Getting Recognized

 

Lotta met up with a friend at a local park Sunday.  I sat and chatted with the friend's mom, while Lotta and Goldie walked around the park by themselves.  As I mentioned previously, Lotta has requested alone time with friends.  She is not wrong, as I DO tend to chat people up.  As Jodi and I were chatting, suddenly, this fully masked little guy ran up (maintaining 6 feet of course) and excitedly asked, "Whose mom are you??"  I knew this was a Zibbi aged child, so I immediately told him I was Zibbi's mom.  He then jumped up and said, "Where is she?  Where is Zibbi?"  And I explained that she was spending time with her grandma, so she was not actually in the park.  Looking disappointed, he walked away, telling me he'd really wanted to SEE her and PLAY with her. 

Before leaving the park, James made sure to remind me to bring Zibbi next time because he REALLY wanted to play with her.  When I relayed the story to Zibbi she said, "I don't have a classmate named James."  Still, she thought it would be a good idea for her to go with me next time, because it could be a good time.  (I imagine he was in her class in kindergarten or 4K, not in her current class. Oh, the perks of being a parent volunteer, and getting recognized!)

Update on Ketchup/Catsup

 The dinner after I wrote the previous blog, we realized (gasp!) that we were actually OUT of catsup/ketchup!!  I had such a large supply that I was lulled into believing we would NEVER be out again.  Alas.  So, we actually DID use some of the restaurant ketchup packets.  Zibbi  discovered that night, she is actually NOT a fan of the "Red Gold" ketchup brand.  (Fortunately, I was able to pick up an emergency bottle, since the lack of ketchup incident.  So rest easy, reader. ) 

Ketchup vs Catsup

We ordered in on Mother's Day.  And to our surprise and amazement, we were given a quantity of ketchup packets. (Catsup? Ketchup? I kind of wish I was a "catsup" person, it sounds so much more like a compound word than ketchup, alas, I think it is too late for me to make the change.) I'd heard that there was a nation wide shortage, which was why I was so shocked by their appearance in my home. We had no idea what to do with a huge quantity of ketchup packets, with Zibbi's catsup consumption, we buy in bulk.  At Costco.  We call it "poor man's pasta sauce", she takes her noodles and dips them in ketchup and parmesan (shaky cheese, not the fancy, freshly grated version).  But I digress.  When I entered the kitchen again, I saw that Thom had written a message with the packets.  "HI" it said.  Before bed it said, "By" (not enough to make the "e" for a proper good bye, still the effort was made.)  Then in the morning, a heart.  Then Benja got in on the action and wrote out, "SOS".  Thom responded by making a crab like creation that looked as if it were eating a Lego person.  He'd even thought of opening a package to make it look gory.  (Which of course sounded less fun thinking of the crusty clean up that would require later.)  Now, after all that fun, the packets sit on the counter abandoned.  And STILL we know NOT what the heck to do with them.  Thom thought perhaps we could give them back??  Although, it seems like they've been through a LOT to be given back...

The Veil of Perfection

 

The vaccine I received was a one dose, which, some hypothesize has a bit more bang to it than the two dose version (where the "bang" is distributed over two vaccines).  I was all set to muscle my way through any symptoms I might have.  All night after my shot, I felt like my heart was racing.  Simultaneously, I felt exhausted and hot/then chilled. And oh so achey all over.  In the morning, I decided since I was awake, I might as well work out.  I thought it might help with any soreness.  I lived to regret that decision.  As soon as I was finished, and I'd set up breakfast food, I went back to bed.  I was in bed most of the morning.  Thom and Benja had their vaccines (conveniently) scheduled for that day, so off they went around lunch time.  I was sleeping and Lotta, determination in her voice, agreed to make lunch.  As I slept, I suddenly heard a quiet voice say, "Mom".  And I jerked awake, as you do, when your mom radar is on (which I think stays switched on permanently once you have children.)  Zibbi requested that I emerge from the bedroom to cut up strawberries (which we didn't actually have) because she didn't think it safe for Lotta to weld a knife.  I came downstairs and cut slices of bread for Zibbi, as Lotta, furiously looked on.  Lotta became so frustrated at one point, that she started sobbing and I gave her a huge hug, telling her that I knew how much she was wanting to help.  And I truly appreciated her attempt.  On the other hand, I know that for right now, Zibbi thinks I am perfection, I am the one and only one who can perform certain tasks to her satisfaction (like toasting a bagel).  I know that oh too soon, this veil of illusion will fall and she will discover that I too have struggles and weaknesses and faults.  But that morning, I wasn't prepared to let her in on the secret.  Not just yet.  

Getting my Chit Chat On

A few weeks ago,  I walked to St. Vinny's with a friend for a little thrift break.  As we chatted in one of the aisles, not one, not two, but THREE people piped into our conversation to add insight or opinions to what we were saying.  What I loved about it is how it felt like everyone was just missing chatting with a stranger, so when they saw the opportunity they grabbed it.   One of the conversations was with a fellow Marquette mother (that is the school Lotta attends) telling us that they were continuing to keep their son virtual.  She said she was partially doing it because they needed some families to stay virtual in order to maintain a distance in the classroom.  But, she shared, she really liked having her children around, so she'd continue as long as she could.  It was so very sweet.   Then, I kept running into the mom and her third grade son throughout the store.  At some point, he found a sun hat to try on, and he was parading around the store displaying his very festive find.  I liked them even more than I already did.  I mean similar conversations have happened before, especially in Dig n Save (the next level of thrifting, where all the clothes are in big bins you have to dig through).  I suspect that just during this time, I, and maybe the other customers, don't take it for granted like we used to.  

Some Shrinking May Occur

 

A few weeks ago, Benja was issued a teeny tiny h'orderves fork and the smallest spoon Zibbi could locate.  We all wondered aloud if he would get a bigger fork on his birthday, as he turned 16.  Zibbi declared that no, in fact, his fork would be getting even smaller.  I mean how much smaller do they go?  Barbie sized?  Maybe the Barbie platoon is helping her out.  Time will tell.

