Unemployment

Unemployment

This has been the year of transition, most of it good, but some of it downright difficult. For many years my husband, Dave, and I shared the role of working-parent and stay-at-home parent. Looking back, I realize what a privileged set-up that was. Dave worked three longs days, I worked two long days, and we each had full days at home with the kids. We also worked evenings and weekends to keep up with our respective workloads, which meant we barely had time for each other. But we agreed it was worth it in exchange for the time we had with our young children and the money we saved on childcare expenses.

When we decided to leave D.C. in order to raise our kids in rural Vermont, Dave left his job to stay home with the kids and I began telecommuting full-time. Being the sole working parent was challenging for me, but we gained a much more balanced family life. We no longer had to constantly juggle schedules based on whose meetings were deemed more important on a given day. Weekends were open for gardening, long walks, or just lazing around, and Dave and I had evenings to ourselves.

Then my job ended. Suddenly, we were two unemployed parents. Of course the main concern was financial. How long could we last on savings? What would we do without health insurance? Would we have to move again, or even worse, move in with one of our parents? It took a lot of energy to keep the panic at bay. But most of the time, we were able to maintain our faith that we would find a way to make it work. The real challenge was that we were both at home. All day. Every day.

The first several weeks of our unemployment were great as we focused on the silver lining. We reveled in our free time and made list after list of projects we could accomplish around the house while we regrouped. But as reality set in, free time was devoted to job hunting and we went into a budget freeze; there would be no home improvement without any income. We felt aimless and unproductive. Not knowing how long our unemployment would last, we hesitated to make long-term plans or take on new commitments. We struggled to create a daily routine that worked for both of us.

While Dave and I are extremely compatible, we discovered during those months of unemployment that without purpose or structure (beyond feeding, clothing and transporting small children), we get in each other’s way. My typical afternoon at home with the kids involves getting everyone settled for their quiet time as quickly as possible after lunch, and then jumping right into prepping for dinner, checking email, and finally, if time allows, sitting down with a cup of tea to read my favorite blogs before the baby wakes up.

When Dave is also home, however, he has a habit of emerging from the office as soon as I start in on my rest-time routine. He wanders into the kitchen to get milk out of the refrigerator just as I need to get to the cheese. Then he moves over to the counter to lean against the silverware drawer, waiting for coffee to brew… and blocking my access to the spatula. Even after he returns to his desk, he’ll wander back to the kitchen minutes later to run his latest Amazon order by me, unaware of the fact that I am desperately trying to focus on the next step of the recipe before the sautéing onions burn. My frustration spikes and I snap, “I don’t care about a bulk order of laundry detergent and peanut butter - I just want to get dinner made. BY MYSELF!” Turns out I need my quiet time as much as the kids do.

Under normal circumstances – such as one or both of us working – Dave’s calm demeanor is a perfect match for my more intense energy. He keeps me grounded and gives me perspective. I welcome the change of pace on weekend afternoons when we relax with our coffee by the woodstove. But when Dave wanders in and out of my routine every day, our natural balance feels more like a clash.

Perhaps we would have eventually found our groove, though I imagine the stress of long-term unemployment would have made that difficult. Fortunately, jobs did turn up and we are both working again. The balance has been restored. I get to power through making dinner - uninterrupted - on my afternoons at home and Dave can enjoy his coffee break in peace. We discuss Amazon orders in the evenings. The silver lining of unemployment definitely wasn’t the freedom of both of us at home. Instead, it was gaining an appreciation for having work – not just for the obvious financial component – but for the structure and independence it allows both of us each day. 

Allowance

I’ve always had mixed feelings about giving kids an allowance. On the one hand, I like the idea of teaching them the value of money, the concept of saving, and the satisfaction of being able to purchase something they really want… and the occasional post-purchase regret when they realize maybe they didn’t really want that thing after all. On the other hand, I don’t like the idea of paying my children to do household chores. I’d rather everyone in the family help out around the house simply because that is part of being a family and sharing a home.

Katherine is seven now and she has several friends who earn an allowance. We’ve also been having some trouble getting her to help out around the house without a fair amount of whining (her) and nagging (us). So we decided to come up with a compromise. Katherine now has a list of chores she has to do each week that she doesn’t get paid for – basic things like clearing the table after dinner, laying out her school clothes, packing her lunch, etc. If she is able to complete those without the whining or nagging, then she can opt to do several additional chores in order to earn an allowance. She has a nice little picture chart on the fridge and she moves magnets onto the tasks she’s completed. At the end of the week we can see what she’s done.

In case you can't read it, that last one is “Make Pancakes.” One morning Katherine woke up early and made pancake batter (popping into our bedroom to ask us for the exact measurements along the way). We decided to see if we could get that to happen on a weekly basis.

Katherine was so excited by the prospect of having her own money that she made a list of things she planned to buy before we even began the first week of chores. At the top of the list was an American Doll, followed by a Rainbow Loom. To give her a little perspective, we stopped in the toy store to price these items, and then figured out how long she would have to save her allowance in order to buy them (allotting for 1/3 that will go into her long-term savings and 1/3 that will go to help someone in need). She’s decided she’d rather let Santa bring her an American Doll (we’ll burst that bubble another time), and she’ll save for the Rainbow rubber bands and forgo the actual loom. She should be getting her rubber bands around mid-May. 

