Self

Demons of Self Doubt

By / May 26, 2014 / 4 Comments

There are some days when the demons of self-doubt set up a howling screaming chorus in my head. If I turn my back on them and try to work, they do everything they can to convince me my efforts are futile. Everything I do or see becomes evidence of my failure as a human being. Dishes not done? Obviously I’m a slob who doesn’t know how to clean up or to teach her kids to clean up. Kids fighting or crying? My fault. I’m a bad parent. Breakfast? Don’t eat that, I’m fat enough already. I should eat mindfully, but I shouldn’t try to cook something healthy because I suck at cooking. Might as well embrace the fat and eat whatever is easiest. Try to write about self-doubt? All my words are stupid and no one will want to read them anyway. The demons use all the mean words and they never pull their punches.

When the demons get to howling it feels like I have no power to make them stop. That is a lie they’d like me to believe. The power I have, and that I must use even though it is hard, is to make sure that I don’t stop. I inch my way forward toward some goal, any of my goals. As I do, I hang tight to the hope that the demons will wear out and go back to whatever cave it is where they usually dwell. If I’m feeling up to it, sometimes I name the demons. Each one harps on a single message, a single fear. Sometimes by separating one from the pack I can see how ridiculous it is and it withers away. Other times I catch a demon and confront it with counter examples, things in my life which are evidence that the demon lies. Unfortunately it is hard to catch an individual when they’re all swarming at once.

Sometimes prayer vanquishes the howling mob. Other times prayer just gives me enough strength to keep inching forward. Both are answers to my need, though I naturally prefer the outcome that has “vanquishes” in it.

The one time when I can’t hear the demons is when I’m listening to someone else. Howard talks me through many things. Or I walk outside and visit with a neighbor. She can’t see the plague of negativity in my head, and for the span of time when we talk, I don’t hear it either. So I inch my way forward, pray, and seek out loving voices. Over time the demons will get tired. I can outlast them. I have before and I’ll do it again.

Tayler Family Photo Books

By / May 25, 2014

One of my Sunday activities is to work on the annual Tayler Family photo book. In theory, I will sometimes have Sundays where there is no work to be done. We don’t generate family pictures and events every single week. The reality is that I have months at a time where I don’t work on the photo books at all. Then I spend the rest of the time trying to catch up. I began 2014 with both the 2012 and 2013 books incomplete. This is a byproduct of all of the many emotional events of 2013 during our year of transition. I just didn’t have the focus to work on it. When I did find the focus again, I decided to work chronologically. Besides, I knew that the photos and family stories of 2012 would not have huge emotional landmines waiting for me.

I finished 2012 a few weeks ago and began working on 2013. There is so much family story that is not in the photo book. I don’t have any pictures of the hard bits of last year. I don’t have pictures of Kiki’s birthday being unfortunate. I don’t have pictures of my stress, or any of the other hard things that happened as we adjusted and learned. I really expected that as I put pictures into place, my mind would fill in the gaps. That I would spend my time working on the pages re-living the emotions I felt at the time the pictures were taken. Instead what I have is a highlights reel from that year. I have a record of the moments when we laughed together, when we took trips, when Mom made all four kids stand together and smile for the camera. It is a record of all the good bits. There were a lot of good bits. That version of 2013 is just as true as the harder one. The hard things do not eliminate the joyful ones unless we choose to only remember the hard things, which is kind of what I was doing.

Once I’m caught up on the family photo books, my next Sunday activity will be to put together the One Cobble at a Time book from 2013. That will have a more even mixture of the hard things and the bright ones. I expect to re-experience some hard emotions as I put the book together. But I could be wrong there too. It is possible that most of the emotion will have attenuated to only a whisper of what it once was. That would be nice.

I’ve been making annual photo books since 2007. They’re my version of our family life together. At first it was to give the kids story books about themselves. They still serve that purpose, but they also exist because I like making books. It makes me happy to see pictures and words gathered together so that people can enjoy them. At some point my kids will make homes of their own. They’ll get copies of the photo books to take with them, probably digital copies, since there will be quite a stack by then. What happens to them eventually is less important than the fact that making them and having them brings me joy. That seems like a good use for Sunday afternoons.

