Category: Family

All things pertaining to parenting and partnering!

Hair on Fire

“Well, at least the washer is new so there won’t be that deployment gremlin,” I chuckled two days ago as we folded clothes together, getting him all packed up for what will be our LAST separation. Letting the kids finish up the school year, we are staying behind for a few months while he goes on ahead to start the next gig.

I woke up at 2:30am this morning from a dream that my hair was on fire. Like deep REM sleep to fully alert in what felt like 3 seconds. One minute I’m talking to Nancy Pelosi and wondering why my hair is burning (Um, hello subconscious. Why are you so weird?!), to racing around the house quietly trying to sniff out the source. “Where is it coming from?” I thought, unplugging everything electric in my house. I quickly dial Eric and think of our laundry conversation, groaning internally at the thought that I just had to say something and jinx us! Getting the emergency number for our housing office, I dial them and am also directed to call 911. At this point, they have asked us to evacuate everyone out of the house as a precautionary measure. Firetruck is on the way.

Have I mentioned that our area has been blasted with snow since Christmas?! I grabbed the keys and warmed up the car, then waking up the kids, I told them to bundle up, that we are going to sit in the car with the dogs until the firetruck arrives. I thought of the most ridiculous things, like how the kitchen is dirty, and that if this turns into an *actual* fire, I won’t have to wash those dishes I left in the sink last night. Dog poop bags, gloves and coats, dog sweaters, I get the broom to brush off the snow so I can see to at least pull my car out of the driveway. I’m still in my pajamas and winter boots and running on nothing but adrenaline.

We had heard a weird chirping noise coming from the furnace closet the day before, and had planned to call housing about it. I thought maybe it was a belt going bad, perhaps that was what the smell was? (I know just enough to be dangerous, of course.) The smell was permeating the whole house, so furnace was my best guess.

Firemen arrive and I let them know what I know, and they tell us to sit tight while they inspect the house. I texted Eric and informed him of the situation and he replied, “Take a pic for memories!” “Seriously?!” I mutter aloud, smirking as I discreetly snap said picture.

The lead fireman came out and told me my house needed a different scented candle, that the one I was using does not smell good. Ohhhhh, okay. Fireguy has jokes at 3am. I laughed, and he explained that they did locate the source of the smell to the furnace and that maintenance would take care of it. We shut off the furnace and were able to come back inside and wait. The firemen start to leave, apologizing for wet bootprints all over the floor. “Your house is so clean, I feel bad,” one of them remarked. I laughed again and told them they’ve all made my day. Not only did they compliment my cleaning skills, (ridiculous that that makes me happy to the degree that it does), but also the fact that I wasn’t in fact crazy and they could recreate the smell, and the source was accurate. And of course that it wasn’t an ACTUAL fire and there wasn’t any danger to minions or pets. Whew.

Maintenance arrives and discovers the furnace motor is not happy. At this point I’ve been up for over an hour and 4 am seems like just as good a time as any to make coffee. Mr. Maintenance takes out the motor to take back to the shop to make it happy again. He replaces the filter and gives us space heaters to use while he’s working, because someone invited Santa and his North Pole weather to stay for a week after Christmas and it’s getting frigid in my house with no furnace. Time for Santa to take his snow and go home!

I decided that if I want to hit my mileage/badge goal for the year, I better get on the bike sooner, rather than later, as we will no doubt have a nap in our future or be heading to bed early – regardless of it being New Year’s Eve. “I have 7 miles to bike today,” I explained to my mom as I had recounted all of the morning’s “excitement” over FaceTime coffee at 5am. I was starting to fade and realized I better get it done or when Mr. Maintenance showed back up, or I would have to interrupt the ride, or worse – not have the energy to do it later. On the bike I went!

It was the perfect icy cold temperature to workout in – and I got the planned miles and challenge badge I was aiming for. (Honestly, it’s the silliest things that are motivating.) Year-end goal accomplished! Just as I was finishing up the cooldown ride, Mr. Maintenance knocked, ready to turn the furnace back on with a recently re-tooled motor freshly installed in the furnace.

Crises averted, hair decidedly not on fire, and heat back on with no odor, it now feels like 872 o’clock. Happy New Year to us!

And here’s to NO MORE GREML– Wait!

