parenting

Hard Things, Anxiety, Schools, and Hope

By / March 27, 2013 / 4 Comments

Sometimes, in the middle of a hard thing, all I can do is remember that I once believed it was possible and keep going.

I tweeted those words yesterday, because yesterday and Monday I could not feel hope. I could logically think through the steps we’re going to take in the next few weeks; the meeting with school staff to establish structures for Gleek, the psychological evaluation report meeting on Friday, the round of therapy that will begin soon after, the probability of medication. I could see all the steps. I knew that they would help, but I had run out of hope. The answer was to keep going, following the logical steps until things get better. So that is what I did.

Today I don’t exactly feel full of hope, but I’m not so wrung and numb as I was. I’m cautious of hope right now because I had so much of it a week ago just before it became apparent that even my stepped up parenting game was not going to bring Gleek’s anxiety under control. I hoped so hard that the extra efforts would work. Instead things got more difficult, which led to an emergency meeting and Gleek taking a two day break from school.

Sometimes a crisis can be a good thing if it serves as an impetus for a course correction. The two days gave me time to emotionally process. They gave Gleek a chance to realize that she really does want to be in school. On Monday I had no clue what could be done. Today I have a new plan to share at the meeting tomorrow morning. More important, I see clearly how very fortunate we are in her current school placement. I’ve had four different teachers tell me that if Gleek needs a quiet space she can come to their classroom. The office staff greets her by name. Any time one of her classmates saw me (more than one classmate, at least four times) they’d say “Tell Gleek we miss her.” The school hosts three classes for autistic children and one for kids with behavioral issues; the staff knows how to manage a child who has curled into a non-responsive ball. The students consider that sort of thing pretty normal. We are so very lucky to not be fighting misunderstanding and hostility while facing down anxiety.

The reasons for hope are many. I’m pretty sure we’ll get there. If I have one complaint it is the fact that we had a month long wait to see the psychiatrist while having to manage crises which could have been avoided if we’d already seen him. Right now we’re in a patch and hold pattern. Howard is holding down the fort on the business front and catching many of the household tasks that I’ve abandoned. The other kids needs have not declined and we’re working hard as parents to keep meeting those needs. Everything else I’ve pared back to minimum so that I have enough flexibility of schedule to drop what I am doing and go spend an hour at Gleek’s school as needed.

I found myself about to write that I hope we’ll stabilize before the challenge coin shipping hits, so I guess I do have some hope. I also hope that this hope will not be completely smashed like the last round. That counts as a meta-hope. Knowing that I have hope is both relieving and frightening. I need to stop thinking about it right now. I know the plan for tonight and tomorrow; that’s all I need for now.

One foot in front of the other until we’ve arrived someplace else.

Meeting at the School

By / March 26, 2013 / 2 Comments

It is never fun to have an hour long meeting including the principal, two teachers, and the school psychologist when the subject of the meeting is “How do we help your child cope with school in a way that does not place a huge burden on already overburdened school staff.” Short term interventions are still to be devised. Long term plans (already in process) include meetings with psychiatric professionals and weekly therapy for awhile. At some point I may outline some of these interventions because the shape of them might be useful to others. Right now it all feels a bit raw and I’m tired of crying.

Not fun at all. Just in case you were wondering.

Things I need to tell myself while facing diagnosis for a child

By / April 21, 2014 / 1 Comment

First: Realize that you have a battle to fight with denial. You really want to be imagining things. Any time things are normal for a while, you will doubt the diagnosis, doubt the need to seek treatment, decide to just let it all slide for a bit.

Second: You will grieve when you finally hear a doctor confirm what you already knew, but wanted to pretend wasn’t so. It feels more real when said by someone else. Then all the denial washes away and you have to know that your child will struggle with this, perhaps all her life. And it isn’t fair. It isn’t what you wanted for your child, but it is now fact.

Third: You will react to any behavior from any of your other children which mirrors the disordered behavior. Watch that.