Maturing Trees and Getting Older

By / May 17, 2014 / 2 Comments

Our trees have begun to poke their roots out of the surface of the lawn. This surfacing of roots is the natural result of having mature trees. The roots have grown in girth, just as the trunks have. They used to hide under the lawn, now they can be seen. This creates new challenges for our back garden. Where we once had to struggle to keep lawn alive in scorching summer sun, we now have protruding roots and spots where the lawn suffers because it doesn’t get very much sun. The challenges of a young yard are different from those of an older one.

I had my eyes examined about a year ago. I went because I’d noticed changes in my vision and thought that I might need new glasses. Upon hearing that I was forty, the optometrist looked at me sadly and said “The forties are not kind to eyes.” He’s correct. More and more of my friends are acquiring bifocals and reading glasses. Howard has had to adjust his work processes for the changes in his eyesight. Focusing my eyes takes far longer than it used to. Sometimes I have to hold a book in this position, other times in that one. My eyes are not the only things that I feel changing in my body. Dozens of small things work differently than they used to do.

I’m not complaining about my yard or about aging. There are advantages to mature trees and there are advantages to being forty. I’m spending much less time afraid than I used to. Most things I encounter I have the accumulated knowledge to handle with ease. This morning I was out with 13 year old Gleek weeding the tall grass out of the spot of dirt which is supposed to be an herb and vegetable garden. “How do you do that?” she asked.
“Do what?”
“Get the roots out with one pull.” I turned and looked at her. Sure enough, she kept pulling the tops off of the grass stalks while leaving the roots. My hands have been pulling weeds for so long that they know exactly where on a stalk I should grab, how hard to pull, and that slight twist that breaks the roots free. I don’t know when I learned it. I didn’t even realize it was a skill until I saw that Gleek didn’t have it. Being forty is like that all the time. Hundreds of things have become so easy for me that I’m hardly aware that they are complicated.

When the gardening work is done for the day, I walk in my yard. I trace the length of roots along the surface of the grass. One of the roots runs for more than six feet along the surface of the ground until it disappears under the fence into my neighbor’s yard. I can see the places where vines have grown through the fence and are breaking planks apart. I see the lattice we attached to the wall fifteen years ago, which is now a crumbling ruin around the trunks of the vines it once supported. I look at all these plants that I put into the ground. I now get the array of blooms that I pictured long ago when I planted a tiny wisteria stick and hoped that it would not die.

I don’t know what is coming for these plants. Possibly the roots will begin to trip people. The trees reach over the house now. Sometime soon we may have damage to repair because a tree begins to die, or begins to fight with the house. I can look ahead and try to imagine, just as I pictured grown trees when I dug holes for baby ones. Of course when I pictured canopy overhead, I didn’t picture roots underfoot, yet I get both. The future I’m going to get will be different than I can imagine today. I will be different. Like the trees, I am going to continue changing and maturing. I’ll need different glasses. My body will change. My capabilities will alter. Some of that I’m going to dislike, just as I get annoyed with my eyes right now. Yet I’m sure that continuing to age will continue to bring me unexpected gifts along with the annoyances.

For today, I walk my yard, tend my garden, and try to make decisions that will be good for years to come.

Despite it all Life is Good

By / May 6, 2014 / 2 Comments

It feels like the kids and Howard are always extra rambunctious or grouchy on the days when I am tired. Those are the days where I drive up to my house and see the scattered pieces of some broken plastic toy across the pavement in front of our house. Then I remember that Gleek and some neighborhood kids had made a game of smashing the thing and they’d wandered off leaving the pieces. Of course they didn’t clean it up. Cleaning up rarely occurs to children and only sometimes to teens. Cleaning up becomes automatic for people who’ve been in charge of cleaning up long enough to know that life is better if the work is done first. The garbage cans were out by the curb too, waiting for me to bring them in. I looked at these small tasks, only a couple of minutes each, and realized that it fell to me, not to do the tasks, but to make someone else do them. The tiring part is that making someone else do them takes longer than doing them. It takes more energy too, but I simply can’t do all the tasks all the time. I have to make sure that others do them enough that they learn the “clean up the messes” impulse that they’ll need for the rest of their lives.