Old fashioned play

My sister sent me an article on play last week. The information in the article isn’t anything I haven't read before, but it is always interesting to see the growing evidence for the importance of imaginitive play.

Here is a brief summary of the article:

About 50 years ago, with the advent of toy advertising, children’s play suddenly began to change. Fueled in part by the mass production of increasingly specific toys (or, what I call “one trick pony toys”), play began to focus on things rather than activity, and imaginative play began to diminish. My personal favorite example that illustrates this point is the shiny red toy fire engine with sirens and flashing lights that can only be a fire engine. A shoebox with a stick jammed into, however, can be a fire engine with a ladder one minute, a sled for dolls the next, or whatever other prop the children need depending on where their imagination takes them. As the author so eloquently summarizes, the specific toys and predetermined scripts for play “shrink the size of children’s imaginative space.”

In addition to the influence of the toy industry, early education now focuses on academic achievement tests rather than allowing time and space for social and imaginative play; and at home, parents are creating increasingly structured schedules filled with adult-directed activities, leaving children with little or no time for independent, imaginative play.

Without imaginative play, children do not develop executive function skills, a component of which is the ability to self-regulate. Self-regulation is responsible for controlling one’s behavior and emotions, resisting impulses, paying attention, implementing self-discipline, etc. Imaginative play provides children with the opportunity to practice (primarily through private speech and self-policing), and thus develop, self-regulation. Not surprisingly, research shows that children’s executive function ability was better seventy years ago than it is today. 

I understand why the toy industry continues to produce billions of crappy toys (that’s capitalism, after all), but why is there such a disconnect between the information in this article (and hundreds of other articles and books that all say the same thing) and current educational and social trends? What will it take to convince society that the best way to promote cognitive development in young children is to just let them play? 

TWO!

Alexandra turned two this week. When Katherine and Clara each turned two, it was a big event. I poured over beautiful wooden toy catalogues to find a gift they would treasure. I made and painstakingly decorated a cake. I bought balloons and planned a special day. We paused our usual routine to celebrate their birthdays. After all, “two” holds many milestones: the switch to counting in years rather than months; the end of diapers; the start of speaking in sentences; and the equally endearing and exasperating “No! Do it own self!” Two marks the last of the baby days and the beginning of little people days.

I looked forward to this move into childhood for Katherine and Clara. But for Alexandra, I put her second birthday out of my mind. On a few occasions, someone mentioned her approaching birthday (a grandparent looking for gift ideas, a friend asking if we had plans for a party) and it startled me. What? Two? Who’s turning two? Oh… Alexandra, right. I knew that. Then I’d push the thought away, reminding myself I still had time left with my one-year-old. But when the day before her birthday arrived, I had still done nothing to prepare. I didn’t even have ingredients for her cake – and I always have ingredients for a cake (you never know when you might need cake).

It’s not that I don’t look forward to a new stage of life with my children. Family skiing, all-day hikes, and afternoon outings without the fallout from ‘no nap’ are on the horizon. We are almost at the point when all three kids can pee by themselves and tie their shoes… A new era of family fun - and freedom - is opening up. I’m just not sure I’m ready for these early years to be over, even if what is to come will be just as wonderful, if not better.

But Alexandra’s birthday arrived and there was no getting around it. Luckily, thoughtful gifts from relatives, sibling-made decorations, and a chocolate cake, albeit last minute, covered up my reluctance to acknowledge this birthday. And while I didn’t spend hours searching for that perfect gift (besides, what could a two-year-old with two older sisters possibly need or want?), I did take five minutes to pop into the local toy store to purchase a pink tutu (what two-year-old doesn’t need or want a pink tutu?). Alexandra was quite pleased with it all.

Happy Birthday baby girl!

Balancing the Wish List

Balancing the Wish List

Usually, I’m the queen of “less is more” and firmly believe the path to happiness is less stuff. My husband, Dave, and I have always been a no-dryer-one-small-car-no-microwave kind of family. My kids each get one drawer in the three-drawer dresser they share. Anything that piles up is deemed clutter and has to go. Our minimalist mentality – as harsh as it may seem - was a necessity during the first ten years of our relationship. With little money and a tiny city apartment, we simply couldn’t have a lot of stuff.  But now that we live in a house that has closets and a basement, our minimalism is optional and I suddenly find myself making list after list of things I want, including the dreaded second, bigger, car.

A year ago, I’d nix the wishes on the wish list before they even made their way onto paper. Any offers from friends that started with a “We have an extra…” were met with a resounding “No, thanks.” My mom finally accepted that gifts to us should be perishable, preferably in the form of chocolate or coffee. Now, not only are my wishes going down on the wish list, the fulfillment of one simply triggers the next.