Costco Pick Up

I was waiting in line to check out at Costco, when the couple in front of my turned around and started pointing in my direction.  The woman then said something to me, which I could not hear nor understand due to our masks.  She stepped closer to explain that she and her husband were looking at the nuts behind me.  I quipped, "I thought you'd said, 'hey look, that lady is NUTS', and you aren't wrong."  She chuckled, then said, "You are delightful" and then, "I notice you aren't wearing a wedding band." (The FIRST person to notice since I stopped wearing it due to "ring rot" where the skin around your ring starts getting irritated.  Then, it became too small.  Maybe it shrunk?)  I stammered, "Oh, no, I AM married, for a couple of decades actually."  She told me she had two sons she was constantly on the look out to pair up.  One son had divorced two years ago and still has not dated since.  I suggested maybe he start Zumba, because as I recall those classes were almost all women.  The men attending get a lot of attention.  She didn't think that would work, she thought he would probably just be identified as gay in a Zumba class.  She lamented that he wouldn't even let her help him set up an online dating account.  (Weird, not wanting your mom to help with that.)  As she checked out, she shouted back at me, "Tell your husband that he has quite a catch!"  And of course, I DID.  Who knows he might start doing the Costco runs from now on.  Apparently, I am a hot ticket item there.  

Covid Vaccine!

Today I received my vaccine!  (I was sent an invitation after signing up through the Wisconsin Vaccine Registry.  I reserved a spot at noon.)  When I arrived at the Alliant Energy Center, there were signs leading me to a section of the parking lot where vehicles were being parked in long rows.  Every so often the parking attendant would instruct a row to drive.  So I waited in my car, windows down, breeze blowing and read my book as I waited.  It was glorious.  After a bit, my row started to move, and I quickly turned the car on, threw my book aside and put my mask on.  I followed the signs and at the end was an irate traffic guard yelling at cars.  Fortunately, I did not upset him, and proceeded to the lane he indicated, giving him a friendly wave as I passed.  Everyone inside the facility was efficient and friendly.  As I drove in, I had this wave of emotions, thinking of ALL the people in that huge area getting vaccinated.  That we were all protecting ourselves and our loved ones and each other.  How each of us played a part in ending this pandemic.  I felt emotional thinking of how wonderful it will feel to not feel so constantly afraid that I might pass Covid on to Benja (who has a number of risk factors), and Lotta, who has asthma which ALWAYS flares up for any respiratory illness.  The person who gave me the shot and I talked about how Zibbi had suggested I wear a sparkly tank top, to really announce to the world, "I am getting vaccinated today!"  The shot giver instructed me to go to the parking lot and wait 15 minutes to make sure I didn't have a reaction.  She said that if I did have a reaction, to honk my horn and put on my hazard lights and an EMT would come check on me.  As I exited the facility (another, maybe the same) traffic guard began screaming and shouting and waving his arms, trying to tell me where to go.  The more he screamed, the more I could not interpret which way to go.  I just kept driving in a somewhat straight fashion.  He reminded me of a traffic police officer Thom and I used to watch in Chicago.  She was constantly enraged.  Every single time.  We would go to a coffee shop on Michigan Avenue where we could watch her angry show.  Let me tell you that it is not as entertaining when you are on the receiving end of that anger.  Anyway, I kept driving (in the wrong direction).  And finally figured out where I was supposed to go.  At the other end of the parking lot, as I attempted to re-enter the line, was a quiet, fastidious parking attendant.  He was carefully and slowly parking each car.  The vehicle in front of me parked slightly over the line and he calmly requested they try again.  I carefully, carefully, pulled into the spot, I could not take the ire of another at that point.  When suddenly, the car behind me starting honking and honking.  And I thought, "Oh boy! What now?  Do they know I am from Missouri?"(Apparently, Missouri drivers are known as bad drivers because Driver's Education is optional rather than mandatory).  When I then realized the person behind me was having an allergic reaction to the shot, which made me first sigh a sigh of relief, then look up in alarm.  An EMT came rushing over and assisted him, he was fine, but his wife decided to drive him, rather than the other way round.  Finally, I went home.  Where Zibbi has been reminding me all day to drink water and move my arm.  (I let her know this morning that I am better at reminding others than myself to do those things. So, she's been helping me out.)  And boy oh boy am I exhausted.  Who knew a vaccine could be such an emotional roller coaster?

Expectation Levels Lowered

Next week is spring break.  I asked if anyone had ideas of what they'd like to do over spring break. Last year when I requested suggestions, everything was just beginning to shut down, and there was a lot of confusion of what was safe to do.  So, the responses were, "Oh, maybe we could go to Washington, D.C.?"  Or "Toronto"?  Just to test the waters.  We did not end up going anywhere.  This year when I inquired, everyone half halfheartedly responded with suggestions like, "Maybe we could take a walk around the block."  It was sappy (sad + happy).  I liked that they had completely changed their expectations within a year.  But geez louise, their expectations were now so incredibly LOW.  Lower than low.  Barely even qualifying as an expectation.  So I suggested maybe we could do a trip to the farm where they have baby goats to feed, if it is open (Zibbi LOVES feeding the baby goats, Lotta LOVES the IDEA of feeding the baby goats).  I hadn't expected their sparse a response, so I didn't really have a lot of plans hidden in my back pocket.  

Then, last night, we had a Walgreen's pick up to do and Thom asked if anyone wanted to go with him.  Lotta and Benja jumped up, high fived, and shouted in excitement and glee.  (You must understand that Walgreen's is maybe a mile from our home.)  Benja asked if they could take the "long way", and Thom responded, "of course".  We've told Lotta that we don't actually need to get a dog, as Benja is as excited as any puppy dog at the prospect of going for a walk or drive.  Who knew a year ago that going for a drive to Walgreen's would be the most exciting thing happening in our week?

