new people. But the school day was ending and I needed to be there to pick up my kids and take them home. Then I needed to remain home to provide normality. The kids can handle a couple of days with the schedule skewed around business, but four days running was a bit much. So I opted to miss Thursday afternoon rather than Friday or Saturday. These are the compromises I must make between my mother role and just about every other role in my life.

I was just beginning to pack away things and arrange for our table full of books to be watched by a friend, when Brandon Sanderson walked into the room trailing a dozen people. Apparently Brandon had ended his last panel by announcing that he would be hanging out next to our table for an hour and people could come chat. This is something that Brandon and Howard frequently do. We enjoy having our table be a gathering place and we try to plan so that we have enough space to share. I quickly scooted our merchandise over to make room for stacks of Brandon’s books. Then I spent a few minutes cashiering for Brandon and his assistant Peter.

Brandon sat on a chair and the fans sat on the floor around him. The question and answer session became something of an impromptu panel as Dan Wells, Bob Defendi, Jessica Douglas, and I all chimed in with thoughts on the topic of the moment. Mostly we all listened to Brandon, because he was the one people were there to hear and because he knows a lot about how to help writers who are just getting started. Gradually the room filled up. I kept watching the clock, calculating the very last minute I could spend before I had to leave. The minutes fled far too quickly.

I maneuvered my way from behind the table, past Brandon, and through the crowd which now extended all the way to the door. I bid farewell to a couple of friends in the hall and began the trek to the parking lot. The chilly walk and 20 minute drive were just about long enough for me to fold away my writer thoughts, convention thoughts, and business thoughts, while also unfolding all the mother thoughts. Tomorrow morning I will reverse the process as I drop the kids at school and drive to the symposium again.

The packing and unpacking of thoughts is necessary because I can not best fulfill a role if I am distracted by thoughts that belong to a different role. This is often hard. The writer in me grieves when I walk away from an event to go be a mother instead. I grieve when I must leave conversations so that I can go be alone with my kids. But the mother and introvert in me rejoice to be home where I am needed and where there is quiet. Practice makes all things easier. This has become easier, but it is still hard.

I look forward to tomorrow.

Rows of small things

By / February 8, 2010

First there was the making of breakfast (which included pancakes) and the bustle of getting kids off to school. This was followed by dishes and laundry because I’m currently in a “I must be better about keeping the house clean” cycle. Then I sat at my computer for hours to do accounting, tax preparation, shipping label printing, email, and journey round my usual internet pit stops. There was a break during which I left my desk to package orders and carry them to the mailbox. All that was followed by a business meeting with Howard during which I pondered the re-structuring of the schedule for the year yet again. At that point my business hours were over because it was time to retrieve kids.

Link arrived in the car spouting details about the class over night camp he gets to attend later this week. Gleek had discovered how to blow balls of paper through a rolled paper tube. Patch wanted to tell me about science. We all clattered home and waded through the various negotiations over video game turns, during which I trumped everyone and sent them outside to play in the sunshine. I kept Kiki company while she did her homework. Howard took Link to the gym. We had a family dinner and family home evening. Then there was bedtime.

This is my life in February. My days are filled up with endless rows of small things which need to be done. Mostly they are happy things or at least things that I do to support happy things. I think this current state of affairs is going to last until at least the end of February.

I remember as a child and teen feeling like my life had fallen into a rut, that I was doing the same sorts of things day after day. I never feel that way anymore. I’m far more likely to think longingly about achieving a quiet routine. I wonder if that is because of the life we have chosen, or if it is just a function of being the grown up in charge of the schedule.

Coming home was the best birthday present

By / February 1, 2010

I’ll fess up. I deliberately scheduled travel on my birthday because I wanted to hide from it. I’m not bothered by getting older. I’m quite happy to tell people my age (37). I know that aging has some unpleasant things in store for me eventually, but I’m just not worried about it yet. I was hiding from the cloud of expectations around my birthday. The trip itself needed to happen for many reasons, but traveling on my birthday was hiding. I wish I could claim that this was a fully self-aware choice. It wasn’t. Only in hindsight am I able to see the whys behind my decisions.