Scratch that. I’m not making that mistake again!

Good Riddance 2021!! Yeah, let’s go with that.

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When Dad Buys You Lemons…

“Can I go with you to the grocery store? I have a list.”

“Uhhh, okay,” I responded from the shower. “What did you need to buy?” I asked.

“Lemons, sugar, a pitcher, cups, and straws. PLEASE Mom! Please! I have always wanted to do this. It’s summer….”

She’d been asking to do a lemonade stand for quite a while. Like 5 years awhile. Maybe longer. I’ve put her off for various reasons. She was too young (read: I’d have to do all the work), we were busy or had other plans that weekend, whatever. The timing just never seemed right.

Me, thinking, “Well, I don’t see why not. We aren’t camping this weekend and there isn’t much going on. I think we can make that work.”

(Insert squeals of delight and frantic planning mode turned way up).

After getting items from her list, and 10 lemons (surely that should be plenty) we set up shop in the front yard, complete with canopy and “decor lemons” and her eye-catching poster:

She could barely sit still. Her excitement was met with a very supportive military community. Lots of friends and neighbors came by to grab a glass of Lil’ Miss’ yummy recipe. Great teachable moments sprinkled throughout the afternoon and evening, including the difference between sales and profit, costs of doing business, supplies, and record keeping. Live, hands on examples that will likely stick with her longer than just talking about abstract concepts.

Running out of lemons, I zipped to the store to grab 10 more! She went through pitcher after pitcher! (And multiple batches of simple syrup.) She decided to set up for Saturday as well. Lucky for her, Dad did a bit of shopping!

Yay for the Costco sized bags!

“Thank you thank you thank you! This is amazing!” she hollered, dancing around the kitchen. “We are going to have lemonade for dayyyyyys!” Turning serious for a moment, she said, “Seriously though, Mom, I want you to know I am super grateful. This is going to be sooooo FUN!”

I stopped in my tracks. “Who is this kid?” I thought. I remember playing and eating candy at 10 years old, not being grateful! Ha!

Saturday morning, she walked out saying she had “THE PERFECT SHIRT”! I turned around to see her in what is actually the perfect shirt for a lemonade stand.

Those with kids and bleeding ears have likely heard The Duck Song.
In case you haven’t heard it, here it is for your listening pleasure 😂 My kids still think it’s hilarious.
  • The base police made a quick stop!
  • SO MANY lemons!
  • Even her brother came to “show support” 😂

She sold lemonade all day Saturday and went through 52 lemons! 🤯 We have a pitcher leftover, but we aren’t mad about that! It’s quite tasty. My kitchen looks like a yellow bomb went off, but it smells delightfully fresh! Luckily the mosquitoes that are notoriously awful in our area weren’t too bad. To be sure, Eric sprayed the front yard with yard spray hours before her set up to allow for enough time for it to dry. We battled wasps and hornets (not to mention fears) and ended up moving her stand to the other side of the driveway to get away from what we think may be a nest in a tree.

Surviving the insects, we talked about all kinds of things, idle moments that generated top of mind musings as well as deeper conversations. The lemonade stand served as a vehicle to just be together with minimal distractions. There was a time when I never would have had the energy, or honestly the desire, to do anything like this. While I was drinking this would have been a no-go. I am so thankful for these reminders of my why. I love being present with them just to chat – about the mundane, what they are thinking about, their thoughts about different situations – all of it.

Who knew a little lemonade stand could be more than just some tasty beverages?!

Plot Twist!

Riding down the road with the family towing our new (to us)-going-to-be-the-best-summer-ever-camper, I gripped the “oh $h1#!” handle on my side as the vehicle miles in front of us tapped his brakes. My husband laughed as I told him, “I love how the dumb handle in the car gives me the illusion that I could in anyway affect the outcome of an accident.” Like my grip on this handle will somehow magically apply the brakes and save us all from plummeting to our deaths. The car was so far ahead of us, even I had to laugh at my disproportionate reaction.

I have a delusion that I am in control. Of all the things.

We recently found out we have a plot twist to the plans of the next couple of years as we transition out of active duty military life. This transition (after decades) is a big one, but also incredibly exciting. My anxiety definitely kicked up a notch or 6 as we continue to discuss what we want, where we want to live, second chapter prospects, kids’ schooling, etc. There are so many decisions to make over the coming months, and many questions that will be answered in time.