Re-planning the Plans

 

Last Friday was a no school day.  We made a plan that after I conducted my workshop, I would take the girls to "crazy park".  There was jumping up and down excitement at that possibility.  When we arrived, there were a few people already playing, but there was still enough room to maintain 6 feet.  Very soon, as more people arrived at the park, it became too crowded to stay.  We decided we would try another park.  Then there was argument over WHICH park.  Finally, we concluded we should go home and grab the car so if the next park was also too crowded, we could easily and quickly try another park.  As we started walking home, there was a fight and things began to roll downhill (literally, Lotta was on rollerblades).  Zibbi started getting a stitch in her side and we decided she should rest for a bit.  We mapped out where we would try next, when Zibbi proclaimed that she was just not up for leaving again, and perhaps we could play in the yard instead?  To which Lotta responded by sobbing inconsolably and running upstairs.  (The whole scene reminded me of when Benja was little and so very many times we would have to change plans because of Ellie's health.)  We made a plan to try again on Saturday.  In the best of times, family life requires flexibility, a pandemic just adds an additional layer of altering plans when EVERYTHING already feels so rearranged.  

When Saturday arrived, predictably, Zibbi had absolutely no interest in going to a park.  I also had concerns that all the parks would be crowded on a beautiful spring Saturday.  So, once again, Lotta became discouraged.  As we were trying to sort it all out, Lotta's best friend texted to ask if Lotta might want to come over and socially distance hang out outside.  And I figuratively jumped for joy!  Because if we had gone to the park, Lotta would not have gotten the invite.  I responded, "Yes yes a million times YES!!"  And we quickly put on shoes and raced over to Sophie's.  Lotta and Sophie walked around the neighborhood, even going to the school playground to just be kids and enjoy each other's company for awhile.  In the end, it really DID all work out for the best.  

That Vacay Feeling

Today with a gloriously blue sky and temperatures reaching the 60s, we hiked at Aldo Leopold Nature Center.  So very many memories there.  One year we celebrated Thom's birthday with his parents there and ran into Lotta's best friend (and family).  Benja recalled how very long the trails used to seem, when his legs were shorter.  Another year, I was a chaperone for Lotta's field trip and it was raining.  Like seriously raining.  NONE of the children had rain gear.  The younger naturist announced, "Ok, let's go, we REQUESTED you bring rain gear."  (Because NO one had).  Luckily, an older and wiser naturist arrived, suggesting that perhaps the students could borrow some of the rain jackets they had on hand.  When we were outside, one of the students requested I help tie shoes.  As I bent in the rain, in the mud, there was a cloud of mosquitoes swarming around our legs.  I just did NOT need to know about those mosquitoes.  So many times as we slogged through the rain, I thought wistfully how much more Thom would be appreciating this particular field trip than me.  He actually LIKES the mud.  He used to PLAY in it as a child.  It took every

ounce of will power not to agree with the student who kept requesting that we go back inside.  I mean was collecting bugs from a pond REALLY worth all this discomfort??  As the rain, increased, our naturist, cheerily announced it was time to go on the hike.  She then noticed that the other groups were heading back inside, and I sighed a big sigh of relief as we all went back into the building to watch a planetarium show (I still am not completely certain what that had to do with anything else we studied that day.)  What I noticed today while we were there were all the noises--the distinct bird songs, the wind, the wind rustling through the trees.  Lotta climbed a tree, and then fell to get out of it.  We almost stepped on a snake, then found a nest of snakes.  Zibbi ran ran ran (she has this sometimes twisty run that reminds me of Ellie).  When we returned home, we ate brownies that were made as part of competitive bake off yesterday.  And suddenly, I was hit with that feeling of vacation.  That feeling where FUN is the most important ingredient rather than responsibility.  It was glorious.  

Snow Related Anecdotes

Lotta's teacher was chatting up the class before their zoom officially began this morning.  She asked who had played in the snow (it snowed yesterday).  Lotta said she had.  Her teacher inquired if the snow as pack-able, if she'd been able to make snowballs.  Lotta said that wasn't what they had been playing outside.  Her teacher, confused, then asked what they had been playing.  Lotta paused for awhile, and I chimed in, "It's COMPLICATED."  Ms. Cratic laughed and responded, "Oh there was a narrative involved."  

Then as Zibbi and Lotta were preparing to go out today.  Zibbi started to slip her gloves on and noted that the insides were still damp.  I explained how I had washed all the snow clothing from yesterday and the dryer had only dried the outside of the gloves, unfortunately, NOT the inside.  As I helped her adjust them, I almost said, "At least your hands will stay dry."  Luckily, I caught myself before I made that gaff.  Of course, I then had to share that was what I'd almost said.  So.  Yeah.  Was it last week that I wrote

about going to the park for the first time??  

Fun fun everywhere

 Library pick up last week.   I arrived at around the same time as a little boy who seemed to be maybe 1st or 2nd grade?  He still had on his pjs, so I may be under estimating his age.  He explained what kind of books he was looking for to the librarian,  Ms. Heindel.  Then he immediately went over to the bike racks and started running and swinging through them like a tunnel.  First of all it made me realize once again how much I miss seeing little people more in my daily life (I mean outside of my own, of course I see THEM, silly).  Not as many toddlers and babies in the Costco right now.  Secondly, it just made me contemplate how this little person had a plan, he was merely buying time chatting with the librarian until he could go do what he really wanted, which was playing in the bike "tunnel".  It just struck me that this was his actual plan.  Children are so excellent at finding the fun around them, wherever they find themselves.  When Ms. Heindel emerged with his books, he seemed genuinely startled by the disruption of his play.  He immediately stopped and ran to pick them up.  And I was left in wonder, pondering his actions.  