I have five people in my immediate family who love me dearly. They want to surprise and delight me for my birthday. I would love to be surprised and delighted, partly because it is fun, but even more because my delight would make them happy. But it is really hard to surprise someone who is expecting it. And it is just as hard not to expect anything for your birthday when you know that something is being planned.

So this year I turned my birthday into a travel day. As I expected, the necessities of travel completely overshadowed the birthday. The expense of travel was put into the budget instead of gifts. Then I arrived at my mother’s house and discovered a party waiting for me. It was a lovely party, pleasantly low-key. And the gifts were all well chosen. With Key Lime Pie. (Note to my subconscious: if you’re trying to avoid birthday stuff, don’t travel to Mom’s house when you know how much she loves to give gifts and celebrate with parties. Also, why don’t you just tell me what you’re trying to accomplish? That would be so much simpler.)

The remainder of the weekend was spent in celebration of other people’s birthdays and I enjoyed it all. I loved seeing Gleek and Patch play games together as the only kids at Grandma’s house. I loved seeing my Grandma watch my kids. I loved standing in the hallway out of sight and listening to my Mom tell stories to an excited pair of children. I loved watching idiotic made-for-tv science fiction movies with my Dad. I loved hugging my Grandma and listening to her stories. I want to do all of those things again soon. (Except maybe the idiotic Sci Fi movies. We can pick something better next time.)

But time came to go home. The kids were sorry to leave and glad to go at the same time. I felt the same. Then we landed in Utah and it was one of those bright winter days where the sky is so blue you could swim in it. And Howard was there at the curb waiting for us with a big smile and hugs for everyone. And the kitchen was clean with a vase of fresh flowers just for me. And several people left birthday cards while I was gone. And Link hugged me like he never wanted to let go again. Then he whispered “Happy Birthday Mom.” And Kiki’s eyes lit up as she walked in the front door to see me already home. And she hugged me like she never wanted to let go again. And Howard bought the most adorable little dish scrubbers that have suction cups so they stand like little people on the edge of the sink. And that last thing is a little bit silly to list with all the rest, but every single thing about coming home made me feel so happy.

I am so glad for my life. I am glad for my family. I am glad to be here. I am ready to dive into tomorrow and get everything done so that we can get the next Schlock book out on schedule. I am excited to do the exact same things that were oppressing me before the trip. Life is good. I had a great birthday.

Grandma on her 90th birthday

By / January 30, 2010

When I was 12 years old, writing was my primary source of income. My Grandma paid me a penny per word for anything I wrote. In pursuit of this wealth I wrote thousands of words. Then I spent most of the money on Breyer horses. I still have the horses. I still have the essential belief that writing has value. I have my Grandma to thank for both of these things.

Grandma is smaller than she used to be. The years have shortened her stature even as they leached the color out of her hair. What used to be a rich brown is now gray and white. She is still brown haired in her mind though. She declares that she only has a little bit of gray. I touch the whisper soft locks and agree that her hair is still beautiful.

“Are you writing another book?” Grandma says to me with her upper Mississippi accent.
I look up from my laptop at her. “Yes. But this one won’t have pictures.”
“I get to read it when you’re done.”
“Of course you do.”
“I’ll let you get back to your typing.”
“No. That’s okay. Sit down and talk.” I shut my laptop. The writing will wait for me, but this visit with my Grandma is short. I’ll be here only a few days.

I had forgotten, or not known, what a humor-filled person my Grandma is. Every other sentence is a joke or a playful teasing. It is such a contrast to my childhood memories of her when she seemed sharp and strict. “You mind me!” was a frequent order. And I did mind, because I was a little afraid of her. I did the worksheets she put in front of me even though it was summer. I washed the dishes and pulled the weeds all at her command. But I forgave her orders, because of the food she supplied. Southern Fried Chicken, cornbread dressing, deviled eggs, and corn on the cob and that was just dinner.

