Life Lately

Did you remember that we had an election earlier this month? Because we had an election earlier THIS actual calendar month. Even though it still feels as though we’re in year 4 of the 2016 election AND also in day 485 of March 2020 AND simultaneously like the 2020 election was several months ago. But, * checks calendar *, nope. We actually had an election a mere four weeks ago.

This month’s chaos was, in a way, reminiscent of March. The kids, as stipulated by the district, are moving to full-time distance learning. So are their dance classes. They had a week off for Thanksgiving to give the teachers time to prepare. I found myself taking deep breaths during the last Friday morning the kids were all in school, which I think was my body’s reaction to the last time my kids went on a week-long break (and didn’t return to their school buildings for six whole months).

Schedule number 43 of the year but also make it Christmas.

Continuing with those deep breaths.

I won’t pretend that everything is fine because it’s not. As I look down the barrel of this week I see a schedule littered with Google Meets to manage. Tyson and I sat down this weekend to map out and overhaul our schedule which will probably happen at least once more before the year ends.

I don’t want to sugarcoat anything or tie this up with a bow. And yet. We decorated for Christmas this weekend and there’s something about those Christmas tree lights in the background. We might (read: will for sure, totally, definitely) have fights with three kids on three Google meets at the same time, or when two have Google Meets and the third doesn’t, or over using our tablets in the bathroom, or over staying on task during a 2:00 pm call when usually when they’re at home 2:00 = TV time. This is true. But the twinkle lights help. They’re the definition of hopeful. A tradition, a constant, in the midst of so much that’s not. And a reminder that 2021 is on the horizon which should be (read: better be, must be, has to be) so much better than the year we’ve all just lived through.

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Take Action

With Christmas coming, I’d love to urge you to shop local this year. Fellow Minnesotans, here is the ultimate guide to Twin Cities businesses. I’ll urge everyone to give up Amazon and replace it with Bookshop.org (heads up: affiliate link!). And wherever you are, I recommend gifting gift cards to local restaurants and buying beer and spirits made by local breweries and distilleries—these beloved businesses need all the help we can give them right now.

Also: Stay home. Please. As much as you possibly can. We’ve been urged by our Governor here in MN to stay home, to not have gatherings, to order take-out to support bars and restaurants who are banned from serving dine-in customers. It’s not quite as expansive as the shutdown we had in the spring, but it’s up there.

A vaccine (or several) seem to be so close; that light at the end of the tunnel feels like it’s just almost within our grasp. If we can buckle down these next few months, in the snow and the cold and the distance learning, there’s a chance life will return to ”normal” sooner rather than later. Stay safe.

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Around the Internet

• “Because schools are not the major cause of the problem, shutting them down won’t do enough on its own to slow the spread of the disease. When — not if — businesses are forced to shutter temporarily in the near future, we can tide them over with money, and we absolutely should. When schools are closed, however, handing students a check will not replace what they’ve lost.”

• I learned to knit right before the pandemic began and didn’t know how much I would need it this year.

• “My husband and I bought our first home when we were twenty-four. I think it’s important to be honest here. This wasn’t some triumph of good sense and hard work. It wasn’t accomplished by making our avocado toast at home instead of ordering it in a coffee shop. We didn’t work five jobs each to do it. When we got married at 21, we had good credit. Neither of us had ever had to charge rent to a credit card and then fallen behind on payments. We’d never been uninsured and then had a medical emergency that left us swamped with medical bills.”

• Scotland is the first nation to make sanitary products free

• For all my pandemic shoppers out there.

• Well this made me lol.

• “Yet some groups protested, refusing to keep their distance, marching against travel restrictions — as if measures that governments must impose for the good of their people constitute some kind of political assault on autonomy or personal freedom! Looking to the common good is much more than the sum of what is good for individuals. It means having a regard for all citizens and seeking to respond effectively to the needs of the least fortunate.”

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Eating

• Tyson’s company is based in Champaign, IL, a town where there’s astonishingly little to do, besides eat at the equally astonishing amount of really good restaurants. I’ve had actual dreams about this roasted red pepper and gouda soup from a cafe not far from his office. I decided to re-create it by following this recipe and while it was different from the one I remember, it was still SO GOOD. Serve with fresh bread, obviously.

• These fish fingers disappear in my house every time. Serve with a bag of frozen Alexia seasoned waffle fries because #balance.

• Since I won’t be posting another of these round-ups until after the holidays, I feel like it’s my duty to point you to some holiday baking goodness. These cranberry bars, my favorite gingersnap recipe, more gingerbread if you prefer yours in cake form, chocolate sugar cookies to switch things up, and these which you hardly need a recipe for but the kids can practically make on their own and they’re wildly addictive.

