Family calls timeout to put time in

Life was good for Joe and Candace Grafton and their children Ryan and Caroline. Busy. Exhausting sometimes. But good.

There were sports to play and meetings to attend and business to take care of and a house to clean and a dog to walk, but life was good.

Only a few things were missing. The fireplace rarely held a fire. Not much living went on in the living room. The dinner table was a quick stop on the way to another activity. And it almost never held candles anymore.

Such small things, really.

Everything that had to be done, got done. The children's clothes were laid out for the next day. Lunches were packed. Ryan and Caroline made the 7:35 a.m. bus, even if it meant getting up at 6:30.

Candace kept up with a part-time volunteer position, ran the house, kept everybody's schedule. If she was constantly tired and occasionally short-tempered, no big deal. So was everybody else she knew.

Joe's medical supply company was running well. If it meant working a little late and getting home when the children were almost ready for bed, well, that was the price of the American dream.

The point was, they were getting somewhere. The children were being educated. Work was going well. Material needs were being met.

They were getting somewhere.

There was just a lingering sense that they weren't being anywhere. They were always on the road to the next destination. And they were missing some awfully nice scenery along the way.

Eighteen months ago, on a short vacation, the Graftons realized the kids were growing up in the car on the way to practice. Prime-time family years were spent watching clocks and keeping schedules. Something had to give.

So the Graftons decided to take a family sabbatical. They would spend the year in the place they most wanted to go - their Terrace Park home.

They would study what they most wanted to know: How to be a family again. How to live in living rooms and dine in dining rooms.

How to live a year worth remembering.

To do that, they needed more time together. So they withdrew the children from parochial school, and used the tuition to pay a tutor. Candace left her volunteer job. Joe reworked his schedule to take most Wednesdays off. They all cut back on outside commitments.

Life started to flow back to them. The kids sleep in a little, stay up a little later and see Dad a little more.

Candace sits down with the kids for every breakfast and lunch. She knows exactly what the children are learning since she sees the tutor every day. Wednesdays are family field-trip days.

In the car, everybody talks, not about where they're going, but where they are.

Ryan and Caroline learned about their parents' childhoods, their grandpa's boyhood newsstand, and how people used to scrub their porches until they gleamed.

They learned how to make beds and do laundry. And they learned what their parents value in life.

Those are important things to know.

By definition, sabbaticals are short-lived. But they are more than vacations. Used properly, they send people back to everyday life with new wisdom.

The children will probably go back to school in the fall. Joe will be in the office on Wednesdays, and Candace at her desk.

But life has changed. It will be full, the Graftons say, but never again over-flowing. The treadmill may continue, but they control its pace.

Not everybody can do what the Graftons have done. Some families need two paychecks. Some have only one parent. Some worry about meeting basic needs.

But the Graftons' story - their temporary timeout - is worth considering.

A little more family time before the chance slips away. A few more yeses to what matters and noes to what only pretends to. A nod to the wisdom of author Stephen Covey, who advises, ''Begin with the end in mind.''

At least for this year, there are fires in the Graftons' fireplace, and a candle on their dinner table.

At least for this year, there is the sweetness of cherishing exactly where they have been.

Krista Ramsey's column appears in The Enquirer on Saturdays. Write her at 312 Elm Street, Cincinnati 45202 or fax at 768-8340.

Originally published April 6, 1996.