The house is a wreck, of course. I have been busy over the last month. We had vacation, then a major convention, then the Strength of Wild Horses shipping, then fetching Kiki from college. I haven’t had time to do things nor to make others do them. So I haul the kids from their games and require them to carry in the groceries that I fetched from the store. Then they eat the dinner I provided by spending $5 at Sam’s club for a rotisserie chicken. Not exactly home cooked, but more suited to our newly frugal budget than ordering pizza. The budget is new too. I remember how it goes from the years when we first launched into cartooning full time. But the habits are rusty and I’m still figuring out how they fit with the newer configuration of our lives. Back then I had time to bargain hunt for the cheapest whole chicken available and then to roast it myself. I work differently now and my solutions must be different.

Howard is having a rough day. He alerted me to the fact via text while I was still at the store. I look around the chaos of the kitchen, dirty dishes everywhere, kids wandering around and squabbling while they serve themselves food. I try to gently correct the rudest interactions and remind them that they can speak kindly to each other and still get the outcomes that they want. The kids listen. Maybe it will take this time. Probably not, but it is like making them clean. I have to keep modeling and reminding so that they can practice the empathy for others that they’ll need their whole lives. The chaos in the kitchen is perfectly calibrated to punch all of Howards anxiety and stress buttons. I am not surprised when he disappears back to his office, it is good of him, because he chose the kinder and more empathetic disappearance rather than venting his stress out loud. I am sad that he’s having a rough day, not just for him, but for me. When I’m tired and he’s happy, then I’m not so tired. That’s the truth of hard days. It is not that my family saves up chaos and grouchiness for the days when I’m tired, it is because I’m tired that everything feels extra grouchy and chaotic. Even things that would normally be fine.

I load the dishwasher, because that makes the kitchen better. The kids eat and are re-directed toward their evening homework activities. In the wake of all that, there is some quiet and some order. I sit facing the cleared counters, my back to the rest of the house. I’ll deal with the rest tomorrow. Hopefully tomorrow I’ll have a full night’s sleep instead of the insomnia I had last night. Tomorrow I will do the laundry and vacuum, or make one of the kids do those things. For now, I will rest as much as I can. And I will remember how very fortunate I am to have all of these things which sometimes make life feel chaotic.

Revisiting: How to Raise a Strong Girl

By / April 13, 2014

This is day two of the massive comic convention in Salt Lake City. If you’re at FanX, please stop by booth 2017 and say hello. This is another essay that I’ve read aloud during events and feel has things to say that are worth re-reading. I originally wrote it in 2012 and then revised for my book Cobble Stones 2012. You can find the book in our store for only $5. I don’t have an e-book edition at this time.

How to Raise a Strong Girl

Last week I saw several social media campaigns urging people to go see the Pixar movie Brave on opening weekend. “Let’s show Hollywood that girl-led movies can make money!” they said, as if increasing the number of girl-led films would make the world a more fair place for women. I did see Brave during opening weekend, but only because Howard writes reviews and needs to see films early. I wanted to love it, but I didn’t. It managed to gut punch me in my emotional baggage about motherhood roles. I came home feeling like the movie told me that being a mother meant being the person who ruins all the fun and enforces all the rules. I was sad because my heart is Merida climbing the rocks and riding through the forest, but my life is Elinor imposing order onto the lives of others.

Today I decided to spend my afternoon seeing Brave again. My kids had not yet seen it, and I wanted to re-view the film leaving my emotional baggage at home. I bought tickets and then hurried to finish my work; before we could leave I had to make progress on my shelving project. I donned my work gloves and plugged in my borrowed electric sander.

There is a sort of magic in watching a power tool turn a sharp wooden corner into a smooth, round one. I glided the sander over the edges of the boards, and dust blew away. I was careful to keep the sanding surface away from all my limbs and thought gratefully of my grandpa, who used to take me into his big garage and let me work on projects with him. With Grandpa, I soldered, repaired bikes, used a lathe, sawed wood, and hauled rocks. Grandpa let any grandchild who was interested participate in the work; there was no distinction based on gender. Because of Grandpa, I am not afraid to pick up a power tool and make things, even if I have never done so before. This shelving project is my first time using an electric sander.