This cycle started out naturally enough when the whirlwind of moving twice within a year put us in a high-energy mode that didn’t shut off when we finally landed in our empty, new-to-us house this summer. Bursting with ideas on how to turn this house into our home, we refocused our energy on settling in. First it was major cleaning projects to clear out spider webs and scrub away the previous owners’ grime. Then we turned to standard purchases, like a child-gate for around the wood stove and gardening tools, having never had either a wood stove or a garden. From there, little home improvement projects sprouted up in every room: curtains here, better lighting there, replace the rotting window frame, put up a screen door… Now, I find myself in the habit of walking from room to room and only seeing things I want to fix, change, or buy. But the wish list extends beyond home improvement. My excitement for snow season has triggered a whole slew of new wants: cross-country skis, after all, the ski trail is right across the road; snow shoes for my seven year old; oh, and what if we made an ice rink in our backyard, the kids would love it! Before long, I’ve wasted an hour researching backyard ice rinks and have made out a list of materials we’ll need for it, including ice skates for all three kids. We won’t actually do it because we’re on a tight budget, but I’ll want it.

I don’t think wanting is necessarily a bad thing. After all, the absence of want, also called hope in some cases, is a symptom of depression. Wanting is healthy, and it can inspire creativity and resourcefulness. We don’t want to spend money on curtains, but I can figure out how to make new ones from old ones, and my children get to watch me struggle through the process of measuring, piecing together fabric, and sewing straight hems. When I proudly hang the slightly lopsided curtains, my oldest asks if she can make something using the sewing machine. Christmas lights, not fancy track lights, now brighten our kitchen – it looks a bit funny now that the holidays are over, but I can see while I chop vegetables.

But an endless wanting of stuff clashes with my minimalist values, and I worry that my infinite wish list is preventing me from enjoying what I already have. Instead of appreciating our new home in the country, I fret about how to manage carpooling with one small car and three children. The warped window frames overshadow the beautiful view from the sun porch, and I look past the 160-year-old wooden beamed ceilings and all the history they carry.

Perhaps I need to figure out that balance of simply living in our home as it is, and planning – pacing – changes over the next twenty years. After all, we hope to be here at least that long, so what’s the rush? Adding bit by bit will make it sweeter than hurrying to reach the end state as soon as possible. The kids will enjoy a backyard ice rink just as much, if not more, in five years. Besides, they are perfectly content with sledding this year, and I can be too.

But a second, bigger car? Well, some things may fall into the necessity category that we give in to sooner rather than later.

Green House

As we wait in the bitter cold temperatures for winter to really start (you know, with that big dump of snow I'm always hoping for), I decided to check out what was going on in the greenhouse. Well, it wasn't warm in there, but it wasn't frigid cold, and it smelled like fresh earth - a total contrast to the stark, empty smell of ice and snow. I usually don't mind the sharp winter air, especially on sunny days when everything seems to glitter, but that little reminder that spring is close, just tucked under the old crunchy snow, was very reassuring.

It also occurred to me that a certain little sister would love to dig in all that dirt. The snow can be tough for little fingers trapped in bulky mittens, especially when big sister playmates are off building sledding jumps and cross country skiing around the yard. And with little sister's birthday coming up… perhaps a winter mud party in the greenhouse? 

Cold

"There is no such thing as poor weather, just poor dressing." I've been reminding myself of this a lot lately, especially with days on end of 33 degrees and icy rain, and now -20 degrees plus an even colder windchill. That's pretty close to what I would call "poor weather", if there were such a thing.

My kids don't really care. They're happy to slip and slide on the sheet of ice that used to be our yard and driveway, and getting soaked and/or frozen gives them a strong case for hot cocoa - with marshmallows - when they come in. I like to think I don't mind the cold either. Long underwear, warm socks, hand and foot warmers, and my mom's 40-year-old down coat that I took over years ago usually keep me warm. But only if I stay moving, as in a very brisk (bordering on jog) snowshoe through the woods. Standing around outside while my almost two-year-old trudges along at .2 miles per hour, as cute as it is, does not keep me warm. So for myself, I've been choosing inside over outside.

Of course, it's cold inside too. The kids have been scraping ice off the insides of their bedroom windows each morning. I've come very close to giving the wood stove a big hug, it is so inviting. And coffee has become more than a once-a-day caffeine friend. It is a major source of warmth. I suppose there is no reason I can't have both of these things outside too. Standing around a winter bonfire with thermos in hand might actually be quite pleasant… But then again, look at Alfred cat. I'm pretty sure he's saying I should give up this crazy talk of going outside and curl up next to him for a while.

Pace

A lot of people start out the New Year with a word in mind; something along the lines of a resolution or theme for the year. This year I'm going to play along… and my word is pace. As in, I'm going to focus on pacing myself. A typical Type A personality, I have a habit of taking on more than I can handle, and then taking great pleasure out of organizing everything into a carefully crafted albeit logistically complex schedule that tends to leave me feeling overwhelmed.

I know from experience that it isn't realistic to limit what I take on - I could never choose what to cut out even if I tried - but I can try to pace myself. I'm not quite sure what pacing myself looks like yet, but I'm hoping that if I keep the word in mind, I'll figure it out. As I work on the first 'carefully crafted complex schedule' of the season, which involves juggling new jobs, more volunteer work, extra writing, home improvement projects, and preserving time for outdoor activities (snow shoeing!), I think the first step is to realize that I don't have to do everything all at the same time. In other words, one thing at a time...