This month I celebrate 4 years of sobriety (YAY!). Pondering the plot twist made me wonder what it would be like if I was still drinking. I would likely drink AT the transition, in a feeble attempt at quelling anxiety, not recognizing that I would only be adding piles of shame, guilt and more anxiety on top of everything else. Using alcohol to not be in my head about whatever situation never makes it go away, and in fact makes it worse. When drinking, I would eventually get to an acceptance place when big things happened, but it wasn’t easy or quick by any means. Worry is like a rocking chair as they say – gives you something to do, but gets you no where. Instead of numbing out, I’m feeling ALL the things. The recognizing that one chapter is ending but a new one is beginning. Both sides of the coin, excitement tinged with a bit of sadness, as we consider options.

Feelings are nothing but currents of energy. They pass through as long as I don’t white knuckle grip them by worrying and stewing, like I’m actually in control. Staying present, taking each moment as it comes and just breathing. Everything always works out. It always has. Even hard stuff. Even the messy, emotional, exciting and terrifying stuff. It always works out one way or another. In the meantime, this will be the summer of amazing adventures, many decisions, and a BAZILLION camping get aways! Perhaps I will even learn to become less of a control freak backseat driver! Three of the four of us are vaccinated and we are ready to bust out of this bizzaro quarantine time and have some FUN with the peeps we love. This may be the plot twist we never knew we needed. At just the right time.

Teach

“Tell me which of his classes to take! Make me love him,” the message read.

“Huh?” I thought, slightly taken aback. How do you make someone love a particular instructor? I don’t think you can.

I’ve taken classes all my life. Most of us have. Formal schooling as a kid, college, and even on the job training, it’s a life-long process regardless of whether we see it that way or not. My mom is a teacher of dance. I’ve been a teacher of sorts over the years, although not in a traditional school classroom setting. Parents are teachers. Without question, our kids will teach us things we had no idea we needed to learn.

I remember my first jobs as a kitchen assistant at a retirement center, later as a sales associate in multiple retail establishments, then as a waitress, and even as a bank teller, manager and officially a corporate trainer. All of these seemingly unrelated positions had the common thread of teaching. We may not always love every teacher or instructor we have in school or on the job, but we can learn something from each.

My son had a particularly rough PE teacher one year. They got into round after round of power struggles. (My son does have an individual learning plan for autism-related accommodations, but this teacher did not read the plan, much less follow it’s directives. It was rocky to say the least.) She was not his favorite person – teacher or otherwise. I let both kids know that while you will likely not love everything about a teacher, co-worker, or boss you will have, you can learn from them, even the not-favorites. Dubious, they questioned my logic until I explained one of my least-liked teachers.

He was a 7th grade social studies teacher that was nearing retirement. He was the quintessential monotoned-voiced, gray-haired, probably sick of middle schoolers, oldest crank I had ever seen. He looked like he must have been at least 104. (My adult self realizes he was probably in his 60’s, but aged prematurely due to his loathing of teenagers). His classroom was always just about 5 degrees warmer than was comfortable. He would drone on and on about some civilization or other, regularly dimming the lights for a bit while we watched the most ancient film (on an actual 2-reel projector) about how said civilization lived or were wiped out in battle. The merciless clock had a deafening second hand that seemed to take its sweet time moseying around the blurring numbers. “Did time actually move backward?” I would wonder when looking at it for the 18th time in 3 minutes. Having his class after lunch was a unique form of torture. We all struggled to keep from falling asleep. The fear of succumbing to the sandman was not due to the possibility of embarrassment from accidentally drooling on the desk, or even snoring in front of our peers. The poor souls who gave in to their exhaustion were met with the intense whack of a yard stick slammed on their desktop. That stick created a gust of wind it was whipped down so hard. Not only would you pucker, gasp sharply, and make you question if you had just died, it would draw the attention of everyone in the room to humiliate you. The overall lesson was this teacher was someone to be feared above all else.