Afternoon came, and we all trekked to go see Brave. The kids loved it. They laughed out loud at exactly the slapstick moments which didn’t work well for Howard and me. I loved it too. I loved it as much as I wanted to love it the first time I saw it. The mother character, Elinor, has to be rigid in order to provoke Merida into taking action. A more balanced representation of motherhood would have ruined the film. The scene where Elinor quells the room full of brawling men is critical to a hero moment later in the film when Merida turns and faces down the woman who turned all those strong men into jelly. Yes, the brawling scene plays to a stereotype, but it gives power to the moment that I think is the epitome of Brave: mother and daughter staring angrily into each other’s eyes because they have mutually exclusive plans for the future.

I’m glad I took my kids to see it; they now have a new princess story in their minds which is in many ways the antithesis of a classic Disney-type film. But, if I were to weigh what I did today for gender equality, the most important thing I did was sand boards. My grandpa is not around to haul my kids (both boys and girls) into his garage to use power tools, but they can see that Mom fixes stuff. For every movie where the girl character exists to scream, there is a time when I am fetched to slay spiders. For every movie with true love in it, they see a hundred days where Mom and Dad snap at each other grouchily in the morning and then laugh together later in the evening. For every movie where the dad is helpless to manage the household, there are the days when Howard cleans the kitchen and makes dinner.

Seeing a movie present a different perspective can be truly powerful, as when a young Whoopi Goldberg saw Nichelle Nichols on Star Trek and realized that black women could be on television without being maids. These powerful, pivotal moments in entertainment matter. Perhaps Brave is one of those moments and can change the world for some girls. But if I want to raise strong girls of my own, I just need to live as if the equality I hope for them already exists. I need to gift them with pocketknives, bows, arrows, hair ribbons, power tools, and nail polish as their interests warrant. My actions should say, of course they can be what they choose to be, so long as they are willing to work hard to get there.

Life is not fair. It never will be. No movie can make it so. But strong girls can see the unfairness and do what they want to do anyway.

Revisiting: Red Shoes and Wishing

By / April 13, 2014 / 1 Comment

Today I’m spending an 18 hour work day up in Salt Lake at a massive comic convention. I expect to have no brain for blogging, so I thought I would re-share this essay that still matters quite a lot to me. This is a post I originally wrote in 2011 and then revised for my book Cobble Stones 2011. You can find the paper book in our store for only $5. We also have it in e-book form for $3.

Red Shoes and Wishing

“You’re allowed to want things,” I said to myself. I didn’t quite believe it. If I began wanting things then there would be conflict between the things that I wanted and the things that my husband or children wanted. The simplest way to avoid the inevitable conflicts was to remember that what I wanted most was my family and to either let go of, or fold away, the other things. So I pressed myself small, trying to take only the spaces in our lives which no one else was occupying. I got quite good at it. Unfortunately the process squeezed from my life those things which re-energized me. I was less and less able to meet family needs because I had less and less to give. It came to a crisis, and I formally told myself, “You’re allowed to want things. Even if they are silly. Even if they are impractical. Even if logic dictates that you’ll never have them, you’re still allowed to want them.” I breathed a big sigh and tried to believe it.

I was out of practice at wanting things. It took time for me to remember how. I began by creating small things, a pressed flower picture, a clean space in my house where my things could live. The process is ongoing. I’m still seeking which things call to me, feeling the call, and then waiting patiently to see if my brain will explain to me what these symbols mean. My long-neglected Amazon wish list has begun to fill up. I don’t know that I will actually buy most of these things, but collecting the list of wishes has been fascinating. I can see how the physical objects are actually representations of qualities I want in my life. The stationery box with all the little compartments appeals to my sense of organization and to my connection with the teenage letter writer I used to be. The journal with the faux aged leather cover speaks of connections with things that last and with words. The movie Julie and Julia appeals to my desire for transformation into something stronger. It isn’t things I want so much as qualities. If I happen to acquire the things, they can serve as reminders to seek the attached qualities, but I can accomplish this without spending money if I am mindful.