I look at her now, and I can not imagine myself being afraid of her. She is so soft and cheerful. She is glad to have my kids and me here, I think. Her health complaints have slowed to a trickle and are replaced with stories. I sit quietly and listen when my mother and Grandma start story swapping. I try to catch the stories in my memory so that I will have them. Grandma will not always be here to tell them.

Today is Grandma’s 90th birthday. I think she has mixed feelings about her age. In one sentence she calls herself an old lady, but in the next she declares herself young. Both are true I think. She is old in body, but young at heart. She delights in flowers and small amusements. I watched her playing with the pile of magnetic toys that my dad put out for my kids to find. Grandma was so pleased with herself when she took one apart and put it back together. She is in no hurry, she has no agenda, she is free to enjoy each moment in which she participates.

Grandma counts the flower buds as they form and tracks their progress into blooms. I understood how deeply rooted my love of gardening is when I watched my Grandma with her flowers. My mother has not always had an easy relationship with my Grandma. There is always a careful dance between mother-in-law and daughter-in-law. But long ago they decided that they were family no matter what. Now my mother buries flower bulbs in the yard so that Grandma can discover them as they sprout. It is a loving conspiracy to get Grandma outside and walking. Grandma loves flowers enough to go looking, even on the days when her whole body aches.

The other day my mother listened to me on the phone, talking long distance to help my teenage daughter through an emotional crisis. When I hung up, she said
“It’s really nice that it’s your job to manage all that. I can just enjoy them.”
Later, I listened to my mother making a doctor’s appointment for my Grandma. She will have to coax Grandma into attending the appointment. Then she will have to coax Grandma into taking the medication and doing the prescribed therapies. Grandma does not like nor trust doctors much. I watched my mother note the appointment on the calendar and thought how nice it is that I get to just enjoy Grandma. And she gets to just enjoy me and my kids.

I woke late this morning. Once I achieved consciousness I sought out my kids to see if they needed breakfast. “No.” They assured me. “Great-grandma fed us sausage.” My heart warms to think of my Grandma feeding my children as she once fed me.
“They ate four a piece!” Grandma declares when we ask her. She is pleased that they loved her cooking.

Later tonight we will have a party with cake and presents. Grandma will be the star of the show. Tomorrow will be my daughter’s turn to be the birthday girl. Grandma is 90 my daughter turns 9. I am glad they can be together for this weekend.

Thoughts on visiting, roots, San Francisco, and Museums

By / January 29, 2010

Livermore California was my home for 18 years. Until I left for college I lived here. I am here again on a visit, but it does not feel like my home town. Not anymore. This is no fault of the town or the inhabitants. I’ve simply lived in Utah longer now. I’ve clocked 19 years in Utah. This fact amuses me because when I did live in California, I was adamantly opposed to the idea of living in Utah permanently. Then I actually lived there for a time and put down roots which would hurt terribly to transplant. Utah is my home now and I come to California as a visitor. I find the occasional pocket of familiarity, but mostly it is the differences that I notice.

I’ve been thinking much about roots on this trip. I’ve been pondering the ways that growing up in California has shaped the person I am. I still miss the birds and plants so abundant in Livermore, which do not survive the Utah winters. It is so green here at my parent’s house. There are flowers in bloom when all back home is winter bare. I remember envying those winter post cards with piles of snow. Now I live them and shovel the walks. I could not transplant the weather or growth with me when I emigrated to the mountains, but some remnants of California culture must linger inside me. I have a hard time identifying them because they are integrated into who I am.

The other night I spent some time looking through family photo albums. I stared at the photos of my Grandma when she was young. She came from a family as large as mine, but I only met a few of her siblings, the ones who made the trek from the South to visit. I love my Grandma’s voice. She speaks with rich tones from Mississippi and Tennnessee. I suspect this is one of the reasons that I have always had a soft spot for southern accents and southern style cooking. My Grandpa was southern too. They both came from large southern families, but brought their only son to California to live. Some day I will go and visit the southern states. I wonder whether I will find pockets of familiarity amongst the cultural differences.

