I like to think of myself as thriving while teetering on a fence that divides routine and change. Dipping my toes into the goodness on either side, alternating between the excitement of new and the comfort of the known. Thinking myself a real woman of adventure, I once told a friend that I love the change of seasons—that newness that comes with every tilt of the earth either away or toward the sun. She replied, “But it’s the same every year.”
I’m taking an executive functioning class with my 15-year-old son Liam. The systems of middle school fell away with his move to a new high school, and together, we thought taking this class would be a good way to build a skillset to plan and organize, manage time, and prioritize goals and tasks. My thought is to build and use the skillset in the confines of high school so that when Liam goes to college, the foundation of this strategy will be in place. The instructor requires a parent to join their child in the class, and it didn’t take the instructor long to realize that our family was getting a two-for-one deal.
We’re nearing the end of the nine-week course; we meet via Zoom once a week. We are in the thick of application: logistics. It’s one thing to learn “how” in an ivory tower, but the magic of any education is in the “how-to.” Last week, we planned backwards from the due date to complete an imaginary three-page research paper. The steps were concrete and logical from breaking down tasks in the project and assigning each of them times to opening a calendar and choosing specific days to complete each task. Looking at a paper calendar and fitting the tasks around other commitments moved the lofty project to reality.
Over the years as a mom in a family, I’m at the hub of… well to be brief, making shit happen. Looking for a draw to join our family of four to one room, I’ve suggested to my family that we should watch the new Avenger series “Wanda Vision.” I’ve only seen a few Avenger movies, so to get into this new series, my sons suggested we watch a few movies to brush up on Wanda and Vision’s history. For most Avenger characters, it’s easy to see their special abilities: Ironman builds a full body of armor around himself, Thor couldn’t do much without his hammer, and Captain America has a boomerang shield. Then, there’s Wanda. She holds balls of electro-fire in her hands and pushes and pulls and throws things; if it’s a particularly challenging task, her eyes glow red. I asked my sons what her superpower was, and they replied rather something to the effect that she can move things around. How? They weren’t sure.
In the early comic strips when Wanda first appeared, she was called the Scarlett Witch and was credited with magic and telepathy. However, Wanda has evolved on-screen to use more telekinesis: “her ability to move and manipulate objects with her mind.” Watching Wanda in action, using her power to push and pull objects into place, feels… well, like she’s making shit happen in a way that no one really understands—because she’s doing it without an iron skin, a hammer, or a shield. She’s simultaneously an enigma to some and a touchstone to many.
Back to human reality… Looking at my calendar, I notice major gaps. Commitments have fallen away. Some have fallen suddenly and quietly like ashes to the earth, from traveling to see family and friends and eating out with friends at restaurants to in-person book signings. Others were more predictable given the passage of time, yet they have left a hole. At the beginning of September, Will got his driver’s license. While excited for him and this new independence, I knew I would miss our daily conversations to and from the gym. What was more surprising was how those driving commitments anchored time on my calendar like stone cairns marking paths on a mountain.
For years, my weekly calendar has been built around our family’s commitments. And within the space of a couple years, and pointedly within the last six months, those cairns are gone. My husband Bill has retired. Will drives himself. Liam makes ramen. My seasons have shifted. My planning backwards is no longer predicated on using Wanda powers in the same way as before.
For many beginnings of school years, it took the month of September to massage the seasonal school calendar into place. When the boys were younger, I naively looked to September as the place where waters would calm with new routines. However, it took September to set and settle into the routines. October was the month of new calm. Once the family’s commitments were set, I could plan backwards from them and fill in the empty spaces for myself. This year, when Will’s gymnastics calendar reset, I lived for weeks thinking I needed to get his practice and coaching times on the family calendar. That task hovered like a gray cloud pointing to the undone. About a month ago, I realized that there was no reason to put his precise gym schedule on my calendar: Whether to practice or to coach, Will drives himself to the gym. He’s never at home in the evenings and eats dinner late. Cairns dissolve.
In the coming months, there will be a few Will-outliers on the calendar: graduation, college selection, and college move in dates. As for picking Liam up from school, Bill golfs near the school, so he likes to golf nine then swing through the pick-up lane. More cairns dissolve. To get my executive functioning functioning properly again, my points from which I plan backwards need to be redefined.
As I look forward, I remember back to a spurt of rock climbing Liam did a few years ago. Climbing straight up on a rock wall builds confidence so that when that challenge is no longer a challenge—through time or choice, the next wall tilts outward, defies gravity a bit, and forces the climber to rely on old skills while building new.
Surely, Wanda powers are transferable.