Fourth: Diagnosis is a tool, a lever you can use to shape the public school system into something that will work for your child. Make sure it stays your tool rather than being used against her.

Fifth: It is going to be okay. Really it is. Remember the inspirations you’ve had. It’ll probably all settle down before summer.

Sixth: Don’t get so absorbed in the difficult things that you forget to see the wholeness in your child. Consciously think of the strengths she already has that will carry her through.

Afternoon Parenting Battles

By / March 19, 2013

First there was the battle of the Mythology assignment. Link gave me many reasons for why he didn’t need to do it: talking about Greek gods made him uncomfortable, the deadline was today, he’d already done enough work to rescue his grade from an F. I listened to his reasons and recognized them as “Do Not Want,” so we focused on the other assignment first. Also due today. I sat next to him as he wrote two paragraphs about faith in humanity and the holocaust while the history teacher sat at his desk, patiently staying late so Link could turn in the assignments before the deadline. We tackled the Mythology assignment too, and completed it.

Link was not done with homework. He still had some computer homework and an essay, both of which must be completed before the end of the term on Friday. Once home, we had a lively discussion about how and when we would tackle these projects. I favored “let’s just get it done” and Link favored “I’ll do it tomorrow.” We found a compromise. I call victory because, while the negotiations were tiring, they never became hostile. Link never tried to make me into the bad guy and he could see that I was applying pressure to help him. Conflict without acrimony, definitely a win.

Link was not the only one with homework, Patch had a small pile of his own. The moment I mentioned it he began bouncing around the room like a hyper squirrel. Again and again I brought him back to the task at hand, refusing to let him get distracted by the many things which were suddenly fascinating. Eventually I held him still, stared into his eyes, and pointed out what he was doing. There followed falling on the floor and moaning because all of the work was impossible. It wasn’t. He knew it wasn’t. I pointed out that he knew it wasn’t. Then I gave him a little mini-lecture on the value of being able to tell when something feels impossible, but is actually easy to accomplish. He didn’t get it. Instead of facing his stresses he keeps using humor to deflect them. Humor is a great coping strategy, but he needs to learn how to wield it in a way that does not frustrate people trying to help him. Thirty minutes later the ten minute long project was done.

Then it was time to detach Gleek from the computer to begin bedtime. Any time I have to redirect her I get “one sec” or “I need to do one more thing.” Left unchecked, Gleek will one more thing herself through two hours of continued play. I don’t want an angry argument. I would really love for us to move smoothly through the familiar steps of bedtime. But once I got her off the computer, she had snack and began reading a book. Then comes the struggle of getting her to put down the book to brush teeth and go to bed.

None of the afternoon battles were big arguments. I stayed calm and treated each one as a teaching moment. They were chances for my kids to learn self-management and for me to practice patience. I’m grateful I had the emotional reserves to stay in the teaching zone. Though I think I’ve earned my fatigue this evening.

There are signs that the lessons are beginning to stick. After I came upstairs from wrangling Gleek off the computer, Patch said “Is parenting hard sometimes?” I answered that yes it was. Patch nodded.

End of term is Friday. Patch has caught up on his overdue work and now we only have regular work to do. Gleek is having a light homework week because of field trips. We’re finding our way through.

Stepping Up My Parenting Game

By / March 18, 2013

Life comes in cycles of wax and wane, ebb and flow. I take the same approach to parenting. Sometimes I’m sticking close to my kids, helping them with homework, actively teaching, enforcing chores, etc. Other times I’m much more hands-off, allowing them to struggle and fail a little so that they can grow by learning independence. I thought I was in a median stage of the cycle where I was somewhat involved but also allowing space for growth. Then, in the space of four weeks, three of my children demonstrated clearly that they need me to hang close for awhile. They need me to be actively monitoring homework, affirming their worth, helping them be responsible. So I had to shift gears and rearrange my task load.