Even with teachers like him, I still learned. I learned that some teachers use humiliation as a tool. If I was ever in a teaching capacity, I recognized (even if I was unable to articulate it at the time), that fear is not an effective tactic nor is shame. Fear and shame inhibit learning. Can I tell you anything I learned in that class in terms of social studies? Absolutely not. But I can in crisp detail, outline the way I felt, describe the skin-prickling heat, and the intense urgency I felt to be done with those 55 minutes each day.

Certainly not the ideal, valuable lessons were learned. The same is true when we look at any kind of class – be it a grade school teacher, a dance instructor, or a fitness professional. Similar to story-tellers, teachers all bring their own unique something to any lesson. If someone isn’t rocking your socks off, okay. No big deal. Find someone who does. We can learn something.

Even if it’s not the intended lesson.

Scary

I have this thing: apparently I like to scare myself. I jump into things and then figure out the how. I ran track for 3 weeks in the 8th grade and then decided I hated running. When I signed up for my first running event, it was only because my friend said it was doable and dragged me along. I knew I could walk if we needed to, and we were actually doing this “let’s get fit” thing. Running races wasn’t something I thought I could do, let alone enjoy.

At 33 and post-baby #2 (over the course of 7 months while living in Hawaii) I did things I never thought possible. I ran a mile without stopping. Seems small, but it was big for me because I never thought I could.

Until I did.

It became longer. 5ks, 10ks, and even half-marathons. (That’s 13.1 miles. On feet.) It seemed insane, but when surrounded by others setting and smashing goals, the impossible seemed possible. Like, why couldn’t I do those things, too? At a get together during this time, over wine (back when I still drank), I made the slightly tipsy decision to run a marathon. I had lost weight, was working out (HARD) 5-6 days per week, and oh, why the heck not?! Never mind the fact that only a week before the marathon date, I’d already signed up for the Kualoa ranch Xterra half trail marathon. (Trail running DOES NOT equal a regular road race. At. All. Trail running is WAY, WAY harder.) But someone at the party said ‘It’s really very doable,’ as she explained a run-walk strategy. Impossible….becomes a maybe…becomes possible.

Our time in Hawaii taught me many things, including how to set goals for myself, how to dream big – even if it scares me – and that I can be a determined person when my mind is set. With 2020 being the circus it was, and the world in the chaos that it is, family, sobriety, and the bike in my living room that goes no where have been my outlet and sanity.

I haven’t run races in a few years due to injuries that get aggravated when I run over a 5k. After becoming a certified Spin instructor, my endorphin thirst was quenched on a bike instead of in running shoes. It’s been years since I participated in any events, but I still set goals and earn badges on the bike and through my fitness watch. (Side note: it’s the most trivial things like badges I find highly motivating.) The beauty of training this way is that metrics are measured which gives tangible evidence of improvement. I love improving.

Across the social pages along came the PeloFondo event. Riders set a mileage goal of their choosing, and then have 2 days to complete the miles. Thinking it would be fun and something to challenge myself before the next actual challenge begins in a week, I set my goal of 30 miles. Seemed achievable.

But…it didn’t really scare me. I’ve done 90 minute rides both indoor cycling and outdoor. So then I figured I could leave my goal at 30, but then actually ride 50 (because Garmin badges). That way I could play it safe, have a goal, but not push myself much harder.

A friend from the Hawaii days messaged years ago to say she was doing her first century ride. I remember this conversation vividly. (This was after we had all moved on to our next duty stations, but we still cheer each other on, even from across the globe.) This conversation planted a seed.

I swallowed and upped the mileage to 100.

One of the class instructors, Christine D’Ercole, often says in her classes to get curious. Instead of the mental chatter that tells us we can’t do something, that talks us out of all the things, she has this amazing motto: I am. I can. I will. I do. We change the chatter and get curious. What if I can do this thing? What if I can set a crazy-ass goal and actually achieve it? What if it takes forever? What if?

What. If.

I knew it would take me forever. I got ready and ordered the padded bike shorts and anti-chafing cream. (Somehow I missed the padded bike seat cover but my amazing husband popped out quick to the store and picked up not one, but two. He graciously fit one on while I was mid class!)

It took me 12 classes.

There were lots of stretching breaks between the classes. 2 peanut butter and jelly on whole wheat sammies, 3 apple pie Lara bars, 2 bananas, Nuun hydration tablets, and a LOT of water got me through. Not to mention the randomness of the post-ride feast!

