Play Like You've Never Played Before

 

One of  the things Lotta and Zibbi appreciated most in the spring when school went virtual, was not having to get up SO early for school (typical wake up is 6:30).  Virtual school doesn't start until 8:30, so the mornings are MUCH more leisurely.  Monday morning, the girls woke up before 7am.  They were excited to have the extra time to play.  They were having loads of fun, when they realized it was almost time for their first Zoom Meeting of the day.  Lotta raced through the living room, shouting, "Play like you've never played before."  It was our slogan of the day.

Relishing the Marvelous Mundane

Recently at a store, a little old lady walked by me, while saying, "I really like your outfit.  Those leggings are fantastic."  I stopped walking and looked her in the eyes and thanked her for reals.  I think SHE needed that moment of connection as much as I did.  I think since our regular Midwest friendliness is in shorter supply right now, when it does happen, boy howdy do I appreciate it.  I find myself looking people MORE in the eyes.  Out in public half our faces are obscured now by a mask, forcing our eyes to do more of the heavy lifting.  AND I find that with my family members, I am stopping and looking more into their eyes as we communicate, rather than half listening as I rush about.  I think that is the upside to grief, it makes you relish these "marvelous mundane" moments, knowing that no matter what, they will soon vanish.  Ultimately, I don't know if that woman in the store will survive this pandemic, I don't even know if I will, but at least we took a moment to appreciate our small time together.  I guess that's all we can do.  

Jumpy Squirrel

 

So many things to miss about pre-Covid times.  Wandering around Target, going to a movie theater, hugging a friend, going to a coffee shop. The security of knowing what tomorrow will bring.  Because we are six months (?) maybe 7 months into the pandemic hitting our shores, everyone is now talking about what they will do first when Covid is over.  I cannot even wrap my brain around that right now.  However, one of the things I miss the most is the friendliness that typically infuses our lives, now replaced with fear.  Because now whenever we leave the house, I become a squirrel, guarded, jumpy and quick.  The thing about doing pre-Covid 19 things now is that (at first at least) in my mind I would think it was  going to be the same thing as before, now it's totally different.  Success is now measured by how few customers are in the store, because that is safer.   Throughout the store, I remain alert, making sure my mask is in place, that I am maintaining 6 feet distance from those around me.  Oftentimes, half way through a grocery visit, I am exhausted, I have a sudden urge to just leave my cart and go home empty handed.  Or maybe take a short nap and then resume. And that's coming from ME an overbuyer, someone who typically enjoys the thrill of finding a deal.  When I return home, I am flooded with all my needs that are unmet--I need to use the bathroom (you don't want to use public toilets after hearing about "toilet plumes of Corona Virus"), I am thirsty and usually hungry and did I mention exhausted? I have the very real urge to throw myself on a fainting couch (we'd have to purchase one first, unfortunately.)  Then to top it off, it seems often times I find everyone here has waited for me to return to announce that they are HUNGRY like 5 minutes ago.  Can I make lunch?  As I struggle to bring in bags loaded with groceries and fulfill everyone's needs, I also must prioritize washing my hands before I touch anyone.  I know none of this is that big of a deal.  Really it is just the addition of EVERYTHING (pandemic, racial injustice, politics) else that makes these seemingly little things seem insurmountable right now.  

Another Suicidal Insect

 Thom and Benja set off to deliver items to the dump.  During the pandemic, Benja is up for going on any ride (anything to change scenery for a minute).  When they left, I turned on our hot water kettle to boil some water.  Suddenly a brownish red spider began racing around the increasingly hot kettle.  I thought, "Wow!  This strategy does NOT seem like it is going to work."  Still, the spider continued to race around the kettle.  I watched for awhile, being unable to turn off the kettle, as the spider frantically spun its web.  When I came back, the kettle was still on and the spider was resting on the counter.  I lifted up the kettle and the spider was still attached(!!)  At the same time, the mouse trap under the kitchen sink went off.  At this point, I felt that we had descended to a level I was not willing to continue living and texted Thom, requesting he return home immediately.  He joked that he and Benja were going to swing by Iowa on the way home, not realizing the severity of the situation.  In the meantime I went upstairs to be protected by Zibbi.  When they returned home, it was as if nothing had happened.  The spider was gone.  The mousetrap was merely broken.  As if I wasn't already feeling crazy BEFORE this incident.  (Also, what is UP with the insects around here?)  