• Okay and let’s also include some party food, which you can bet I will make even if we’re only a party of five this year: the only (and easiest) meatball recipe you need, these stuffed mushrooms could basically be my last meal, bacon-wrapped dates and please include the goat cheese, and do yourself a favor and bake up some brie (top with jam, always).

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Fun Things

• This tea is everything. I’m not usually a fan of adding cream to tea but I add a little sugar and the smallest splash of heavy cream and it feels absolutely decadent. Honestly, I like to just hold it in a heavy mug to warm my hands and breathe in the vanilla scent which is divine. At under $6 it’s the best little luxury right now.

• This is a pretty big Fun Thing, but: our 10-year wedding anniversary was in early October. While we thought we’d be celebrating with a trip, that’s been put on hold for obvious reasons. Instead, I discovered that the traditional 10-year anniversary gift = diamonds. While I didn’t actually want new diamonds, I did get my wedding ring re-set. I’ve never had a wedding band, only an engagement ring (raise your hand if you were also a poor college student baby when you got engaged), so I had my original diamond re-set as a solitaire and the smaller diamonds that surrounded it in my original setting used in the wedding band, both in hammered yellow gold. I LOVE it so much. (MN friends: check out Sarah Commers Jewelry. She was so easy to work with and brought my vision to life!)

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Leaving you with those twinkle lights I mentioned earlier. I was skeptical, but they really do make all the difference right now.

Joy, Unexpectedly

Unexpected joy, the prompt said.

Yeah, right. I thought.

I didn’t want to do the blog hop prompt this month because joy—even (especially?) of the unexpected variety—seemed too hard to find right now. Who has time for that? The days are a cycle of wake up (in the darkness), feed the kids breakfast, drink coffee, make sure everyone changes their clothes and brushes their teeth. Some days we’re distance learning and three mornings we’re driving to preschool and two days we’re driving to elementary school and I’m saying “Just click the box with the link right here like you did yesterday” and “Did you remember to hit the ‘submit’ button?” and I’m adding Play Doh to our Target pick up because the preschoolers go through it like crazy. I’m making lunches and adding carrot sticks which is more a hopeful idea than something they’ll regularly eat and trying to work during quiet time and then survive the afternoon when we can’t really go anywhere. I make dinner and we take baths and read books and tuck blankets and go to bed and get up to do it all over again.

There’s a pandemic and an election and have you seen what the president has done now and for the love of God, vote and women are taking on the bulk of the pandemic burden and it’s heavy and people are out of work and out of money and out of time and patience and energy.

I don’t have time to find joy. Even unexpectedly.

Until, that is, an October surprise.

Not the political kind. But a white-stuff-falling-from-the-sky kind.

And I found it.

Joy.

Unexpectedly.

Unexpected joy is a snowstorm in October that would normally drive you crazy but this year feels like a free activity I didn’t need to exert any mental energy to plan or prepare or execute in any way.

Unexpected joy is taking stock of all the kid’s winter gear in September so when an unexpected October snowstorm hits you’re prepared and basically deserve an award.

Unexpected joy is hot cocoa with marshmallows and Frozen because that’s what you do during the first significant snowfall. It’s the continuation of a tradition that you thought would have died a couple of years ago but, magically, hasn’t.

Unexpected joy is a morning cup of coffee where you take a sip to discover it’s been brewed just right.

Unexpected joy is finding them in a giggling pile on the floor and you have no idea why.

Unexpected joy is Halloween candy before Halloween.

Unexpected joy is a new hobby in a year you didn’t even know you were going to need it. And when’s the last time you even picked up a hobby, anyway?

Unexpected joy is two six-year-olds who pick up books to read just for fun at all times of the day. It’s waking up to realize they can read fluently even though you swear, you would swear on a stack of Bibles, that they were sounding out “The C-A-T on the M-A-T” only yesterday.

Unexpected joy is realizing that despite everything, all of it, all the things going on, joy snuck up on you. Because it’s unexpected, dummy. And so you’re forced to write about it, after all.

This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in this series "Unexpected Joy".

When the Rest Falls Away

Rest. What a thing to try to find right now. With no school. No childcare. With three kids who are very much here—in a way they haven’t been for a year or two now. With chores and tasks and to-dos piling up, one on top of another. With a pandemic. With my sleep either coming in a blackout sort of way, hard and heavy and without dreams—or in a restless way, with worries and imaginings intermingling all night, resembling anything but rest.