The faces of my southern relatives in the old photos are sober. Photographs were not frivolous endeavors. I study the faces and find an abundance of familiar features. Generational echos when I realize that my daughter has the same jawline as my great-grandmother. I look at the faces and wonder about the stories that I will never know. These young people had lives and dreams and plans before they became the old people that I met briefly. I’m a little sad to not know the stories.

Yesterday we drove into San Francisco. I was surprised to discover it felt the same to me even though my hometown feels so changed. But then San Francisco was always a place that I only visited. The essential character of the city is very much the same with the hilly streets and the little, colorful houses sharing walls along the blocks. I watched those houses and wondered what it would be like to live in one of them, to step out the front door and walk over to the city park for exercise. It would be an interesting adventure, but I have a hard time picturing myself enjoying that existence with my four kids in tow. We’re accustomed to our house and our yard. Perhaps some day I’ll rent an apartment in a city for a month, but now is not the right time for it.

The allure of the city park is strong. I could go there every day for a week and not run out of new things to see, new thoughts to think. We were in the Academy of Sciences for a mere half a day and my brain felt flooded with information. I went there often as a child, but very little remains the same. In fact the only feature I could identify from prior visits was the alligator pit. Everything else has changed around that one stable feature. I was amused to note that Tutankhamen has returned to the De Young museum across from the Academy. I remember when that exhibit first came through 30 years ago. I was a small child, crushed in the crowds as people strove to see the wonders of the Egyptian boy king. It did not look crowded and had I not been leg-tired and brain-stuffed from looking at aquatic animals, I would have been tempted to go see Egypt again.

This afternoon we stayed home. We needed a quiet day at Grandma’s house after the travel and the big outing. There was a nap involved. Next I believe there will be snacking.

Gleek Makes Friends

By / January 28, 2010

Gleek climbed up the rail right next to the sign forbidding rail climbing. She stretched out one finger toward the butterfly wafting on the slight breezes blowing through the rain forest exhibit. A bird swooped past us, on some feathered errand. Two stories below swam catfish the size of toddlers. We are inside the Steinhart Aquarium in San Francisco. It is much grander than I remember from my childhood visits.
“Come on! Lets go!” cried Patch.
He had already run ahead, tailed by my father. Gleek did not move, her whole being focused on the butterflies. She was not ready to leave. Patience was rewarded after about 10 minutes. A butterfly landed on Gleek’s out stretched finger. Only then could we move on.

The snake was huge. It lay submerged, but we could see it underwater through the glass. Gleek and Patch kneeled down on the floor to get a better view. The snake head slid toward them and they watched in facination. Gleek touched her finger to the glass. The snake focused on it, bumping its nose against the glass. Gleek slid her finger to the side and the snake followed it. Back and forth went finger and snake. We asked Gleek to give Patch a chance, but the minute she removed her finger, the spell was broken. The snake was not interested in Patch’s finger. It slid back to rest again.

The penguin dove under the water and bobbed up again. He swam around the tank, but always returned to the corner where Gleek and Patch sat. Penguin and children viewed each other through some water and some glass. The penguin bobbed and the children giggled.
“That one is named Dunker.” said the docent.
“I know why.” Gleek said confidently. “It’s because he is always dunking.”
Dunker dove again and bobbed against the glass. Gleek pressed her hand against the glass.

To Grandmother’s House we go

By / January 27, 2010

I don’t like flying very much. I like getting to go places, but the thought of climbing into a metal tube and hurtling through the air miles above anything solid is not particularly soothing. I’m not afraid, but I like to spend my flight time distracted by a good book so I don’t get too thinky about how things could go wrong.

My flight tactic do not work well when I am seated next to two small people for whom this is the Best Ride Ever.
“Hey Mom! When we go up, I feel heavy!”
“Why are they spraying that stuff on the wings?” (De-icer)
“So is that where the air masks come out?”
“Is there a life vest under my seat too?”
“Why is the plane bouncing?”
“What is that noise?”