Link was first in this cascade. He needed to have several important conversations with me and with Howard. Then he needed me to require him to do some English assignments that he was trying to ignore out of existence. Ignoring work is not good for him, he knows he should not do it. He feels bad about doing it because he can see failure in it. Yet sometimes he doesn’t see how to just sit down and do the work. I have to corner him, require him to face the work, and then suddenly it gets done. This time around part of the process has been talking to Link about the process. I’m showing him the tools I am using because someday I’ll turn these tools over to him. We’re pretty close really. He is getting more mature every day. But he’s not there yet. The transition to high school will open up a new social world for him and I know there are even more conversations coming. Right now for Link I’m tracking his school work through this last week of the term to make sure he gets things turned in. Then I can back off on homework for awhile. I’ll need to stay on alert for when Link needs to talk.

The second child to need help was Gleek. Her needs manifested about two and half weeks ago. It is going to take a while to completely sort because consultations with behavioral professionals are necessary to help me sort out her anxiety. We’ve assembled a stop-gap system to try to keep things at manageable levels for Gleek and her teacher. I’m paying close attention to make sure she eats healthy meals. I’m tracking to make sure she gets daily exercise. I’m also tracking all of her homework to make sure that she is ahead of schedule rather than feeling like she has to scramble to catch up. All of these things help her to be reassured and reduce her ambient levels of anxiety. She still spikes into upsets, but not as often and not as far. All of this is still settling and has not yet become routine. I’m still actively observing to figure out what needs changed, how things could be changed, if there are better options. I’m also noting how changes affect the shape of her struggles, because that information will be useful when we have appointments with the doctors. Or maybe it won’t. Maybe I’m just running around so that I can feel like I have some measure of control. I don’t think so. I think my steps are logical. Either way, I’m watching, thinking, observing, and hovering closer than I have for the past few months.

Last week Patch came to my attention. Sorting his emotions about life changes is a beginning, but I can see that there is more to do. He needs me to teach him how to identify his emotions and acknowledge the not-happy ones. He needs to feel in control of his life or to accept that some things are out of our control and we can be happy anyway. He needs me to track his homework and help him stay ahead of it because being unprepared is a huge emotional blow to him. So his teacher and I are writing notes in his planner. I’m sitting with him to enforce homework. And his bedtime has become a sacrosanct time except for the direst emergencies. He needs that quiet snuggly time to talk about the things in his head.

Through all of this both Gleek and Patch’s teachers keep saying things like “This is a pretty intense program.” It is all I can do not to laugh. The quantity of work to track for these two kids is minimal. Compared to the quantity of things I track daily across four kids and a business, it is nothing. However I can see how it would feel a bit much for Gleek and Patch when they’ve got other emotional things going on. So I’ll track for them, probably to the end of this school year. Of course by “track for them” I mean that I’ll require them to sit down with me and their homework planners every day. I’m using this time to actively teach them how to track work, and mostly that amounts to making sure everything gets written down. Because brains can’t hold everything.

I suppose I should count my blessings that Kiki doesn’t have any particular emotional or educational needs right now. She is sailing through very responsibly toward the end of her senior year. However I fully expect there to be emotional waves in the weeks to come, because the end of high school is a big life shift.

I’m hoping that this is the week when I can settle in and let the parenting shifts start to feel routine. That would be nice.

Finding Levers to Remove Anxiety and Depression

By / April 21, 2014 / 2 Comments

When I had my first panic attack it was an extraordinary event. I choose that word carefully, because anxiety manifesting as body panic was an event outside my usual experience, thus: extra ordinary. Unfortunately it was an experience that lacked any of the positive traits that the word extraordinary usually implies. There was nothing fun or exciting about it. All I knew for sure was that my body was behaving in an alarming fashion. My heart raced and beat irregularly; my breathing constricted; I was cold; and I could not stop my hands from shaking. I knew that something was wrong, so I saw a doctor who found nothing in the physical data to explain my experiences. He suggested stress. I remember him suggesting it, but the suggestion rolled right off of me only to be remembered months later after I had already figured out that anxiety was the problem. I found ways to de-stress my life and the anxiety went away. Mostly. Until it came back and I realized that I had to address it instead of trying to ignore it out of existence.