There are only pockets of rest left. Little pieces in the day that often aren’t very consistent. Though I try to make them be with routines and rhythms sprinkled throughout the day. But that brings me back to those children. Rest isn’t found in long stretches or in the ways I’d like to find it: through pedicures and lengthy brunches with friends, with kids off on overnights with grandparents, consistent date nights, by doing literally anything at all without the threat of an actual global crisis lingering over my head. The heaviness so often seems to win. Until it doesn’t. Until I remember there is something uplifting in my morning cup of coffee, in sunshine, in the kids’ uncontrollable giggles. As Glennon Doyle writes in her book Carry On, Warrior:

“You have been offered ‘the gift of crisis’…the Greek root of the word crisis is ‘to sift’, as in, to shake out the excesses and leave only what's important. That's what crises do. They shake things up until we are forced to hold on to only what matters most. The rest falls away.”

When so much else has fallen away, here are the things, the pockets of rest, I’ve been holding onto.

Giggles at breakfast time.

Iced coffee shaken up with heavy cream and vanilla syrup.

Morning bike rides when everything feels fresh and new.

Quiet (or, more often, “quiet”) reading time.

Walking laps around the park while the kids play.

Sitting and sipping more coffee while he figures out a new LEGO set.

Tacos for lunch is its own kind of spiritual ministry.

Sitting here with the window open every afternoon from 12:30-2:00. And every Saturday morning for as long as I need.

When she asks to do a virtual baking class. So we do.

Folding laundry. I know. I kind of love it. It feels calming and therapeutic. * insert shrug emoji here *

Reading on the front porch.

Or lounging on the deck.

That light while I water the plants in the evening.

And clay facemasks FTW.

This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in this series "Rest -- A Photo Essay".

When the Light Isn't Where I Left It

I’ve been mulling over the idea of going where the light is.

The thing is, that light? Where it is changes for me. As often as my emotions, maybe, these days. What brings me joy one day (one hour, one moment) can be anathema to me the next. 

Sometimes my kids are the light and the next minute I want to ship them off to Siberia. Sometimes cooking is the thing that steadies me and the next meal I don’t want to chop another vegetable, fry another egg, or mix together flour, water, salt, and yeast ever again. Sometimes I can’t get away fast enough to type up the words in my head and other times I look at an empty page, certain I won’t have anything to say ever again in my entire life. Sometimes I’m so glad Tyson is here and we’re in this together and other times I want to self-quarantine myself away from him. Sometimes I find hope in the grocery store, in the fact that I’m out— free! —from my house. Other times it’s the most depressing place in the world as I walk around and realize we can’t even see each other’s smiles anymore underneath our masks. Sometimes I find the light in the normal, ordinary routine of our days. Other days I want to scream in frustration at the mundane and instead find joy in wearing a nice top and jewelry, in hosting snack time on the front porch, ordering lunch for myself just because.

You see my problem here. It can make things difficult, this finding of the light. It’s not always where I’ve left it.

Still. As I mull this whole “go where the light is” idea over, Albus Dumbledore keeps popping into my head.

“Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.”

I don’t only need to turn it on these days. I need to actively search for it.

It’s there. I (almost) always find it. Even when it’s not where I’ve found it before.

That breakfast light, though.

A real breakfast with a side of comfort reading.

School as an anchor in our day.

Just look how studious they are.

Unscheduled coffee break.

Unscheduled jump-off-the-Nugget-free-for-all break.

Chaos.

A teacher who captivates them with her videos as tulips listen in.

Lunch delivery. Just for me.

Happy sidewalk art.

Buds budding. The bluest of skies.

Friends who also live in your house.

Snacktime in the living room. (Previously absolutely, positively 1000% forbidden. Here we are.)

Friends who live in your house part 2. This time with LEGOs.

Cheers.

Impromptu PJ dance party.

The magic of books.

That evening light, though.

Flowers reaching toward the light, even as it fades away.

This post was written as part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to read the next post in this series "Go Where the Light Is".

Week Five

I’ve been writing things down here and there since the coronavirus really started to impact our lives. I’ve shared some of this as snippets on Instagram but if you’re interested in reading more, feel free to read through these lightly-edited words. As this essay says, I’m craving to see what people are thinking/doing/feeling through all of this. Maybe it’s helpful to use my own still, small voice to give some words to what we’re all going through at this moment in time. You can find Week One here , Week Two here, Week Three here, and Week Four here.

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Monday, April 13th
“I've been more aware of the passage of time since Kindergarten began, knowing that at this time next year the twins won’t be in Kindergarten but in first grade, and then second, and so on. Somehow the days of toddlerhood and preschool seemed to shield me a bit more, when our days looked so much the same from one to the next.