Send this into the Future, Please

 

I asked Zibbi this morning, "What is your favorite body part?"  She responded her brain or her heart.  

Then I asked if there was any part of her body that she would want to change?  And she said, "I wish I had more balance, I'm not great at balancing, like roller blades or biking without training wheels."  I responded that that is a great thing to want to change, as balance improves when you use it!

I asked Lotta "What is your favorite body part?"  She responded that in 3rd grade, she'd said her hair was her favorite body part.  Now she feels like her legs are her favorite body part, because they help her to walk and roller blade and bike and scooter.  

Lotta would want to change, her asthma (particularly during a pandemic where children with lung disease have been found to have less favorable outcomes).

When I asked Benja what his favorite body part was he replied, "the brain", he would change his pancreas, because you know, one that produces insulin would be nice (especially, again, during a pandemic were this is considered high risk).  

What I appreciate about their answers is how there responses are more about what their bodies can do for them, rather than how their bodies look.  It would be interesting to see how long they can hold onto that belief, that the way their bodies work is more important than the way it looks.  Fingers crossed that it will be a long time, if not forever.

Ambivalent Birthdays

Most years I am ALL about a big bold birthday celebration.  Including getting all the free birthday items I can get my hands on. (The willingness to advertise pays off in these scenarios.) Some years, however, it just doesn't feel right to celebrate a birthday.  It's not the temperature of the room.   I felt this way the year Ellie died.  It felt ludicrous to celebrate another year when she wouldn't.  {Because my siblings are so incredible, a weekend trip was planned to NYC that year where we could do a joint birthday celebration (because our birthdays are on March 3rd, 6th, 8th, and 14th).}  

This year I had that same heavy feeling.  How could I actually celebrate another year, when so many will not get to?  Over 500,000 in the US alone.   I knew however, for the sake of my family, I needed to rally myself.  

So my birthday morning rolled around and I was doing my morning workout.  When suddenly, screaming erupted from upstairs.  Morning kerfuffles have really been THE thing lately.  I crossed my fingers as the screaming increased in frequency as well as pitch.  (Thom was submerged in the sound proofed basement, so he had no idea what was occurring above ground.)  Now, I have been a parent long enough to know that just because it is my birthday does not mean that there won't be high emotions.  There may even be higher emotions due to the expectations of the day.  Still, I was hopeful that perhaps the girls could work it out themselves.  They emerged downstairs still in the midst of the unrest.  Zibbi said something snide and Lotta began to sob.  I gave Lotta a hug.  A few minutes passed, Zibbi requested Lotta follow her to the back bathroom.  They emerged a few minutes later, tightly squeezing each other's shoulders.  

It was a gift to have a break from meditation.  Although, I know the true gift of another birthday is having the opportunity to live another year.  I know this.  Sometimes, the weight of all the loss makes even that prospect seem overwhelming.  

Out of Hibernation

 

Today we all emerged from hibernation as the temperatures soared to 61 degrees!!  All the talk around the water cooler has been about wearing short sleeves.  Zibbi and I decided to walk to the closest park (what we have dubbed "crazy park" as typically something really ludicrous has happened the majority of our visits.)  I think it was the warmest day since the fall.  Birds were migrating north, to give you a sense of the enormity of what was happening.  It felt like hope.  Like a change of season is coming!  So many people out walking, as you do in Wisconsin when the weather finally breaks, esctatic to see neighbors outdoors once again.  As we approached the playground, we realized the actual park was still almost entirely covered in snow.  Slushy, melty snow, but snow nonetheless.  Before arriving at the park, we discussed that IF there were children already there, we would keep walking.  Lucky for us, there were only 2 boys playing at one end of the park, making it totally possible to utilize the swings.  Zibbi flew over to the swings and began pumping her legs.  She was so joyously exuberant in playing again on a structure (it had maybe been a year since we've

done so.)  She tried out different ways to sit/stand on the swings.  We discussed how sad it is that she will not get to play on the structures at her school with her classmates ever again (she switches to Marquette Elementary for 3rd grade).  I agreed it did feel sad.  I suggested that as a NOT equally good substitute (that phrase really describes accurately living through a pandemic), we could go to the playground at her school and play one weekend (assuming it is open again, of course, for awhile all the school structures were police taped off).  When the boys left the park, Zibbi proceeded to play vigorously on every single item at the park.  Every single one.   At one point, she slid down the slide and ended up flying off the end and landing kerplunk! in a big sloppy wet spot.  Of course, we both laughed (really would you expect any less of me??)  So glorious to hear the birds singing and feel the sun and the breeze on my face.  Eternal winter is over.  Spring is on it's way. 

Perpetual Hide and Seek

 

Right now when I walk upstairs, if Lotta and Zibbi are upstairs, I will hear their voices whisper loudly, "HIDE!" followed by the scampering of not so little feet.  We are in a perpetual game of hide and seek right now.  However, our hiding skills seem to have gone down recently.  For example, when I passed Zibbi's bedroom this morning, she was curled in a ball on her bed "hiding".  Granted, there isn't much time to obtain a better hiding spot.  I have not as of yet, figured out the proper response to all this hiding.  Should I jump out and shout, "BOO!"  Should I pretend like I don't know everyone is hiding?  Should I hide myself, making the game even longer and much more challenging.  I am sure I will have the opportunity to figure out all the possible responses.  

Whisper whisper whisper

Zibbi expresses her opinon to Uncle Kippy.

Zibbi wanted to sneak upstairs to spy on Lotta (who was preparing to hand down a few toys to her younger sibling).  As she raced away, she whispered to herself, tip toe, tip toe...to which I suggested might distract from the actual spying.  (I think she got that from the previously mentioned habit of Benja saying "sigh" instead of actually sighing.)  Now, we have all started to narrate our actions.  For example, if you are walking up the stair, you can punctuate your walking by saying aloud, "walking up the stair, walking up the stair, walking up the stair." Please note this it different than the muttering incident, where Zibbi started to come to the table muttering her disgruntlements audibly as she sat.  Which as you can imagine, only encouraged the rest of us to do the same.  