It is easier somehow with an extraordinary event, some thing we can point at and say “That is outside of usual bounds.” But most mental illness does not manifest suddenly and dramatically. It creeps in, becomes part of the fabric of life, erodes what we consider normal. I saw this with my anxiety. After entering with a bang, I adapted to it, got so used to it that I hardly even noticed it anymore. “I’m better now.” I’d say, while adjusting my schedule to give myself extra space. If pressed, I would acknowlede that if it ever again got as bad as that original onslaught, then I’d have to do something. I wonder now why I did not take that lull as a chance to dig in and find ways to heal. Truly heal. As I’m trying to do now in the wake of the second extraordinary onslaught. I’m a year and a half into that healing process and I’ve still got terrain to cover.

Howard’s periodic depression has been part of the patterns of our lives ever since I first met him. We built our lives around it, planned for it, explained it in a dozen different ways. “Everyone has good and bad days” I assured both him and myself. Eight months ago Howard began to call out his depression for what it is. He started recognizing it as a thing to be faced and changed. The more he called it out, the more we saw it, and we had to wonder had it gotten worse or were we just noticing instead of ignoring? We spoke with our regular physician and got on the waiting list for a psychiatrist. Howard has been amazing through this process. I’ve watched him spectate and analyze as he carefully deconstructs his old coping mechanisms. We’re beginning to build new ones and I am very happy to see him healthier in both mind and body. It takes amazing courage to look at a long standing pattern and choose to change it, particularly if there is no extraordinary event to spur the change.

I think Howard’s courage is what lets me be so calm as I look at my daughter Gleek and see the patterns around her. Just as our family structure has been built around his depression, it has also bent around Gleek’s intensity. Her ADHD was diagnosed years ago and treatment helped, but more is needed. Over the last two weeks her anxiety both at home and at school has pushed out of the ordinary. Her teacher has noticed, the school psychologist has noticed, and my own observations concur. She needs something different, more than I can fix by making sure she eats well and exercises; more than me helping track her homework, buying her books on stress management, more than yoga sessions, a sand garden, and long rambling talks at bedtime where I help her sort through her thoughts. As I type this list and it gets longer, I see how very hard we’ve been working to give her good coping strategies. And it has worked. Gleek is amazing. She is able to spectate and analyze with a maturity beyond her twelve years. Her innate strength lets her keep it together and choose the least destructive coping mechanisms when the anxiety strikes. After all of that, she still needs something more, something different. I’ve scheduled a full evaluation for her. We’ll be re-visiting the ADHD diagnosis and considering possible treatments and therapy for anxiety.

One of the hardest parts about mental illness is that it all takes place inside the brain. It is tempting to believe that we can just think our way out through willpower and motivation, but this is like trying to move a rock with your bare hands. You can do it if the rock is small, but sometimes it is a boulder sunk deep into the ground. Then willpower and motivation must be applied to a lever, for example: a treatment plan formed with the advice of psychological experts. The first step to finding the right lever to remove your rock is being willing to admit that this rock is in your way, that it needs to be moved, and that you probably can’t move it by yourself. The lever you need may be a lifestyle shift, medication, therapy, service to others, restructuring relationships, or seeking healing through faith. Finding which life changes you need–and applying those changes–requires great motivation and willpower. The answers are as individual as the people seeking them.

My family has some rocks we’ve been walking around for a long time and I’d love to take a jack hammer to them, but I’ll settle for some good levers and a solid team willing to help. Now is a good time to get started.