There were moments during the trip when I looked over at my quietly occupied children and was really glad that I get to bring them on this trip. Their delight and fascination with the whole process helps me remember that modern flight is truly a wonder to behold. There were other times when I had to encourage them (yet again) to keep their voices down and not kick the seats in front of them. This was when I rummaged in my back pack to see if I had anything more interesting than the plane itself. (Not really, no.)

Patch has flown before, but he was a baby so he does not remember. Everything was amazing to him. Gleek was three the last time she flew. She has a few fragmented memories of the experience, but she waved those fragments high as the resident flight travel expert. Except she was as delighted and amazed as Patch was. They both charmed the flight attendants by exclaiming “Oh Wow!” as they entered the plane.

The thing they did not expect was the quantity of waiting which is involved with air travel. They had to wait for time to leave for the airport. Then wait during the drive. Then wait to board the plane. Then wait to land. Then wait on the drive home. Gleek burst into her Grandma’s house with utter relief. She took a deep breath. “Ah yes! This is right. That’s the smell I remember. It’s Grandma’s house. I like that smell.”

I breathed deep and agreed.

Travel Anxiety

By / January 25, 2010

Last year I decided that this year had to be different. I decided that some important family events had to go onto the calendar first. So I took my permanent marker and wrote down some family things in red. I followed this up by making airline and hotel reservations which could not easily be canceled. It is a good thing I did. Because I am approaching the first of these red lettered events and the back of my brain keeps flooding the front of my brain with hundreds of small reasons why I should shift or cancel the trip. The front of my brain pats it gently, says “there, there,” and gets on with the business of preparing for the trip.

So I’m leaving for a trip on Wednesday. I’m taking the younger pair of kids while leaving the older pair with Howard. They will get to have adventures in doing daily routine when mom is not there. I will get to step outside my regular routine and do something different.

(“But we like our routine.” moans the back of my brain. “Routine is what makes it work and we’ve just gotten it going after all that holiday and Howard being sick. You’re disrupting every thing and Howard won’t be able to get his work done.”
Pat. Pat. We’re going anyway.)

Gleek and Patch are thrilled about this trip. They’ve been counting down for the last month. They get to fly on an airplane! And go to an aquarium! And play at Grandma’s house! And miss school!

(“It is all going to cost so much, and the next pre-order won’t open until April.”
Pat. Pat. We budgeted for this.)

I will get to go visit with my parents and with my Grandmother who is turning 90 on Saturday. I will have time to do some writing while the kids play with Grandpa’s bag of toys. I will also get to go to the aquarium and be fascinated by the creatures which inhabit the wet portions of our planet. I will relax.

(“At the very least you ought to do a business event. There are people you could contact. You should make the most of this opportunity.”
Pat. Pat. The point of a family trip is to get away from work, not bring it with me.)

Kiki and Link are less thrilled that I am going, but they are reconciled because we intend to take them with us to GenCon in August. I think they will discover new responsibility and possibly a new appreciation for all the invisible tasks I do for them that neither they nor I notice because it is so habitual.

(“You’re abandoning your children. You’re going to miss that scheduling meeting for Kiki. Patch is going to miss his 100 day celebration. You should have scheduled this for a different time.”
Pat. Pat. I can’t move my Grandmother’s birthday. It will be fine.)

I’ll admit I am not looking forward to the air travel itself. Keeping two kids entertained in an airport and during a 2 hour flight is a high energy activity. I need to do some advanced planning. Not only that, but the back brain has an abundance of worst case scenarios involving everything from minor inconvenience to major tragedy.

(No. Just stop. We’re thinking of something else now.)

But come Monday I will be back. I will be glad to be back. I will be glad that I went. I will have a head full of new thoughts. I will have spent time where the weather is warmer and the ground doesn’t have snow. When I come back it will no longer be January. It is going to be a good trip. The back of my brain will shut up once the trip has begun. I just have to make it through until time to go.