This Story Has no Clever Name (by Benja Kennedy, age 15)

Benja is taking a creative writing class right now.  With all my recent reading of Harry Potter aloud, Benja has appointed me his official "reader".  Lotta and Zibbi liked his first story so much, they asked for another one, which I have included below for your reading pleasure.  Just to drop this story into our family's history, Benja started kindergarten around 2 weeks after Lotta was born, months before Ellie would pass.  Certainly a unique time, punctuated by great change.  

I did not like kindergarten. I despised it, in fact. It was the worst thing I had ever experienced in my life. 

Now the first day was alright, a bit fun, I might have admitted. Of course, I didn't know school was mandatory at this point. Every class or daycare Mother had ever tried enrolling me in resulted in me leaving either halfway through or completing one day and then never returning. I expected this to be the case with kindergarten, an event I had the option of attending. 

Oh, how I was wrong, so very, very wrong. I had assumed the first day was a trial, and if I didn't like it, I would have the option to never return and get on with my life. It was a simple system, you didn't need to be a genius to come up with it. So, when I returned home, mother and father both inquired about my day. 

I said I had enjoyed myself. Ya know, the standard response to get the parents off your back. But this was when I began to grow concerned. 

Now, ordinarily, my parents would not be too interested in my day's adventure, and I liked it that way.  My parents’ aura of interest really freaked me out. This was highly irregular behaviour. 

My suspicions deepened the following morning, when my father woke me from my slumber at an outrageous time. Yes, I liked to get up early, by that was when I could get up of my own accord, not when some fool shook me awake. I was forced to get up in the cold and quickly dress, hastily eat a dry breakfast and get into the car, with the strange man I called Dad. Mother insisted it was okay, but, come on woman, I only knew this guy for five years. And it is common knowledge to never go with a stranger to a second location. 

My concern grew ever deeper when we arrived at the school I attended the day prior. Um, this was extremely weird. In so few words, I basically told my father the following: "Yikes. Yeah, dad, this is a bit awkward, but I thought you knew this already, but, I only go to these things once. You, see I don't really 'go' places, I would much prefer to go home to the safety of Mother. I really hope you can get refunded for this. Who am I kidding? we don't need the money, we're rich. Let's just call this whole affair 'charity' and let's get on with life, huh? what d'ya say to that big guy?." 

Now I put that with much less tact and elegance, but the general sentiment is there. I was filled with great shock and anguish when my father flat out ignored my pleas to return home. 

In fact, he made me get on my backpack. "Father, Uhm, I thought we just talked about this, I am NOT going to that place. Why would I need this backpack of things if we're going in and out? We're here just to tell the staff I am not returning, right Father? right, Father? Father? Father what are you doing? No, Father, this isn't right, this isn't NATURAL! I DEMAND TO SPEAK WITH MY ATTORNEY GENERAL, FARTHER??? YOU HAVE THE AUDACITY TO CALL YOURSELF MY GUARDIAN AND YET YOU OUTRIGHT REFUSE TO 'GUARD' ME FROM UNPLEASANTNESS." Again, I didn't say that. I was five, but hyperbole is one of my favourite writing tools, so I shall use it as amply as I like. 

And who are you to say what writing tools I can and cannot use, huh? oh, I hear you complaining "oh, hyperbole detracts from the overall legitimacy of the story, blah blah blah,". NO, it DOESN'T, Barbra. 

Anyhow, I digress. I apologise for lashing out at you, reader. I suppose writing about this truly traumatic experience is causing some deeply animalistic animosity that festers deep inside to resurface. 

Yes, so father brought me to the classroom. This is where I truly broke down, bawling my little heart out for my disdain for school, complaining that I had a killer stomach ache. 

Father, bent down on one knee asked if I actually felt sick. Finally I thought to myself we’re getting somewhere. I nodded bleakly, stating I had never felt so much pain ever, I might even be allergic to something in this building, perhaps to school itself, as a concept. 

If I remember correctly, he eventually caved and begrudgingly took me home to a very concerned mother. Her one weakness was child sadness. 

I went over to coloring a picture at the dining room table until father had left and mother sat across from me. She then began asking questions about my upset, which I did not appreciate. Geez, woman, stop trying to make me feel bad, we’ve been through this before. No need to try to get me back into that building. 

Much to my surprise,  the same thing happened the next day. I was woken up at an extremely odd hour, forced into day wear and then fed a quick breakfast. 

Oh dear, I can see where this is going. A real groundhog day situation (a really great cult classic, you should watch it sometime). 

From previous experience, I knew that the best way to ensure my safety at home, would be to feign illness. So I complained of another wicked stomach ache. 

That didn't work, and my father further coaxed me into the car. I doubled down, saying that the stomach ache was still REALLY bad. My father’s response was that I should go to the hospital. He was joking, but the hospital seemed preferable to school, at least at the hospital I knew people. My family was basically the MVPS of the hospital as we had basically given them half of what they knew about cancer. 

We went through the same process again, though this time I began to cry before we even got onto the school grounds, and father had to carry a wailing five year old into the classroom, and plop me into a chair. And then he left me. He left me! Oh my goodness that was rude of him. I really made a show for the class that day, hoo boy.

Despite not enjoying school for the first week or two, it eventually grew on me, and my early elementary school years are quite nostalgic.I mean, how else would I have gained the knowledge, skill and creativity that is required to write a piece as wonderful as this, if not for school? The moral of this story is to stay in school.