People You Need in Your Parenting Village

By / March 7, 2013 / 1 Comment

It takes a village to raise a child, or so the saying goes. I’ve found this to be true, but in modern society the village is not something that everyone has automatically. Some do, but others of us have to construct our villages, carefully acquiring the connections we need. Here are some of the people I’ve found very useful while raising my kids. Often a single person plays more than one role or even shifts roles through the years.

Grandparent figure: This is someone who adores your kids and thinks they are wonderful no matter what. They are older so that the kids can learn not to be afraid of age and to respect those who have attained it.

Parents with kids at the same developmental stage: These are your go-to people for commiseration. They really understand what you’re dealing with and can share notes and ideas for how to survive.

Parents whose kids are older than yours by a decade: These are the people you go to for advice. They let you know that there is life after your current parenting stage and because of them you can picture how your life will change in the coming years. So can your kids.

Parents whose kids are younger than yours: You get to play mentor, which is a nice way to pay it forward, but it also lets you see that you really have gained some expertise. Your knowledge is useful. Playing with younger kids also can help yours learn useful empathy and nurturing skills.

Friends with no kids: They sometimes make you jealous, your kids may sometimes annoy them, but they help you remember that your whole existence does not revolve around parenting.

Young aunts, uncles, or babysitters: These people are adults, but they still have the energy of teenagers. They don’t have kids of their own and so are glad to swoop in and run around with yours for awhile.

Teachers: They educate your kids, but more, they have a wealth of experience dealing with large groups of kids who are exactly the same age. They can reassure you that your kids is normal or alert you if something is not.

Doctors: This one most people acquire early, but make sure your doctor is one you respect and one who is willing to listen to your instincts about what your child needs.

Friends who parent the way that you do: Your families blend effortlessly and trading babysitting is easy because you trust the way things will be handled.

Friends who parent differently than you do: Because it is good to learn that your way is not the only way and in fact other ways may be even better.

“Elders” who will teach morals and values: This could be religious leaders, school administrators, or a teacher; it is someone outside your immediate family who the kids can respect and whose respect they want to earn in return.

Watchers and guiders: These are school psychologists or resource teachers who help diagnose problems and apply solutions when the kids are away from home.

Librarians: They may not actually work at a library, but they suggest books, loan books, share information, and informally teach kids in a non-school setting. In fact some of the knowledge may not be book-ish at all, but instead by hands-on.

People who are different from you: They may be disabled, differently-abled, of a different ethnicity, or of a different religion. The point is to let your children see that different is not necessarily bad. It also forces them to examine how they want to live rather than just living one way because they’ve never seen anything different.

I’m sure I’ve missed some valuable village roles here. I don’t have someone in all of these roles all of the time because relationships wax and wane over years. People move away and new people enter my life. But I am forever grateful to the people who have reassured me and even more grateful to the people who have carefully pointed out when something was out of the ordinary and needed to be addressed. I am so very grateful for my village.

Too Many Parenting Things for One Day

By / February 12, 2013 / 2 Comments

Funny how I can come to the end of a day knowing I filled it with important things and yet still be buried under thoughts of how I could do better. Last weekend was one in which all my children burst open and the emotional issues which have been brewing burst forth where they must be addressed. It is actually a good process, that is how healing begins and it is much better than an extended brewing and festering. With the troubles out in the open, the problem solving portions of my brain begin to supply solutions. Most of these solutions involve me stepping up my game, doing more, being better. I’m trying to pause before implementing these solutions, because I am ever so slowly learning that I am not the sole provider of life fixes, that sometimes my proper role is to stay out of the way. Other times stepping up my game is exactly what I should do. I wish the troubles would come color coded so I could easily discern which approach to take.