Not necessarily pretty, but when you’re hangry, anything edible tastes like heaven!

101.19 miles took me 6:30. Six and a half hours. (The marathon time was in this same ridiculous ballpark.) I will never win races or compete competitively, but I race me. (And…. occasionally my friend Bo. He typically creams me.)

3000 calories torched according to the watch. Four Garmin badges were earned:

(Seriously, it’s ridiculous that these little things excite me to the degree that they do.) The very last ride of the 12 completed today happened to be the 200th!

Badges, badges everywhere!

I am…..capable. I can….do hard things. I will….continue to set goals that scare me. I do…finish what I start. Thank you Christine for the words I didn’t know I needed.

It’s been a minute since I set a scary goal, let alone participated in a formal event. I missed it. I missed getting scared and pushing beyond that fear. Because really….why not? And what if?

Food Fun – Pita Pocket Joes

I love food, and part of my plant-based cooking excursions have been to incorporate as many healthy habits, as well as recipes, into our routine. It’s been scary fun *interesting* testing out various internet recipe finds on my family. My husband grew up eating meat and typical American fare, so finding recipes that 1. don’t scare him, and 2. he likes and 3. pulls from flavor profiles he is familiar with is always my quest.

When we were first married, I grabbed the can of Manwich to throw on some ground beef and sling onto some buns. Eric loved them. I did, too, but it wasn’t very healthy and I knew there had to be a way to get that same flavor without it being from a can and loaded with high fructose corn syrup and other crap I didn’t want in our diet. Shortly after, I found a scratch recipe for sloppy joes that we both liked and was in our regular rotation. I pulled my old recipe book today to get inspired to come up with something new, as well as something I could modify into a plant-based option. Vegan Sloppy Joes for the win!

Diced onion, fresh green peppers and garlic kick it off nicely. Bringing in bold flavors with vegan Worcestershire, mustard and cumin round out the yummy richness. In place of the meat? You could use many things. I have used bulgar wheat in the past which has a similar look and texture to fine ground meat. Tofu crumbled, air fried and then incorporated into the sauce would also work fabulously! Since we had tofu tacos last night, I used red beans and barley.

I served it up with a side of coleslaw (plant-based, of course) and dinner was served! Sounds weird, but it was quite good and filling!

RECIPE:

  • Whole Wheat pita pockets
  • 4-6 leaves of lettuce or other handfuls of greens
  • Red kidney beans, 2 cans, or 2 cups cooked from scratch
  • 1 cup barley, cooked
  • 1 diced green pepper
  • 1/2 onion, diced
  • 3 cloves garlic, minced
  • 2 tbs tomato paste
  • 2/3 cup ketchup
  • 1 tsp mustard
  • 2 tbs brown sugar
  • 3/4 tsp chili powder
  • 1/2 tsp cumin
  • 1 tbs garlic powder
  • 1 tsp onion powder
  • 1/2 tsp vegan Worcestershire sauce
  • 1 tbs BBQ sauce (sugar free if possible)
  • 1/3 cup water
  • Salt and pepper to taste
    • If you like it spicy: add pinch of pepper flake and/or dash or two of hot sauce
    • Cook barley according to package directions, set aside. Cook dried beans in instant pot, or drain and rinse if using cans. 
    • Sauté onion and green pepper in large skillet. Add garlic and cook over medium heat until soft and fragrant. Add dashes of water to prevent sticking. Add all other ingredients and stir until combined and saucy. I prefer adding all spices/ketchup/Worcestershire/brown sugar before adding beans and barley.
    • Once sauce has come together and sugar has dissolved, add in beans and barley to coat with sauce. Adjust spices to taste. 
    • Stuff leaf lettuce bean/barley/sauce into pita pockets. Serve immediately! 

Chickpeas could be used or canned jackfruit would make great mock pulled-pork type of sandwich!

Daughter liked it, and even liked the coleslaw – which is a win in my book. Beans aren’t Eric’s favorite, but to be fair, he liked the flavor.

Guess we’ll have to try jack fruit next!

Do Something. Anything.

Quarantining, pandemics, civil unrest, politics, hurricanes and typhoons, 2020 you’re not playing. Like many people, current events and a near-constant onslaught of horrifying information coming at us over this year has left me antsy.