Layer by layer I unfold these pressed-together parts of myself. Each layer unfolds some new thing I want as a part of my life. Some of them are quite surprising. One day I discovered a desire to own red shoes. I’m mostly a brown and black shoe person. I like being able to wear shoes with many different outfits. Yet I wanted a not-at-all-sensible pair of high-heeled, red patent-leather pumps. Not any particular pair, or rather I haven’t yet found the perfect pair. But I’m looking. Red heels are for women who are beautiful and unafraid. They walk confidently, with their flash of color which often doesn’t match anything else they are wearing. They are like one of those Japanese paintings with a single spot of bright color as a focal point. Dorothy wore red shoes, and they gifted her with the ability to travel home. Other fictional red shoes danced their wearer to death. I feel cautious about red shoes, but I am allowed to want them. If I find the right pair, with the right fit, at the right price, I will buy them. In the meantime I will try to gift myself with the qualities that are represented by red high heels.

Allowing myself to desire things has led to conflict. I’m learning to live with that. I’m learning that sometimes the process of navigating a conflict is better than creating a peace which only exists because everyone is careful not to bump in to each other. I’ve been surprised to discover that three quarters of the conflicts I must navigate are me against myself. Howard and the kids are quite happy to shift around and make space for me. I have a hard time making space for myself. I agonize over which desires matter more, where I should spend my efforts, what I should do. My frantic scrambles to get it right disrupt the flow of what could be. Many of my wish list items, and my growing collection of quotations in my journal, carry themes of peace and courage. “Be not afraid,” I am telling myself in hidden ways. “It is okay to make mistakes. It is okay to fail. It is okay to be ordinary.” But also, “Seek beauty. Seek small happiness. Stop. Breathe. Feel.”

I am trying. I’m collecting more things on my wish list to see what qualities my deep self would like to have. I’m also watching for the right pair of red shoes.

I recently read this essay aloud at a symposium. I sat in front of the audience, three years after writing this, wearing red patent-leather high-heeled pumps.

Vacations End

By / April 10, 2014

Howard was anxious and stressed on the drive to our vacation spot. He was relaxed on the way home, as was I. We talked over the next six weeks, which are so full of things that juggling will be necessary to accomplish them all. This is normal. After those six weeks will be summer and the rhythms of our lives will be different.

We unpacked the car and then the suitcases, amassing a large pile of clothes which need red dust washed out of them. For each bag I sorted and put things back in the places they belong. If I don’t do this task on the day that we arrive home, then we end up stepping around half-unpacked bags for weeks. Many of the things I unpacked were never used during the trip. Settlers of Catan went back on the shelf, box unopened. Each vacation is different, affected by our changing family dynamics and by our moods. This time we barely watched any movies. Instead we spent time together out at the park swinging in hammocks and floating sticks down the little stream. Afterward the kids hovered over Howard’s shoulder as he narrated his strategy for a video game. They watched the game’s story unfold with every bit as much interest as they sometimes give to movies.

Some of the things I put away were used quite a lot. The binoculars were carried on all the hikes. The file of maps proved very useful. Most of the stack of books were read. The cameras took many pictures. Those pictures will soon be the only tangible evidence of our trip. All the rest is memory.

I did one thing more after all the bags were empty and put away. I carried our hammock and our hammock swings out into the back garden. I hung them in their usual places. The air was mild and a warm breeze blew. Spring is not so far advanced at our house as it is in Moab, but it is definitely here. The time has come for us to spend portions of our day outdoors. Tis the season for hammocks. I sat in one after it was hung and felt the same peaceful repose that came to me sitting next to the wisteria on vacation. I don’t have to leave that behind, I can bring it home.

Our vacation spot is a pocket paradise, so is our house and the garden that surrounds it. Yes I can hear the cars on state street. An apartment building overlooks the yard only partially blocked by the evergreen trees we’ve planted. Over the back wall is a landscaping company that sometimes leans tall poles against the wall. The list could go onward naming the flaws of this little plot of land, why it is not perfect. Or I could make the opposing list of all the ways in which it is lovely. Both are true and which I see on a given day is far more dependent on what I carry inside me. If I carry peace, then any place can be paradise. Going on vacation gives me enough space to remember that.