An effort to step up my game is how I found myself on a Tuesday afternoon at an arcade / laser tag arena with four of my children. Link wanted to go and his trouble had to do with his wishes often being overlooked. I’ve been wanting to see the effects of exercise on Patch’s insomnia, which also seemed a good argument for making the trip. We might as well bring along Gleek, who can always use some time outside the house running around. Unfortunately what I really needed was a quiet afternoon where not much was required of me. I was worn out from un-bunking the boy’s beds and completely rearranging their bedroom (an action also sparked by emotional needs). Along with that massive effort was calling the orthodontist to commit to braces for Gleek, taking Link for his driver’s permit test, helping Kiki weather yet another head cold, fielding nine different communications from various schools regarding Valentine’s day*, realizing that I am going to miss parent teacher conferences at the high school tomorrow afternoon, and arranging for child transportation while I’m at LTUE. Yet to come are even more parenting task which lurk in the corners of my brain and will continue to do so until I can finally get them done. They are: massive reorganization of the boy’s closet so that things can be found when they are needed, cleaning the house for company, getting braces put on Gleek’s teeth, determining the progress and fate of Kiki’s wisdom teeth, having Kiki tested for allergies, a meeting with Link’s English teacher to make sure that everyone is clear about requirements, and supporting all the make up work because days where I don’t have a kid home sick have been fewer than those when I have.

My head was not exactly empty and an arcade is not exactly the sort of quiet place I prefer when I need to sort the contents of my brain. I wanted to be the drop-everything-and-play-with-the-kids mom. There were moments where I almost was her. Then I had to default into observer-mom mode, standing off to the side in a place I’d rather not be so that my kids could enjoy being there. Sadly this effort was paid for by crankiness later. At least I was able to aim my crankiness at a hapless bowl of spilled ramen rather than at any of the children.

Long day. I am tired now, which is why I’m doing my best to not listen to any of the voices in my head who are trying to give me parenting scores for today. I’ll be better able to evaluate after a full night’s sleep.

*I wish I were exaggerating about the number of Valentine’s emails, but I am not.
1 email from the Junior High asking parents to please not have Valentines sent to kids in class as it disrupts education.
3 emails of increasing urgency asking for volunteers for a medieval feast on Valentine’s day.
1 email stating that there are now enough volunteers, but donations of apple juice would be appreciated.
1 email saying they have enough juice now, thanks.
1 email asking for volunteers to help with either an activity or treats for a class Valentine’s party.
1 General email to all students at the elementary school that if they are going to bring valentines, they should bring one for every student in their class.
1 email to all high school parents asking that we not send gifts to students in their classrooms as it disrupts instructional time, also to remind us about parent teacher conferences.

I responded to none of these emails, because I’m at LTUE and unavailable to help with anything. Considering that school party planning is not my favorite thing, I’m not being able to dig up much regret except when I occasionally feel guilty that perhaps my kids would like me to be involved more.

A Quick Thought on Family Relationships

By / February 10, 2013 / 2 Comments

Much mention is made of the “family unit” which usually means two parents and a number of children. This grouping is then treated as a single entity. There is truth in this, particularly in the early childhood years much time is spent forming a group identity. We are a family, we do this, we don’t do that. Yet as my kids enter their teens I see them beginning to take flight. They are going to be adults and form family identities of their own. What happens to the unit then? I’ve begun to think of my family as a mesh of interconnected individuals. Yes we have a group identity, but that identity is only as strong as the threads between individuals. Ultimately I can not dictate the relationship between two of my children. I can not guarantee that they will continue to have a relationship once they are no longer living where I can insist they spend time together. What I can do is try to give them tools to understand each other. I can encourage, not just the group identity, but the formation of individual relationships.

It is a lot of work. Lots and lots of work. I feel like I’ve been helping work on threads all weekend long, but the mesh is stronger than it was two days ago and that is a good thing.

Choosing Between Professional Events and Family Needs

By / February 5, 2013

It was not a good day for reasons that I’d been unable to discern. I tried to manage it with willpower and then an application of caffeine, yet I couldn’t seem to get started on important tasks. Time slipped away from me in reading things that weren’t particularly important. When I focused on something important, concentration eluded me. I sat down to write all the thoughts in my head to see if I could sort some order out of them, that did not lead me to clarity either. I muddled through, accomplishing only the most critical tasks, until I washed up in Howard’s office at the end of the day, like driftwood.