Barbie Time

 The girls have been VERY into creating dramatic scenes with Barbie dolls.  (I do realize that there are tons of problematic issues with Barbie, including her completely unrealistic body shape.  With Ellie not a Barbie could be found in our residence.  By the fourth child, unfortunately, exhaustion has set in and it has won out over values.)  Typically Barbie play involves a LOT of back story created by Lotta in long monologues while Zibbi jumps around trying (and often failing) to get a word in edge wise.  

Yesterday I brought home a small bag of Barbie clothes from the thrift store to augment their play.  Of course, the Barbies then had to be changed immediately.  Benja, as per usual, had an informative video he needed to show me right away so that I could understand more fully how the US has messed up pretty much everything.  (I like to say instead of parental rebellion, he is rebelling against the nation.)  Suddenly, Zibbi very proudly held up the newly outfitted Barbie and proclaimed, "Anyone would want to marry her now."  Wow.  I could totally feel RBG rolling in her grave.  I had to defer unpacking THAT statement.  

Nightly Phone Call

 

This is the paper phone Lotta made at some point during this pandemic.  I do not know why it has SO many buttons.  Or why the buttons have no numbers associated with them.  Every night, Thom would have to "take a call" before or after he read with Lotta.  When I heard about this, I OF COURSE had to get in on the action.  Which caused a lot of eye rolling from Lotta's face.  Until one day the phone mysteriously disappeared.  

Fighting Words

When this whole pandemic began, I had great fears that all of us being at home continually would end in homicide, if not multiple homicides.  I imagined one scene after another on a  continual loop of the scene below...

Maybe a few weeks ago (or perhaps a few months, I've really lost all sense of time), Lotta and Zibbi were fighting in the kitchen.  Here's a sample of what it sounded like, "You said SIX thirty."  "No, I said, SEVEN thirty..." "NO you SAID SIX thirty."  "NO I actually said SEVEN thirty".  At this point, the verbal argument erupted into violence.  Lotta explained that she'd looked at the alarm clock and thought she saw 6:30, then she heard Zibbi confirm this.  Zibbi explained that she'd looked at the clock and saw that it said 7:30, and then told Lotta.  As they explained this to me, the verbal and physical assault between them was reignited.  I suggested that BOTH these things could be true--Zibbi could have SAID one thing AND Lotta could have HEARD a different thing.  Of course, this did not fly and the yelling continued.  I suggested maybe we NOT talk about it anymore because we would never agree.  Lotta agreed, but not before she ended with, "BUT she DID say 6:30."  Overall, an extremely unsatisfying ending.

I have been quite surprised at how the girls most certainly fight, but then they quickly make up, because right now, without playdates or school or sleepovers, they are all they have.  Even Benja has spent time making up "not dangerous" games (one of the main goals during a pandemic is avoiding ER visits) which often involve one participant being blindfolded (?!?!) All three of them spend time daily playing Mine Craft, creating worlds together.  I think in retrospect, the three of them will look back on this time as most certainly challenging, but also a time when they all came together.

2020

 This morning I noticed a silver fish on the kitchen counter (typically we only run into each other in the bathroom). It scurried to the end of the counter stopping just briefly before taking a leap. I had a moment of wonder because I honestly did not realize a silver fish could "fly". Then, I noticed it was not at all moving. They in fact cannot survive a fall like that. It feels symbolic of 2020. Always feeling that sense of hopefulness, but then the next worst thing comes along...tropical storms on the coast, wildfires, not to even mention a worldwide pandemic. Furthermore, it reminds me of the scene in Groundhog Day when the car flies off the cliff and everyone says, "Maybe he's ok", then the car bursts into flame and everyone says, "Oh probably not..."

Insurance Policy

Whenever I got to Marquette Elementary, I always look for the garden stone Ellie's classmates made for her.  And the bench that was replaced by Julie and Nick the year that Ellie would have graduated.  As I approached Marquette on Friday for materials pick up (something you do when your children are virtual learning), I noticed the stone had been moved.  I then clocked that the entire Marquette sign was missing.  A man approached the sign, and I inquired what was happening.  He sighed heavily and explained that he was trying his best to fix it, but he wasn't super hopeful.  I then OVER shared with him how the Garden Stone and bench were in honor of Ellie.  Then, of course, I went on to tell him how Ellie died 10 years ago, when she was in 5th grade and how her classmates created these in her memory.  I walked away feeling like, "Ugh!  Why in the world did I share so much with him??"  Because during this worldwide pandemic, so many of the times when I encounter people outside my family, I either have absolutely nothing to say or conversely, I have EVERYTHING to say.  It is so embarrassing.  As I walked away, I saw this man, bending down to pull weeds around Ellie's garden stone.  And I realized that I had just created an insurance policy that he would take extra special care that nothing happened to that stone.  I guess in the end, it changed both of our days.  