Choosing chores over children

Sometimes I Choose Chores

“Will you sit and knit with me, Mama?” my seven-year-old asks.  A request to melt any mama’s heart.  Yet I reply with a list of morning chores I have to do, trying to keep my tone neutral so as not to also say, “See how much work I have? See how hard my life is?”  The dirty cloth diaper needs to be rinsed out – the sooner the better.  The breakfast dishes are piled on the counter, soggy cereal drying to the sides of the bowls.  It will be annoying to have to scrape it off later when I can just rinse them out now.  Crumbs are everywhere on the floor – if I don’t sweep, the mice will come.  I have a small window to get it all done after one meal and before the next, especially since a large percentage of that time will be spent changing (more) diapers, wiping butts, helping with sips of water, tying on capes, and kissing bumps and scrapes.

“Help me sweep the floor,” I say to Katherine, “then I’ll be finished sooner and we’ll have time to knit.”  She frowns, “I don’t want to sweep.”  Not wanting to engage in a battle over sweeping by holding her to my request, I let it go, shrugging.  She hovers around me as I go about cleaning up, like a puppy underfoot.  My mind drifts to Ma in the Laura Ingalls Wilder books.  We’re reading On the Banks of Plum Creek at bedtime and the story is fresh in my mind.  I am intrigued by the strong rhythm of their daily chores, children who help without being asked, the simplicity of survival on the harsh prairie.

I don’t long to milk a cow at dawn, or polish the stove, or do the laundry by hand, day after day after day.  The combination of obligation and monotony would not outweigh the benefits of its simplicity, at least not for me.  But there is something to be said for a routine that never waivers, and upon which survival depends.  If I don’t clean the poopy diaper or rinse out the dishes first thing in the morning, scalding hot water and anti-bacterial soap will kill whatever grows in the meantime. Therefore, it is easy to feel the guilt of pushing my children aside.  I don’t really need to do the dishes right now, but I sort of wish I did.

All the slogans about choosing laughter over squeaky-clean floors and messy kitchens being happy kitchens let us off the hook.  Choose your children over household duties.  There will always be laundry, but your toddler will grow up.  I don’t disagree - but what if I want to do the dishes and put things away?  Piles of stuff distract me and I function better all around when my surroundings are sparse.  So I’m torn between wanting to do household chores and cherishing every moment of my daughters’ one-, four-, and seven-year-oldness.

But just the other day, I had a rare morning alone with Katherine thanks to a dual play date for her two sisters.  “Knit with me,” she implored as soon as they were out the door.  I surveyed the mess and sighed. “Let me clean up, then we’ll knit. We’ll have time,” I promised.  She scampered off to her room and I powered through the chores, in total, uninterrupted, quiet.  Twenty minutes later she reappeared. “I neatened my room, Mom.  Are you ready to knit?”  I was.

It dawned on me, as I snuggled down on the couch with her, as promised, that I am still in the throes of early childhood, when needs run high, interruptions are constant, and just underneath the surface of all their cuteness, my kids can be exasperating.  But my morning alone with Katherine was a reality check, a glimpse of what the future will be with children who can wipe their own butts, get their own drink of water, and tie on their own dress-up clothes.

Maybe I’ll make it through without Ma’s strict cleaning schedule.  Or maybe that wouldn’t help anyway.  After all, Ma only had one small room to keep clean and could fit all of the family’s possessions in a covered wagon.  Besides, for all we know, she may have been just as exasperated as I am, and that sentiment simply isn’t captured in the books because it was written by her child.

Regardless, I’m hanging onto hope that one day my three daughters and I will happily knit together by the fire. In the meantime, to give myself permission to do chores, I may paint across my kitchen wall: Clear counters keep me calm. 

Puzzles and Pie

On this last Sunday before it all starts up again, I decided it was a pie-for-breakfast kind of day. So as soon as the kids excused themselves from the table and settled in with a bunch of puzzles by the fire, I served myself a piece of spicy pumpkin pie. We didn’t end up having pumpkin pie on Christmas because someone forgot to tell someone else to buy evaporated milk, so I’ve been waiting for the right moment to make it. Of course any old day is a good day for pie, but the end of winter break – a lovely two weeks of lazy mornings, no school drop-offs or pick-ups, and pjs all day – seemed like just right time. So pumpkin pie for breakfast it was.

One by one the girls noticed the pie and migrated back to the table for a sliver of their own, and Dave and I gave in to “second coffee”, which we try to limit to special occasions. Like pie-for-breakfast day.

It was a lovely, peaceful morning with perfect children and a perfect breakfast.

But in the interest of keeping it real, I should report that our lovely, peaceful morning of perfect children and perfect breakfast dissolved by about 9:30am, before we had even finished second-coffee. Little sister stealing big sister’s puzzle pieces, big sister excluding middle sister, middle sister taking over big sister’s space, flying puzzle pieces and tears…  I guess it was just what we parents needed to ramp up our energy and face the end of break. I would even say we are now looking forward to the school routine tomorrow.

On the plus side, their bickering gave me the long-awaited opportunity to implement the “We get along” shirt (thanks for the idea, Jenn!). The punishment is that they have to wear the shirt for as long as it takes for them to figure out how to have fun together. I wouldn’t say it was a huge success, but it did stop puzzle pieces from flying.

Happy back to school!

Cookies!