An encounter of the strange kind

I arrived at Trader Joe's and was immediately drawn to their lush plant display.  (My theory is that if a plant can survive grocery store level treatment, then it has a higher chance of survival in my home.  Realstically, I cannot, compete with green house level care.) As I browsed, someone from inside the store came scurrying out.  She looked vaguely familiar, which can be challenging right now with masks covering half the face.  She said to me, "Do I know you?  You look so familiar."  Which was surprising, since I was thinking the same thing.  She then said, "Look at YOU, you look SO cute."  To which I responded enthusiastically with a smile and a thank you.  She then repeated, more enthusiastically her opinion of my ensemble.  (It sort of had the feel of, "YOU look cute,""NO, you look cuter!""No, seriously YOU are the cutest!") Abruptly, she proclaimed, "I am going on break, but I will be back soon.  I will see you inside."  To which I thought, "Oh, wow, are we THERE in the relationship? Telling each other where we are going? When we will return?"  It was a strange, yet highly enjoyable encounter.  Seemed unusual and discordant all at the same time, very representative of this particular time.  Where something feels vaguely familiar, but completely,  awkwardly different.  

Oh what a big boy!

 

So we were playing a game of all day charades.  That's when you have charades cards on the dining room table and whenever someone passes by, they suddenly start acting out items on the card (with OUT announcing that is what you are doing).  Anyway, Benja grabbed a card, and started pantomiming pushing a grocery cart.  The problem was, his hands were super high, like he was a much shorter little guy than the almost 16-year-old teenager he actually is.  It feels like that was the last time he was in the stores, he was much shorter, so that's all he knows for charades.

One day, I was trying to convince Lotta to race upstairs, and I said, "I bet I can beat you upstairs."  Before anyone could move, Benja raced upstairs, yelling, "I WON!! I WON!!" when he reached the top.  While Lotta and I sat on the sofa transfixed by what had just occurred.   

Recently Benja says the word, "sigh" rather than actually sighing.  Boy oh boy is he ever keeping me entertained.  

Savoring Together

 

We finished the Harry Potter series earlier this week.  And reading it was an expected delight.  The girls would have exactly the reactions you would want at plot twists and discoveries along the way (gasps out loud, sitting bolt upright).  The amount of time it took to read each book grew steadily shorter, even as the books grew longer, as we became more and more engrossed in this alternate universe.   I began doing character voices (the best reviews were of the character Luna.)   Now we are taking a break from our afternoon group read.  And I feel the let down of the journey of truly savoring a good tale together, where the characters feel like they are friends we worried about when not reading them.  Sigh.  (At least, I guess, there is still television.)  I do take consolation in knowing that these stories will continue to travel within my girls, as they travel into the future.  I hope they take with them the intelligence and love of learning that Hermione taught.  I hope they take Ron's humor.  I hope they remember Harry's unwillingness to give up, and desire to make things better.  And Dumbledore's ability to recognize and admit his own weaknesses.  Most of all, I hope they take the lesson of always showing up for each other.     

Jump jump jump

 

The most recent predictions are that our lives will return to a somewhat more normal state by January 2022.  The date keeps getting moved back, as new variants arrive, as vaccinations take longer than expected, as holidays increase our numbers, etc.  I cannot even think about the future.  It all feels so close, yet so far away.  Knowing that we are almost a year into safer at home, and almost a year away from a possible return to normal, I have realized that we need to make some changes.  Honestly, this entire year, I was operating from a, this is only a short, temporary, emergency situation.  So, if we need to do more screen time, fine.  If we drop off on physical activity fine.  THEN this big freeze, and I mean FREEZE by Wisconsin standards, high temperatures in the negative numbers, kept us home bound even more than usual.  On Friday, both Lotta

and Zibbi seemed to be suffering from some pretty severe "cabin fever"(symptoms:  listlessness, severe emotional outbursts without provocation, boredom).  When I tried to figure out the last time Zibbi actually stepped foot outside the building, I could not.  It made me realize we absolutely MUST make some new habits about getting outside, and physical activity.  As I changed the sheets today, I asked Zibbi if she wanted to play "bubble", a game we used to play every week.  It is where you put a fan (or use your arms) so that the bottom sheet blows into a bubble shape and then Lotta and/or Zibbi jumps on top of it, popping the bubble.  It didn't have that much appeal this morning, but when I did put the fitted sheet on, Zibbi started running around the bed and then dropping into a sprawl, which turned into me throwing a pillow at her, that if she were hit, she hit the deck, otherwise she kept running.  What I had forgotten about games like these is how much giggling and laughter happen when you are running around, so much more than when sitting watching yet another You Tube Video.  Hopefully, this increase in laughter will inspire me to keep pushing everyone to move move move (like an army sergeant).  

Raining Money

This weekend, Zibbi started making dollar bills, which led to the question of what IS the largest bill denomination currently in circulation? (Alexa says, "$100", there was a brief time when $500 and even $1,000 bills were made, but they were both discontinued in the 1960s).  After she'd made a stack, she asked how much it would cost to "buy a baby".  I suggested that buying babies, was actually illegal, and that we call it, "adopting".  A little more research uncovered that currently adoption costs between $40,000-50,000 (!?!?).  However, if you adopt a child out of foster care, then the state will cover most of the costs.  Which might mean an older child, rather than a newborn baby.  A few minutes later, Zibbi emerged from upstairs with the most toddler like doll that we have in a stroller.  Fastest adoption through the foster care system ever.