I talked, Howard listened. My words were just repeating the things I’d written out for myself, but I framed them for my audience of one: the listener I could count on to not think less of me even when some of my thoughts were selfish or judgmental. I don’t like to be judgmental, because I recognize it and then I try to fix it, which is good, but exhausting if I am in a situation where an unending stream of judgmental thoughts keep appearing in my head. But Howard listens and lets me sort the thoughts, even the unfair ones, the ones I never want to write down because written words give permanence to something I want to get rid of.

One thought followed another and most of them ended up being about scheduling June. That is the month of the Writing Excuses Retreat, it is Gleek’s first girl’s camp, it is when extended family reunions are scheduled. The trouble is that Gleek’s camp and the retreat are right on top of each other, in direct conflict. Additionally, the people who usually watch my kids for me when Howard and I travel together have had life shifts. They are not available this year. Thus my attendance at the retreat is complicated. I talked through all the possible fixes and complications of fixes. I expressed what Howard and I both feel: that Gleek’s girl’s camp is far more important than me being at the retreat. I pulled out all the “if, thens” I could muster. I was still talking when Howard held up a hand to pause my flow of words.

“Sandra, you keep talking about possibilities, but the tone of this conversation is you grieving the retreat.”

Oh.

In that light the grayness of the day made sense. I was grieving, not because I would never get to be part of a retreat, not because I was shut out of professional opportunity, not because I’m forced to stay home, I may yet get to go for a portion of the retreat, but a reduced length of stay means I am a visitor at the event rather than an integral part of it, and that is a different experience. I am mourning the trip where I get to go early, help set up, assist in making things run smoothly, be part of the structure of the retreat. I would have enjoyed that. I would have been good at it and useful. But they will be fine without me and the cost of getting that trip is too high. It is more important to me that I be present to help Gleek prepare for camp and that I wave to her as she drives away on the bus.

This has been a year of choosing between professional events and family needs. Last week I was part of a panel discussion on blogging at the Orem library. It took place at the exact day and time as the church young women’s “New Beginnings” program which provided orientation about the year of activities to come. Parents were invited. It was Gleek’s first young women’s event. She was excited, bouncing. Kiki took her because I was busy. In another week will be LTUE. Gleek’s class is having a fantastic medieval feast for which parents are providing help and activities. I would volunteer, but I’ll be at the Provo Marriott helping run a booth and giving presentations. In May I’m scheduled to speak at the LDS Storymaker’s conference. I don’t know what family event will conflict with that, but at this point I’m certain there will be something. I have to choose, all the time. Only in retrospect can I have any inkling whether I chose wisely.

I want to make clear that these are my choices. I am not trapped. I am in the fortunate position of having to choose between dreams, and most of the time there isn’t really a bad choice. Howard has to choose too. For eleven years he chose to work for a corporation to pay our bills. Now he chooses work over relaxation and is hard on himself when he doesn’t do enough. He sacrifices his ideal work schedules around the family schedule. Sometimes he abandons his projects to do things for me and the kids. This is not a situation where one person makes all the sacrifices. We are all having to balance work and family every day. Even the kids. I like it that way, even when it is hard. I do not want my adult children to say of me that I gave up everything for them. Instead I want them to know that I had a life full of things which mattered to me, but that I would drop those things for them if they really needed me. I try to live that way every day, even when it lands me in a day when I must cry a little for the road not taken.

Final decisions have not been made about scheduling for June. The plans will solidify as we get closer. Howard must go to the retreat. He is one of the hosts and a significant draw for the attendees. Gleek will definitely go to girl’s camp. It feels like I’ll be home to send her off, but whether I stay home after her departure is yet to be decided. It doesn’t need to be decided at this time. For now it is nice to see my choices clearly. It lets today be a better day than the one that came before it.