I know I say every holiday tradition is my favorite, but yesterday my favorite holiday tradition arrived in the mail: my aunt and uncle's box of homemade Christmas cookies.

Every year, my aunt and uncle send cookies to relatives and friends. Judging by the number of nieces, nephews, and siblings alone, they must fill at least two dozen boxes. They also make ten different kinds of cookies - and not your plain old sugar cookies, but gourmet cookies like hazelnut biscotti, pfeffermusse, and my all-time favorites, springerele and pecan tassies.  And then, they mail them out, which always impresses me since I never go to the post office, preferring to let packages and letters sit for months until the recipient ends up visiting us or the letter becomes moot and I write a new one.  So I have great respect for people who actually go to the post office.

We have decided to share the cookies with our children this year. We haven't always, as we think it is best for a child to show a certain appreciation for fine cookies before allowing them to partake in this holiday tradition. But Katherine and Clara, who got to taste a few last year showed the appropriate anticipation and respect when the box arrived this year, so they may now join in. We'll see about Alexandra. 

These two

Last week, I had a day at home with Clara and Alexandra. With Katherine off at school and no plans on the calendar, we had the morning to ourselves. A nice break from our usual school-day chaos, I envisioned a leisurely breakfast and then a nice walk through the woods. A little sunshine, some very cold fresh air, and the joy of hauling two kids through the woods on a sled because in all likelihood they wouldn't be able to walk through the deep snow… I couldn't wait. I'd been longing to get into the woods all week. 

But Clara and Alexandra had other plans… it is their one morning at home together, the one morning they don't have to get dressed or all bundled to go outside, and they just wanted to stay inside and play. After all, there is so much to do…

like snuggling in Alexandra's bed with books, 

then turning it into a crib fort,

and bopping balloons that Dave hung from the ceiling, 

then building a couch fort, 

and of course, sitting by the fire to keep warm.

I didn't get my walk in the woods, but these two clearly enjoyed their indoor morning at home. 

Remembering.

The Conspiracy Game

“To inspire a new generation with the thrill of space travel, a young adult novel that adults can also enjoy. The first in a trilogy.”

Today I have the honor of posting an interview with Adam Holt, author of The Conspiracy Game.

I know Adam from another lifetime, from what I now call the “under-just-grad” days, when we had just graduated from college and were setting our path towards adulthood. We worked in the same educational center, and even though we only worked together for a few months, I remember many of our conversations quite clearly. Adam is one of those inherently wise people who really listens to what other people have to say, making it possible to have meaningful discussions despite fundamental differences in belief or opinion - a rare treasure in life. He is also the kind of person who inspires thought and self-reflection through the way he leads his life, the questions he asks, and now, the book he has written. It has been great to reconnect with Adam and get a chance to hear what he has to say about The Conspiracy Game!

Your book, The Conspiracy Game, came out December 4. Can you tell us a little about it?

Yes. First, The Conspiracy Game and I share a birthday (December 4), so that was a great present this year. In The Conspiracy Game, 14-year-old Tully Harper recounts his first adventure in space. Tired of his dad's near-death experiences on Mars and inspired by a strange vision, Tully sneaks on board his dad's spaceship and begins the adventure of a lifetime. His best friends, Tabitha and Sunjay, accompany him on this trip, which will change the fate of the solar system. It's the first in a science fiction trilogy. 

The style is accessible enough for young adults, but the story seems to appeal to adults.  My readers tell me it's funny and meaningful. They'd better be telling us the truth.

Tully sneaks aboard the space shuttle without his dad father's knowing. What kind of challenges does Tully face in his relationship with his dad?

First of all, he's fourteen years old. It's a natural challenge for adolescence--they're subjected to so much change, and so are their relationships with their parents. For Tully, that's compounded by the fact that he is withholding some enormous secrets from his father, his only parent. He loves and respects his dad but finds himself caught in the midst of secrets and lies. I remember some of those episodes in my own adolescence. 

I know that faith is a, or perhaps, the driving force in your life. How has your faith influenced your story? 

My faith in Jesus Christ underpins the things I do, whether writing, reading, or teaching. Faith has a powerful thematic impact on the story, though it's not always intentional. Many of The Conspiracy Game's themes are drawn from my life experiences with my faith: learning to love someone in difficult situations; forgiving yourself, your friends, even your enemies; trusting your parents' wisdom; trusting your childrens' insights; sacrificing for those you love. 

Also, Jesus was an amazing storyteller. He told wonderful parables, such as the prodigal son or the dishonest steward, and then gave his listeners some room to debate over their meanings. We're still debating thousands of years later, and the better for it. I love that about him, and I wanted to tell a story that captivated my readers with some important, deep truths, but left open some big questions. If you read the novel, you will see this happen between Tully and the Harper Device. 

Your protagonist is a 14-year-old boy. What inspired you to tell a story about this often difficult time of life from the perspective of the child?

Adolescence is just built for storytelling because there's such daily upheaval. For a writer, the protagonist can have the best and worst day of his/her life in a six hour period, and that's good for moving a story along fluidly. That certainly happens to Tully, and those experiences shape him noticeably by the end. His motivations shift from a fear of losing his father to a desire to help his father succeed at any cost. I love that shift in responsibility that comes at this age, particularly when circumstances make teenagers take on a larger role in their families. 