We covered an overview of American History this year in homeschool. We discussed not only what was in the text book, but what was left out. Conclusions were drawn about how our past informs our future. I want to raise people who dig for information from multiple sources, and do not just take the first thing served to them as truth: to be lifelong learners and critical thinkers. As we went through the 1960s and the Civil Rights Movement, we looked at the photos of angry mobs of white people screaming at kids who were attending newly-integrated schools. We looked up online information about Malcom X and Martin Luther King Jr., watched movies about Ruby Bridges and her family, we read other books. As we researched beyond the text and had very frank discussions, I wondered where my place would be. In Glennon Doyle’s latest book, Untamed, she discusses a very similar conversation:

We looked at pictures of civil rights marches, and we talked about why people march. ‘Someone once said that marching is praying with your feet,’ I told them. Amma pointed to a white woman holding a sign, marching in a sea of black and brown people. Her eyes popped and she said, ‘Mama, Look! Would we have been marching with them? Like her?’ I fixed my mouth to say, ‘Of course. Of course we would have, baby.’ But before I could say it, Tish said, ‘No, Amma. We wouldn’t have been marching with them back then. I mean, we’re not marching now.’

– Glennon Doyle, Untamed

When we raise humans, their perspective can punch you in the gut like no other. No filters, they cut right to the point. Conversations like these have left me asking, “What should I be doing?” as a human, AND as a human who has other humans watching her. We continue to read, we continue to make calls to elected and appointed leaders. We have marched, safely and social distanced. We learn. We discuss. We keep learning. We have hard conversations. We listen.

Restlessness persists.

A house can only be disinfected so many times. We have projected and started a planter garden. I’ve played amateur photographer, looking for beautiful. Bikes have been ridden. Dogs have been walked. The minions are learning how to cook, we are hitting the beach, and following the rules of quarantine, wearing masks at the grocery and staying home except for essentials.

I began painting rocks to leave around our neighborhood for kids to find when out on family walks. Not knowing there was a whole bunch of groups online that paint rocks and leave them for others to find and have for years – I found inspiration and glimmers of hope and kindness in these random acts of art. It was fun to leave them early and find out that someone had posted online in our neighborhood page a picture of a smiling child holding a rock Hannah and I had created. I could be creative and spread a little joy. It’s a difficult time in so many ways, but it was something I could do, even if it only made a difference for one person, for one moment.

I took home ec in middle school. My mom knew how to sew and I distinctly remember a My Little Pony kids’ sewing machine on which I made simple Cabbage Patch doll clothes. I made a mask for Eric and I based on the CDC recommended pattern. It was hard and I was more than a little rusty. The first mask I made not only took me 4 hours, but managed to break a needle. It was a circus.

Fast forward some 3 months later, and I’ve found other patterns and ideas. I have a friend in the midwest who is a radiologist working with COVID patients and makes masks for those around her. I was inspired watching her sell them online, not for profit, just to cover the cost of materials and to help her community.

I purchased a Black Lives Matter mask in preparation for a march, the kids loved it and each wanted one so we ordered a couple more. The design and fabric was so soft and seemed easy enough to replicate. Later I would take Hannah for a haircut in which she was wearing her BLM mask. Her hairstylist smiled broadly, “I made that mask! What’s your name?” She remembered it from the orders. We laughed and she asked me about the mask I was wearing (that I had made). I have a feeling we would have hugged had it not been during the middle of a pandemic. You never know how you affect others. The ripples matter.

Insecure, I didn’t think my masks would be good enough to sell, so I offered them for friends and family. As I made more, my confidence grew. My parents and hubby became mask models as I attempted new styles and different elastics.

Posting them in our little community page to start, I was surprised how people seemed to like them, and even ordered more as asked what other fabrics I had on hand. People have donated fabric for more masks. Then a good friend purchased some and posted about them to her circle. 4 more orders came in. Neighbors asked for more. Family and friends in Minnesota, Texas, Georgia, Idaho, California, and Oregon ordered. I was and am humbled, and wondered why it was hitting my heart so hard.

I think in many ways 2020 and the events of this year have been like a bandaid being ripped off wounds old and new. It’s uncovering what has been bubbling up underneath but only now, as our collective constant busy-ness has ground to a halt, is it clear. Our family calls it the Coronoa-coaster of emotions. Some days are super excited and productive, others we are sloths with zero motivation and feel depressed about the state of the world, and every shade in between.