I swayed gently in the hammock and thought on all of these things while the sun warmed my face. Soon my wisteria will bloom and that will be lovely too. Tomorrow I need to unpack all my business thoughts. Accounting must be done and I’ve got a booth to prepare for the convention next week. Then next Monday I need to remember how school days go. One week until FanX. Two weeks until I can begin shipping Strength of Wild Horses. Three weeks until Kiki comes home. Beyond that there are more things. It is enough to get started.

Looking Back to Last Year

By / March 19, 2014

Sometimes I play the “one year ago today” game. This is when I look back in my blog to see what I was doing during the prior year. Playing the game has taught me much about the patterns of my life, I can see the tendencies and often find myself saying the same sorts of things over again. This afternoon, as I was contemplating what to write, I opened up the entries from March 2013. That was when I discovered that the game is no fun at all this month. A year ago Gleek was in crisis with full-blown panic attacks at school. Her teacher was at a loss for how to help her. We were in the process of getting a school evaluation, psychological evaluation from a private source, and setting up therapy. I was scrambling to try to make things better, to shift and help. Then (a year ago next week) it all crashed into much worse. Just glancing over the entries brought back lots of emotion, because I remember vividly all the details that I did not write.

The year from February 2013 until now, mid-March 2014 was transitional in dozens of ways. It included the challenge coin Kickstarter which meant that we were able to focus on all of the emotional arcs without fretting over the cost. During that year Howard began treatment for his depression. Gleek collapsed into an anxiety disorder which we then treated, brought under control, and continue to manage. Kiki transitioned from her senior year in high school into a thriving college student. Our family transitioned from four kids at home to three. We acquired a warehouse and the business moved out of our basement. Link started high school and took half the school year to figure out how to handle that. Patch had to deal with the fact that life changes, friends move away, older sister leave home, and these changes do not destroy everything good about life. I helped everyone with all of the above and because I was overwhelmed, I plunged into a low-level depression for about six months.

I knew, even as we went through it all, that the transitions were necessary and that we’d come out the other side in good places. We did. Life has found a new normal and we’re happy here. We’re back to watching money, but not terrified about it. Gleek has horseback riding. Patch has his cello. Link has programming. Kiki is building a life for herself that is beginning to have the shape that she wants. None of these things were true a year ago. It was a hard thirteen months. In some cases it was gut-wrenchingly hard, but they were also good months. Even the hardest bits taught us things we needed.

In the months to come, I will be taking a closer look at all the blog entries I wrote in 2013. I do that because I like to have a print on demand copy of my blogging for each year. In that paper copy I also include the private blog entries that do not get posted. There were quite a lot of them last year and I expect many of them to be painful to read. I’ve had a similar experience before when I wrote about my radiation therapy and then read it later. The emotion was packed away in my brain and only by opening up the boxes was I able to let go of the emotions. I’m not looking forward to processing all of the emotion left over from last year, but I’ll be very glad to have done it.

A Trip to the Library

By / March 17, 2014 / 2 Comments

At first I was focused on the goal. I was at the library to get books for one son and to get a documentary film for the other. They both had assignments to do and I was acquiring the necessary resources. So I went straight to the shelves I needed and plucked books off of them. Then all the way downstairs to where the DVDs were stashed to get one of those. Then I hit the third portion of my visit. There are some books that I’ve been meaning to read. I looked them up. They weren’t in a single convenient location. One was upstairs in the adult non-fiction wing. Another was in the basement section devoted to fiction.

As I traveled through the stacks, my footsteps slowed. I found myself running a hand along the spines of books. There were so many of them and some of them had obviously been there for a very long time. I mused about how a book can get lost among the shelves of the library. Even if my books were on the library shelves (which they currently aren’t) I wondered why on earth anyone would pick up one of my books. I paid attention to the spines and titles as I passed them. Every so often one would jump out at me, catch my attention, and I would pause. I didn’t always know why a particular book caught my eye, but some of them did. I guess I have to trust that one day when my books are available in libraries, they will catch the eye of people like me who are wandering through the stacks.