Some of my students made that transition when their families went through tough times, and I always admired them for it. At the same time, many of them were getting braces, falling in love, and watching ridiculous Youtube videos for fun. It's such an interesting slice of life.

Tell us a little about the setting of the novel - outer space. What does the landscape of outer space add to the story? 

Great question. I want my readers to appreciate and understand that magnificent landscape. Space is a beautiful place where you can float weightlessly and stare into a field of a billion, breathtaking stars.  It's also a place where a paint chip flying through space at 15,000 miles per hour could crack that window and end your life in a split second. It's a beautiful, rugged, surprising landscape. 

But part of traveling away from the Earth is looking back. I love this thought from Neil DeGrasse-Tyson: "We went to the Moon and discovered the Earth." Tully experiences such a moment as well, where he appreciates the lovely blue gem that we call home. The perspective of space travel often gives astronauts that sense of just how connected we are to one another, and how valuable and delicate our entire civilization is.

How has Tully evolved as a character from your conception of him to his adventures in this novel? 

I developed the idea of a teen space explorer first, and then envisioned what kind of person he might be. If he wanted to sneak into space, he would need to be clever and curious like Harry Potter or Odysseus. 

However, he also needed deep motivation to travel into space. After all, Tully puts his life and his friends' lives on the line to go into space. Why would someone do that? Once I began to develop Tully's backstory, it became clear. Tully is from a single-parent home, and the minute I discovered that, his motivation to stay near his dad, who he deeply reveres and fears losing, told me how he would react in most every situation.  

Will we get to read more about Tully in the future?

I couldn't give up on him or his friends now! Things just got interesting. He'll be returning in book two, The Rathmore Chaos, though I can't disclose his location. The Conspiracy Game introduces characters that will play central roles in the coming series, which covers more ground in our near solar system. 

Is there anything else you would like us to know about either your novel or your experience writing it? 

I gave up a great teaching job to write this series, and it felt terribly risky at the time; however, it has been so rewarding. If I find myself teaching ten years from now, I can imagine sitting in my classroom and saying, "Boy, I'm glad I took that risk. Tully Harper was worth it." But I could not imagine it the other way around--sitting in that classroom and saying, "Well, I'm glad that I stuck with this job and never tried to write those Tully Harper novels." Life is too short to leave opportunities on the table. 

The world is a better place when we make the most of our skills and opportunities. When they have a sense of purpose, humans do amazing things, like feed the hungry and send people to the Moon...or at least dream up ways to inspire others to do those great things.

The Conspiracy Game is available at createspace, and you can contact Adam on twitter @adamholtwrites with any questions about the novel. Adam is available for speaking engagements--in person or virtual--to discuss the writing/publishing process, human space exploration, and run writing workshops. You can also follow his writing and travel adventures at adamholtwrites.blogspot.com and on Facebook at facebook.com/theconspiracygame.

Give-away winners & a few gift ideas

Congratulations to Erica, Kim, and Elaine, the winners of one of Natasha's beautiful placemats.

Last year I posted about a few books and toys that make wonderful holiday gifts. I haven't thought much about gifts this year since we are going practical, with things like long underwear, mittens, and lunch boxes. But Santa will bring a few small "fun" treasures... 

Advent spiral & ornaments
Everyone has a favorite advent tradition - glittery paper calendars with windows to open, pockets with little surprises for each day leading up to Christmas, advent candles... We always have a glittery calendar (I love glitter) and it is great motivation for kids to get ready in the morning ("Girls who are dressed with teeth brushed can open their window!"), but we also love our advent spiral. It is a simple tradition of moving a candle around the spiral. If we are feeling extravagant, we'll put in 25 candles on Christmas Day and the entire spiral will glow. The kids spend a lot of time moving their ornaments around and counting the days until Christmas. Each year, Santa brings a new advent ornament.

Books
Alexandra's book of choice these days is I Want My Hat Back, by Jon Klassen, who also illustrated one of our all time favorites, Extra Yarn. I Want My Hat Back is a story of a bear looking for his missing hat - with a twist at the end that adults will appreciate. Excellent artwork, of course.

For those of you with kids in the young adult bracket, check out The Conspiracy Game. It was just released last week and the author, Adam Holt, is a phenomenal writer. I had the opportunity to interview him about his book and will be posting that on Wednesday!

Crafts
I'm not really one for crafts since I have no crafting ability and no patience to help kids with any form of organized project. So my strategy is to put out a few supplies and walk away. A few weeks ago we bought a box of 1000 craft sticks to boost another order up into the "free shipping" category. Huge success. All three kids have spent hours and hours creating little log houses, towers, piles glued together or to paper, dream catchers, and Christmas tree ornaments. A few sticks, some glue and paper and they are off - and they can do it without my help.

What favorite toys, books, crafts do you recommend for holiday gifts? Please share! 

Lights in Winter

Growing up, my family celebrated both Christmas and Hanukkah, and I loved being half Catholic - half Jewish. But over the years, I became more "neither" than "both".