  

Stonewalling

I was practicing a workshop which included a section on conflict.  So, when our family dinner erupted into an excellent example of conflict, it seemed appropriate.  Lotta really felt like she NEEDED to show Agogo something on the internet, and she once again expressed her dissatisfaction with having the internet shut off at 6 pm as an unnecessary infringement on her personal freedom.  She left the dining room table, moving her food into the kitchen.  I suggested that we could go back to having a cut off time for the devices, which have become a free-for-all throughout the day.  (Before there was a 45 minute maximum on the tablet, because we actually had other things we did in our lives.)  Then, Lotta accompanied Thom to drive my mom home.  When Lotta returned, she ran in, gave me a long hug, and said in a small voice, "I am just unhappy."  And I said, "I know".  So challenging to figure out what to do with all the big feelings swirling around inside her--hormones of course, but also just disappointment, frustration, anger, loneliness at not seeing friends.  Not leaving the house for days or even weeks on end.  The general unending quality of this time.  It is a LOT for a 10-year-old to take.  I am glad she could tell me, I hope she can continue to tell me. 

Family Clean

 

Every weekend we have scheduled a family clean, where everyone has a job and we all do them at the same time.  Zibbi has found that she adores dusting, and the instant satisfaction of seeing the dresser cleaner.  (I have included a photo she took to document the arrangement that she created that I liked.) She also enjoys cleaning the toilet (only the upstairs, aqua toilet, however, never the harder to clean, lime stained downstairs one.  I can't say I blame her for her choice).  I think her enjoyment comes from a pretty sweet toilet wand.  Benja prefers vacuuming (he has the height for it, where the girls do not).  Lotta loves to have a meltdown every time before we begin, to illustrate her dissatisfaction with the whole system.  So we allot time for the weekly melt down before we begin.  The greatest gift from the whole thing is feeling as if we are working on something together, as a family.  And the feeling that I am sending them out into the world with some life skills.  Arguably, the most important of life skills, janitorial (maybe along with cooking skills).    

Dinner Stories

 

We have been having many family dinners filled with stories as of late (my favorite!).  One that came up recently was when Zibbi was in kindergarten, she came home one day, crestfallen.  She had had to go to the bathroom.  Her teacher was in the bathroom while Zibbi was in the actual stall.  So, being in love with her teacher (she was everything you'd want in a kindergarten teacher) she began to chat her teacher up.  Instead of chatting, her teacher very sternly told Zibbi that she should focus and NOT talk.  Zibbi tries very hard at school to follow all the rules, so she just could not believe she'd made such a grievous error in judgement.  Zibbi was so uncomfortable about the whole thing, she couldn't really talk about it for very long.  (At the end of the year, her teacher told me she had been labeled "excess" staff by the school district and asked to step down.  We were all heartbroken, as she was a tremendous teacher, kind, patient, loving.) 

Then Lotta shared a time at Lapham (the 4K-2nd Grade elementary school my children attend).  She said one day after recess there was a pile up outside the door back inside.  She had begun to cry because she was in the middle of the pile.  My brain immediately began to create a story about how perhaps the children had been distracted by something on the playground, and so were not facing forward.  Perhaps one child had tripped over another child, and the whole sequence was repeated.  Lotta had assured me that in fact, this is NOT what happened.  I guess that one, will remain a mystery.  

Random Wednesday Ponderings

I know I have mentioned Agent Longfork before, the longest fork in my drawer, often used for activities such as turning sausages.  He has become such an integral part of any cooking mission, that if I cannot find him, I proclaim him "MIA".  (Again, the whole Tom Hanks befriending a volleyball makes SO much sense right now.)

My dad had to install a chair lift for my step mom this year, who has been struggling with mobility from both hip and back issues.  One Phone Father Friday, my dad was telling me how he cannot resist using the stair lift when he comes home from the grocery store with groceries, or when he has laundry to carry to the laundry room.  He told me that he has limited himself to using the stair lift each day to 3 times a day.  It just entertains me to imagine him slowly slowly slowly climbing the stairs with a bag or laundry on his lap.  AND also that 3 was his limit.  Thanks dad, for sharing the story and keeping me entertained! (Now everyone around here thinks a chair lift is an EXCELLENT idea, although Thom suspects that no one would have the patience to wait for the ride to be over.) 

Finally, the 3 flat next door has been sold to a new owner (just to circle back and TRY to tie these ponderings together, the building next door was where my dad and stepmom first thought of the chair lift idea, as our neighbor who had lived on the first floor for decades had a debilitating condition that made a chair lift necessary.)  Now, when the new management company comes to shovel the snow, they simply pull a van up beside the driveway (never IN the drive), jump out and quickly shovel as little of the sidewalk as they can.  Mostly, just around the driveway and the stairs.  For so many days, I kept pondering, why are they stopping in the middle of the sidewalk?  Wouldn't that feel extremely unsatisfying to NOT finish the job you started?  Then I witnessed the whole heist-like scene of stopping the van, basically in the middle of the street, jumping out quickly, shoveling, jumping back in and going on their way and it all made sense.  Although, I still have some questions about the procedure, it is satisfying to have SOME answers.  

The Late Great Dumbledore

As I may or may not have mentioned, every day we have Harry Potter reading time.  Zibbi and I are extremely into this time, while Lotta wonders if it would be possible to take a day off once in awhile (?!?)  When I first started my readings, Lotta was aghast at the volume with which my voice would rise during intense scenes.  Now she doesn't even notice.  Really this is my time to test out my acting chops.  At the end of book 6, Dumbledore, one of the greatest wizards of all time, Harry's headmaster, father-figure/mentor is killed.  The problem was, I knew we were approaching the scene, and I began crying, so much so that I could not continue to read, BEFORE he died, as he kept slipping down the wall, because he could no longer support himself.  I had to take a LOT of deep breaths to continue.  Then he DID die, and I cried even more.  It was a SCENE unto itself.  That's what great literature does, it allows you to get out all those feelings that can't stay bottled up inside. The girls were dumbfounded by my emotions, but also vaguely understanding, it was Dumbledore after all.  I guess what I really taught them was how to get a good cry in while reading.  