I found my books and a few extras. As I walked to the circulation desk I was very grateful that my community has a library. Our family has just entered a period when we can’t be buying books on a whim. Yet because of the library, we still have access to the books we need. Learning is not stalled for lack of money. This is important because lack of learning creates lack of money in vicious circles.

I noted a poster for the Orem Writes series at the Library. I was part of that event last year and truly enjoyed it. For a moment the poster made me sad because it means I’m too late to participate this year. I should have sent an email to volunteer months ago. I meant to, but life was busy and I didn’t do it. Similarly, last year I helped with and event called Writing for Charity. But by the time I started thinking about it, the organizers had a full slate of writers. The sadness only lasted a moment. I love to teach, but my life is very full right now. It will not hurt me to have a year with less teaching and more creating. Perhaps next year I’ll get to teach more.

The checkout system at our library feels like magic. I drop my card in a slot, punch a few buttons and then slide the books over an outline on the smooth counter. They show up on the screen and turn green when they’re good to go. I know that it is all chip technology and completely explainable, but it feels like magic in much the way that I used to view self-opening doors at the grocery store when I first encountered those as a child. Also, having my card pop up out of the slot when I’m done is a small happy thing. It may be silly, but there is a little popping noise and the card jumps up. “Don’t forget your card!” the screen tells me. And I don’t because the card and I have been together for quite a long time now. Life could use more small happy things, even if they seem silly when trying to explain why so small a thing could be happy.

The bag of library materials was sorted through the minute I got home. We’re now ready for the learning which must come next.

Bumps in the Road

By / March 12, 2014

Life is rolling along and everything is feeling good, then whump. I hit a speed bump, or a pot hole, or maybe it was both a speed bump and a pothole. Anyway my tire is flat, which seriously impedes my ability to keep rolling along happily. It’ll all be fine. I just need to find the jack and change out the tire. Then I can roll along again. Right now I’m in that moment when I’ve rolled to a complete stop at the side of the road and I’m trying to remember where on earth I keep the jack. I’m hoping it is here in the car with me.

The things which flattened my tire today:

I looked at the list of things I really should have gotten done already, the list of things I ought to do today, and I compared these lists against the actual hours I have available between now and midnight. The numbers of things are far more than the hours.

I thought about the parenting things which I have left to do this week and how they are going to interfere with the work things. Or maybe it is the other way around. Either way something important is going to have to slide.

We had a boom year financially last year. That means that this year we have a boom year for paying out taxes. I planned for it. I saved for it, but the number still feels a bit like a gut punch. I end up revising my plans for what I think we can afford this year. It is time for me to go over the budget again. I’ll just add that to the list.

Related to the finances, all the old anxiety demons have come howling out of the dark places where they’ve been hiding. “why can’t you plan better?” They howl at me. They blame me for spending too much, for not saving enough, for not being as frugal as we once were. And then once they get up a head of steam, they’ll start in on the many and varied ways that I’m a failure as a human being. So I’m spending psychic energy not listening to them and trying to shoo them back into their dark holes. Out of my head forever would be better, but I’ll tackle that when they are not surrounding me in a swirling mob. One at a time I can get rid of them. En masse, I’ll settle for having them shut up.

Howard has been suffering medication-related insomnia which has not helped him feel calm and happy. So we’re tinkering with that this week. The big bill punches his anxiety buttons too. That’s extra fun. His internal howling voices get restless when he’s having a depressed day. So later today Howard and I will, no doubt, be conferencing about these negative thoughts, both his and mine.

That’s it. I really thought there would be more things, but I’ve been sitting here for ten minutes and everything else that has floated through my head lands firmly on the good side of the ledger or is covered by the list above. Howard and I have both been writing prose fiction. He’s under contract. I’m not, but I know I’m writing the book that I need to write. Maybe I’ll find a contract for it later this year. Kiki is home with us for the week, and that is really fun. Link has been taking control of his homework and is going to bring all his grades up to passing before the end of the term even though he was out of school for a month. Gleek is excelling at horseback riding and I see the things she learns there spilling into other areas of her life. Patch hasn’t been showing signs of anxiety. He just earned his arrow of light and will go to scouts for the first time tonight.

So very many things are going well. I just wish there were two of me to keep them all going.