Lights of Winter

My childhood memories of the holiday season are warm and bright, filled with the excitement of presents and celebration. I was extra lucky because my family celebrated both Christmas and Hanukkah. Being half-Catholic and half-Jewish set me apart and earned me the admiration of my slightly envious peers. The Santa crowd marveled at the eight days of gifts (not realizing my Hanukkah gifts typically comprised dental floss, pencils, and Scotch tape), and the Menorah crowd was curious about the logistics of Santa. I had gingerbread house-making play dates and could hold my own in dreidel games. For a few weeks out of the year, I took great pride in being “both.”

As I grew older, I began to understand that Christmas and Hanukkah were about far more than presents. The stories of both religions held my family history, and I felt connected to both sides, revering the traditions of all my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. My pride shifted away from the quantity of presents, and towards the quality of my parents’ marriage as a testament of how the two religions could come together.

But in junior high, personal commitments to one’s religion began. My Jewish peers were Bar Mitzvah-ed, my Christian peers were confirmed. Now it was no longer just about family tradition and history but also about belief and faith.

Furthermore, my parents, who had been happy to indulge in the winter holiday celebrations, were not all that interested in joining either of the religious organizations that had, as I later discovered, refused to acknowledge their marriage years earlier. My pride wavered and, unable to choose one over the other, I lost my status of being "both." I became "neither." Still, we continued to celebrate Christmas and Hanukkah in our home, and I grew to love the celebrations for the light and warmth they brought to the dark months.

Over the years, I let the Jewish traditions go without thinking much about them. By the time I had children, I found it felt more natural to implement my Christian traditions than my Jewish ones. But last year when my sister and I were reminiscing about our family menorah, she was surprised that we don’t celebrate Hanukkah at all: “Don’t you want to share our family’s history with your children?”

This simple question triggered something: a longing, a sadness, something, though I’m not quite sure what. Perhaps I had a little too carelessly forgone an important component of my childhood.  Judaism, just as much as Christianity, is a part of my past, my parents’ relationship, and the long history of both sides of my family. I suddenly wanted it back.

But how do I bring back my family tradition when I no longer feel Jewish? Do I even have the right to observe the Jewish holidays at this point? Is it ok to hold onto the tradition when I was not raised with the religious belief? These are questions I ask myself, and I am not sure of the answers. But I am beginning to feel a desire, a responsibility, to share this history with my children.

Perhaps I will start slowly. We will read books that tell the story of Hanukkah. I will share the traditions of my childhood. We will light the candles of our family menorah and say the blessing. And my children will receive dental floss, pencils and Scotch tape as gifts, just as my sister and I did when we were little. 

Give-away!

Welcome to the second annual placemat giveaway!

Natasha has created a beautiful and fun world of gnomes and painted it onto placemats. Everyone who passes by our table admires them, and my kids never tire of examining the details of the underground scenes, complete with trains, swings, slides, poles and ladders. I love the placemats because they are easy to clean and, three years later, they are still as good as new.  

This year, we are offering a placemat to three winners. To enter, leave a comment by Sunday, December 8th. We'll randomly select and announce the winners on Monday, December 9th. 

Happy December!

If you would like to place your own order, you can email Natasha at: tashebe79 at yahoo dot com.

Pogo sticks and strings

Happy Birthday to my seven-year-old!

A few weeks ago I posted about Katherine’s request for a pogo stick, and finding that balance between keeping things practical and giving in to a birthday wish. Well, we gave in (Jill, it was your comment that convinced us) and Katherine is now a proud pogo-owner. She loves it, and it turns out you can pogo in the snow and in the dark, which will come in very handy over the next few months. If I had known that, it would have fallen into the practical category and there wouldn't have been any discussion about whether or not to get it for her!

Katherine is also deeply absorbed in cat’s cradle, and was hoping for (and received) a string game book. Last night she happily got into her bed on her own while Dave and I finished bath and books with her sisters. That has never happened before. Thank you, string games (and Grandma!). Then this morning, I found her awake in her bed before her sisters woke up (which has never, ever, ever happened before) working on… string games. She has mastered the tortoise shell.

And then there was cake. An extra big cake. This year we tried out paper decorations on top instead of frosting and candy decorations. We had fun with paper doll snowmen, and Dave and I were pleased to have all the extra sugary crap that we had tucked away (just in case) for ourselves. Win win.

Katherine agreed it was a good day and is happy to finally be seven. Happy birthday sweet girl!

Fall Back

In the past, the “Fall Back” time change has been welcomed in our home. Not just because of the extra hour we gain, but because it magically resets the kids’ bedtime, which has a tendency to creep later and later every night. I don't want to place blame, but one parent allows bath time go on and on, gets suckered into one more story, one more sip of water, and one more song ("a really long song!"), and before we know it, seven o’clock is eight o’clock and The Ants Go Marching (all ten of them) is stuck in everyone's head for a week. Unfortunately, the other parent’s brisk and heartless one-story-one-kiss-one-pat-lights-out-not-another-word-or-else routine isn’t enough to hold it at seven o’clock. Probably because the kids request the sucker parent most of the time.

Then daylight savings comes and we’re back on track. While other parents dread the disruption to the daily schedule and complain of kids waking up at the new 5am, we enjoy longer evenings to ourselves with pleasant mornings of kids waking up on their own instead of our having to drag them out of bed at 7:10.