So Many Questions

Before the pandemic, Zibbi was enrolled in Monkey School, a circus arts class.  For the last class, they demonstrated to parents what they had learned.  Zibbi was up, and I noticed that there was some kind of stain on the back of her pants.  The instructor called me over and asked me to investigate said stain with Zibbi.  When we pulled down her pants, to my shock, the inside was covered in poo.  Super stinky, super sticky.  Luckily, I had some wipes in my bag, so we used those to clean up.  Also luckily, we had driven, so Thom jumped in the car to retrieve a new pair of pants.  I realized after a bit of investigating, that Zibbi had been employing a "one and done" philosophy in wiping.  Which obviously had utterly failed.  Zibbi begged me NOT to tell her instructor, so when we FINALLY emerged from the bathrooms, I had to discretely nod at her teacher, letting the instrtuctor know that the problem was taken care of, without letting Zibbi know that I was letting her know.  

Last night, as Zibbi and I were snuggled into bed, I inquired what the dark brown stain on the front of the pants was.  Zibbi scratched at it, it didn't appear to be a new stain, it was not in fact crusty.  We wondered together if maybe it was chocolate?  She told me that I shouldn't worry as they weren't her poop pants. At the time, I didn't question this.  Then, later, I had SO very many questions.  What exactly are "poop" pants?  Which ones ARE the so called "poop" pants?  And most disturbing of all, how could I possibly have NOT followed up with further questions at the time of the conversation?  I guess time may reveal the answers to all these questions.

Stepping Up

 

Something is amiss with Zibbi.  She has had a harder time completing her school work.  When she DOES complete it, it is after hours (or maybe minutes that FEEL like hours) of crying and yelling.  My hypothesis (can't let all those years of studying psychology go to waste!) is that Lotta is moving more firmly into tween-dom, meaning she is not as interested in infinite Barbie play.  She might want to read a book or draw or email a friend.  That leaves Zibbi without her playmate, and maybe without the words to explain why she is feeling badly (or maybe even the understanding).  Anyway, I shared my theory with Thom and Benja.  I encouraged Benja, if he was able, to find a way to play with Zibbi (off screen, as we have SO very much screen time right now).  And, man oh man, did he ever step up.  He finished a book with her, they played a game of chase.  It was amazing.  And I thought, it some ways, it is GREAT for him too, to feel a purpose in this sometimes purposeless feeling time.  What started out as a disconnect between two has become a re-connect with a different set.  

Off My Game

Geez louise.  I am off my game today.  I feel foggy and exhausted.  Then every time I try to "help" someone with a relationship kerfuffle or school work (that, by the way, was supposed to be finished yesterday) I am greeted with MUCH yelling and crying.  I tried taking a walk and it is frigidly cold, even by Wisconsin standards. Like make your teeth hurt cold.  This is the day I envisioned all those many months ago when safer at home began.  A day when you just feel blah.   I am glad I will have another chance tomorrow.  Today I am ready to go back to bed.  (Luckily, Benja is making me some Hello Dolly Cake to brighten my somber mood. When he just opened the oven, smoke came pouring out.  That tracks with what is happening today.)

Inauguration

 "That even as we grieved, we grew. That even as we hurt, we hoped. That even as we tired, we tried."

From The Hill We Climb by Amanda Gorman Poet Laureate

So inauguration yesterday.  Wow.  So much more emotional than I imagined it would be.  An African/Asian Female vice president.  For the first time.  Photos floating around Facebook with all the previous vice presidents, all white men, then Kamala Harris standing next to it.  That's what happened today.  Today is the day we can tell our children that FINALLY THIS too is possible.  Imagine what else we can do now.  Even though we have much work left to do, it is exhilarating to have a government that is working once again on behalf of its citizens.  

Showing Up

Thom, Lotta, and Zibbi went sledding on Monday, as there was no school in honor of Martin Luther King, Jr.  When they returned home, Lotta's hands were so packed with items, she had no free hands to open the front door.  Later, she discovered she could NOT find the library book she'd read on the car ride.  We all looked everywhere, still it did not turn up.  Then came bedtime when Lotta emerged crying, rediscovering that the book was still, in fact, missing AND it is a library book, so that is the WORST possible book to go missing.  As you know, we try our best to stay on the good side of our librarian friends.  Being extremely tired and READY to watch The Flight Attendant (a show that is similar to not being able to look away from a car wreck, where I constantly keep yelling at the main character to please, for crying out loud, make some GOOD choices.  But, as you can tell, I MUST keep watching.)  So I was less than amused when Lotta emerged despondent that her book was STILL missing.  I suggested maybe another book or maybe just going to bed.  And also, extremely unhelpfully, I suggested that this is the reason why BAGS are such a useful tool in transporting things.  I think the point is, that I was most certainly NOT in the game.  

Maybe a week ago, Lotta, started coughing in bed.  It actually isn't that often that Lotta comes back downstairs after bedtime.  In fact it is rare.  And I thought these thoughts as I raced up the stairs, how these disruptions were so much more frequent a few years ago.  Startled and afraid, she came to the top of the stairs to explain what was happening.  I could tell from her voice that she was scared, so I listened to her carefully as I looked into her frightened eyes.  I calmly gave her suggestions of what she could do to alleviate her discomfort--take a drink of water (the remedy for everything, as I have also mentioned previously), prop her pillows up more.  I told her if it persisted, we would take further steps.  Relieved, we hugged, and she went back to bed.  This moment stuck with me because I think it is so very challenging to show up when our expectations were different than what is happening (see previous paragraph).  I know as a parent, this is what we strive for MORE of, these moments of connection, these moments where somehow, someway we are able to put our own needs to the side and really show up for these little people.  And I think so often we are busy beating ourselves up for the words we didn't say, the times we were impatient, or hungry or tired ourselves.  I thought after that profound moment on the steps, what if I could look more for those moments when I actually was fully available?  Wouldn't that be something to count my "wins" as loudly and as often as I count my "losses"?  I wonder if I would actually be able to show up MORE if I was able to celebrate the times I was the parent I strive to be.