I’m acutely aware of their days off of school now, where it feels like we’re just settling back into our normal, three kids snug at home, instead of disrupting what our true, new normal is of packing lunches and backpacks.”

...is a THING I WROTE on December 23rd. Bless my heart.

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I’ve just been assuming, through all of this, that summer is cancelled. I’m assuming they’re not returning to school (though that breaks my heart). I’m assuming there will not be a dance recital (another thing that breaks my heart). I’m assuming there will be no t-ball (again heartbreaking). I’m assuming there will be no PlayNet, zoo camps, Big Chip vacation, or trips to parks and beaches (my heart is gone).

I’ve more or less made my peace with this.

My light at the end of the tunnel is assuming the kids will go back to school in the fall. School even starts really late here this year; since Labor Day isn’t until September 7th, the first day of school is September 8th. It’s about as late as it can possibly be.

My heart is set on this. My dad dared to suggest that the kids wouldn’t even go back to school in the fall and it’s a good thing we’re practicing social distancing or I would have STABBED him. Even though I understand, in the darkest, most remote corners of my brain, that this won’t really be over by then and that NOT returning to school in the fall is an actual possibility, I just cannot even with the idea of it right now.

Though that didn’t stop me from sending Caden and Brooklyn’s teacher an email last week to request they be in the same class again next year. I don’t want to deal with two different first grade teachers for distance learning. Just in case.

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Wednesday, April 15th
Mornings are the hardest. The waking up and the getting up. It’s just the worst.

Back up. Maybe I shouldn’t say mornings are the hardest. It’s the whole getting out of bed part that is.

I’ve never been a morning person. Never, ever, ever. Mornings are only nice in theory. 5:00 am is NOT a nice time. I don’t even think 6:00 am is a nice time. They are dumb times when reasonable people (and children) should still be sleeping.

Still, I used to get up at 6:30. A mere month or so ago when the kids still had things like buses to catch and there were lunches to pack and I had a minivan to drive to places like preschool. There were things to look forward to in the day, or at least in the week.

Forget 6:00 now. Forget even 6:30. Now, even when 7:00 rolls around, I close my eyes against the inevitable like ugh.

The first couple of weeks were different. Then it was like grief. I woke up with anticipation, the sunlight glinting through the blinds, before it would hit me. I would remember, all over again, that this wasn’t just a bad dream. That we couldn’t go anywhere. That coronavirus was a real thing. That the whole world was dealing with this and the kids don’t have school and what bad news would come today?

Now it doesn’t hit me like a revelation each morning. It’s simply reality. Now I wake up and think, “Oh. Here we go again.” And it takes every ounce of strength I have to pull myself out of bed. Even though I just throw on my glasses and some sweatpants and walk downstairs to get coffee. The monotony of our days is it’s own brand of exhausting.

(The coffee helps. So does sunshine.)

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Thursday, April 16th
My moods seem to run in roughly three-day cycles. I usually have a pretty good “this is all fine!” day followed by a day full of “meh” and ending with a “this is awful and terrible and I’m angry and sad and I hate everyone and everything” kind of day.

It’s not always a three-day cycle. I might have one great day followed by three meh days followed by one of pure rage. Meh is more my baseline these days. I rarely have more than one good or truly awful day in a row.

Recognizing the cycle helps. While the good days don’t last, neither do the bad ones.

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Things seem to have leveled off to an extent. Life feels more or less normal now The news cycle has flattened out. A few weeks ago, no matter how often I picked up my phone, I would find new news, new stories, new information. I was getting multiple emails from school each day as they detailed the newest orders from the Governor, here’s when distance learning begins, here’s when you pick up your student(s) materials, here’s your log-in information, here are updated versions of ALL of that.

(And let us never forget the emails from every restaurant and every store and every activity we’ve ever done in the past decade to update us on “here’s how we’re dealing with COVID-19” and/or “let’s stand together in hope” and it got really weird.)

My phone use has flattened off. It’s still higher than pre-COVID-19 levels but not by much. Life certainly doesn’t look how it did “before”, but the new normal has settled in. I KNEW it would, a few weeks ago, I knew theoretically we would all psychologically adjust and yet it seemed impossible at the same time. But, here we are.

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Friday, April 17th
For the record, these are the clothes I’ve been living in:

These pull-on jeans. (Seriously as comfy as leggings but feels like I’m trying.)
These sweatpants.
This bralette. (RIP bras with hooks and adjustable straps.)
These leggings. (Soft and cotton-y. Not squish-you-in supportive.)
This sweatshirt.