But this year has been different. Bedtime and wake-up have never been better, as expected, but daylight savings has destroyed our afternoons.

Late afternoon is already the trickiest part of the day for us. Alexandra wakes up from her nap and is ready to go outside. Clara is excited to play with her sisters after having endured quiet time all alone in her room, and is especially happy to see that Katherine is home from school. Katherine, who has held herself together in her usual, radiant and well-behaved fashion all day at school, is exhausted and needs down time to, let’s just say, “recharge her kindness”. She doesn’t want to be with anyone, least of all, eager Clara.

After struggling with this dynamic for the first two months of the school year, we finally figured out a carefully coordinated rotation of inside-outside time that met everyone’s needs and got us through from after school to dinner. I’d even say it was enjoyable. Then the time changed, it’s dark by 4:30, and the afternoon is grim again.

We’ve come up with some strategies to help adjust to the change: dinner is now at 5:15 instead of 6, jump roping is allowed in the kitchen, kids are granted access to the art supplies willy nilly (including the glitter on really rough days), before dinner lantern walks around the yard are a special treat for well-behaved children, and one parent gently encourages the other parent to stay on a tighter – and earlier – bedtime schedule (read: takes over at the first sign of delay). There’s no way we (I) would make it from 4:30-8pm every day, but 4:30-6:30 is manageable. 

We're working our way back to enjoyable and I think we'll get there soon. Hopefully before we Spring Forward.

How does the time change affect your routine? How do you deal with the early darkness?

Mood Resolution

A few weeks ago I attended a workshop on conflict resolution. The goal of the session was to introduce parents to a structured format of working through conflict in a non-judgmental, non-punitive way. I admit I didn’t really want to attend, having been through several of these types of trainings over the years and not really feeling like I had the energy to tape mock identities to my forehead for role-plays about bullies and nerds.  But I felt pressure to attend from the mass of flyer and email announcements, and the buzz about it from other parents sparked a sliver of hope that this workshop would offer something fresh and new. Plus, with free childcare, I really didn’t have any excuse. But as I sat down in the circle of other parents, I couldn’t help but regret having given up what could have been an afternoon to myself.

I participated in the workshop nonetheless. There were no bully-nerd role-plays; instead we provided examples of conflicts we’d recently experienced to work through in small groups. The time our neighbors wouldn’t turn down their music. Then we identified our emotions with “feeling cards”, angry, frustrated, disappointed, and linked them to our needs that weren’t met, support, shared reality, understanding. We provided feedback to each other on how to word an offense in a neutral, non-accusatory way. When the music is loud, I feel frustrated because my children can’t sleep. I played along half-heartedly while the parents around me appeared enlightened by the concept of identifying the true source of the conflict.

After the workshop, a friend asked if I had enjoyed it. I shrugged and mentioned it wasn’t really new information, and made some vague comment about having heard all of this before. She nodded and said, “Well, it’s always good to hear it again”. This friend obviously had a good attitude. I, obviously, did not, and at home, I complained to my husband that I didn’t get anything out of the workshop.

But of course that wasn’t actually true. Over the past few weeks, snippets from the workshop have snuck into my mind, not in moments of conflict, but in moments of general dissatisfaction. Like on those days when my late afternoon plan unravels in the face of tantrums and bickering, and my cup of tea, already twice reheated, sits un-sipped on the counter. The snippet hints, as if mocking me, Hmm, it looks like you are frustrated that you don’t even get ten minutes of uninterrupted time for a cup of tea... Or when my irritation suddenly spikes for no good reason, say, at the sight of the pile of crap that’s been sitting on the table for a week. The snippet taunts, Gee, I wonder what need isn’t being met; longing for a tidy and organized space, are you? At first I ignored the snippets, grumpily giving up on my tea and cursing the pile of crap on the table. But in the background, I’ve started to realize this annoying little voice in my head might actually carry some wisdom. Maybe the workshop wasn’t just about identifying emotions and needs during my children’s conflicts. Maybe I could use the information to work on bettering my mood. Mood resolution.

It’s pretty easy to identify frustration and impatience as the core “bad mood” mom emotions, and I can easily rattle off a whole list of unmet needs, as could any other mom, with lack of sleep at the top. But when I push past the superficial needs (I mean, everyone - kids or no kids - could probably claim sleep as an unmet need), the one thing I cherish but never, ever get anymore is time alone at home. I can add up an hour’s worth of time to myself if I count the six-mile drive to school for drop-off and pick-up and the occasional twenty-minute walk at lunch. But those moments borrowed against the usual routine are nothing compared to the liberation of being alone in an empty house for a good, long stretch of time. Time to wander through the rooms in their quiet stillness. Time to put things where they belong without little hands taking out other things à la Sisyphus. Time to not be needed by anyone.

Hey, look at that, the snippet applauds, you’ve identified the unmet need that is the source of your poor mood! Enlightening.

Of course I don’t see any way to meet this need for at least the next two years, and the workshop, unfortunately, didn’t cover how to deal with unmeet-able needs. But maybe simple awareness is a good start. It’s already easier to curb my frustration when I admit the mess itself isn’t really the issue, and that in a few years I will get to sip my tea while it’s still hot.