So about the Tooth Fairy...

 

As you may recall, we have had a flurry of Tooth Fairy visits this past year, as Lotta and Zibbi have BOTH been losing teeth.  Furthermore, you may recall the Tooth Fairy's waning ability to arrive the morning AFTER a tooth loss, leading to late fees and letters of inquiry.  

This last summer we implemented "Windy Wednesday" when we would have a socially distanced outside visit with our great friend Wendy (I somehow pronounce it Windy, according to many sources).  During one of the visits, 10-year-old Lotta suddenly says, "I know who is REALLY the Tooth Fairy."  And I responded utilizing my psychological training, "Tell me more about that..." Lotta said, "I'm looking at her."  We then started having a conversation about how she started becoming suspicious, and some of the hints that gave it away for her.  We also talked about how when you want to believe in Santa, you only look for ways that is true and when you are ready to believe in something else, you start noticing all the information that tells you something different.  Suddenly, she gasped and said, "So who's been eating all the cookies???"  To which I explained that her dad always MADE the cookies HE likes best, so....

At the end of the conversation, Lotta said she wanted to do everything she could to make sure Zibbi keeps

believing because she didn't think Zibbi was ready, at 7, to not believe in Santa.  I explained the trick of when Zibbi asks about Santa, rather than telling her a lie, saying, "What do YOU think?"  The thing that struck me about the entire interaction was how peaceful she was, she was truly ready to not believe.  Benja and I had just had a conversation about how disappointing it was for us to realize that Santa was not real.  Realizing that the world is actually not magic, it felt earth shattering.  Lotta however, seemed excited to be apart of carrying on the tradition with Zibbi.  

Unexpected

 Maybe a month ago (time has lost all meaning during this pandemic), my neighbor, Kathy, told me that a friend of the family, whom they'd known since she was a baby, had been driving downtown with the windows down and some people had tried to set her on fire.  She asked if I would send this young woman a card, as she really liked receiving mail.  Of course I complied.  

When I sat down to write the card, I realized I had no words.  What words could there be to someone so young who had experienced such an atrocity?  So, I told her about Ellie.  I wrote how Ellie and I sometimes would be sitting in her hospital room and we could hear other children crying in pain or fear or confusion.  Feeling helpless, but wanting to "do" something, we would throw the crying child a hug.  I told this woman, that I was throwing her a hug.  That I wanted her to know that she was not alone.  

After sending her cards, I realized this young woman had been an assistant in some of the classes for Lotta and Zibbi's circus arts classes.  Madison is like that, though, small and large, where you suddenly realize you have been talking about the same person, without realizing it.

Then, maybe a month later, I received a postcard back.  It was a postcard that she'd created to send to all the people who had written to her.  It started, "And Still I Rise..." And it went on to talk about her future hopes and dreams, of finishing college and someday owning a rescue farm for "any animal or person who might need a safe haven."  On the back, she'd written, "I remember your daughter well.  We started playing together at recess after I asked her what her face cloth was for (Ellie like to use cloth handkerchiefs, I assume that's what she was asking about).  I then made sure to sit with her at lunch.  She was an awesome friend.  She asked a lot of questions.  I also remember liking her shoes.  I made my mom get me a pair so I could match.  I missed her very much when she passed.  She was a much needed friend while I was looking to fit in as a brown kid.  Sending you much love."

I had no idea that she'd been classmates with Ellie.  After Ellie died, one of Ellie's classmates was so upset he had to leave school.  At the time, I had this really strange feeling like when your child hurts another child and you work to fix the problem.  (I was lucky enough to run into this classmate at a park a year or so later and we were able to chat.  He was super upset that Ellie had died 13 days before her birthday.  I explained to him that Ellie had never cared much about birthdays.) But this young woman telling me Ellie made a difference to her at school, helping her feel more at ease, spreading her joy like she so liked to do, left me with the opposite feeling.  That rare and fleeting moment as a parent when you feel like somehow, you did something right.