The pictures started rolling in when my people received and were wearing their masks. I hate that we need the masks in the first place. I wish this was not our current situation. My heart breaks for those who are hurting and have lost their livelihoods as they knew them. Education will not be the same, and while in the long run, that may be a good thing, the transition will no doubt be rough.

Yet…I feel connected to my people when I see them wearing something I created for them. Walking through the commissary and spotting one of my masks on a friend’s face is heartwarming. It’s a hug that I cannot give or receive right now and My soul desperately needs those hugs.

Coming across this during a mindless perusal of social media, my niece (aka Hangin’ By A Thread) posted this from a book she is reading that sums it all up quite nicely:

I will keep making masks (At least until I get through this fabric, lol.) as long as people need them. I will continue to paint and hide rocks. I may even start another hobby, who knows?! It’s something – anything – to be useful, and contribute in some small way to helping us all get through this. Together. As Glennon Doyle often writes: “We can do hard things.”

Yes, indeed.

Corona-Style Visits

I was able to escape my family yesterday for an outing (with masks and social distancing, of course) and took my 2 little dogs for the adventure. I met up with my mom and our friends and walked nearly 3 miles around Coupeville, WA – which is a lot for little dogs with short legs! The view was gorgeous!

These are the beautiful Pacific Northwest days that fool people into moving here, not realizing it does rain here 8 months out of the year.

Silly doggies!

After our trek, we socially distanced on the porch and the dogs had treats. They were definitely worn out and ready for a mellow 4th of July.

After our dog walking adventure and heading back up to my hometown, Mom and I decided to do a drive thru coffee and head to a park with the dogs just to sit and continue our visit. The dogs were tired and it was time to go.

But…..

Anytime we get started on what we call, “Solving all the world’s problems,” (and seriously there are a few!) parting ways typically takes a minimum of an hour. Or 2. Possibly canceling later plans. It was simply a lovely day. As we eventually made our way back to our cars, she backed her car in so we could chat, “just a little while longer” but let the dogs have some A/C, water and a comfy rest. And then a friend joined us.

You cannot see it in these photos, but there is a WASP-BEE-Murder Hornet flitting between our cars. We would roll our windows down, chat for a bit, and then scramble to roll the window back up as it flew back by. Side note: this is the one time that it does not pay to have power windows. No matter how hard you press that button, the window will only go up at the same slow speed. Manual windows – you could crank that puppy as fast as your arm would go and get that window up quick!

By the 14th time of windows up-down-up-down-up-down trying to avoid said murder hornet, we were laughing hysterically, simultaneously speaking on our phones. Second side note: Did you also know there is a delay when you use a cell in close proximity to the person to whom you are speaking?! We discovered that and played “foreign film montage”!

Silly from the fresh air, the exercise and/or the ridiculous wasp, as well as an overdue visit amidst a global pandemic, we did eventually bid farewell (3 hours later, whoops!). It was just what the mental health doctor ordered!

Corny Things

With the playgrounds closed, the only thing there is to do lately is to go on walks, hikes, or bike rides. (Or bake). I love to cook and bake as much as the next person, but I can only eat so much sourdough bread. I started painting rocks. I thought it might bring a smile or giggle to kiddos out and about. Multiplied by no parks, stay at home orders, etc., it seemed like a fun way to help get out the stir crazies. Beginning in March, it was a way to fill some time, be creative and get outside a bit.

I remember seeing cute little lady bug rocks out at my favorite trail – they’ve been there for years. The minions and I gathered up some good rocks at the beach and we started painting. One kid painted one, the other kid painting a few but lost interest. I however fell in love with it and have continued on painting little random images onto rocks and hiding them around our neighborhood. Many were inspired by the internet.

Some are better than others. A few are left in our own flower beds. Most I paint and then hide in random trees or by community mailboxes.

I love a good pun, much to my kids’ disgust. I love showing them my latest and them groaning and rolling their eyes at how corny their mother is. “Oh mom!” I don’t even care. It’s funny punny.

Our community has a Facebook group page and people started posting the found rocks with their kids’ smiling faces. My daughter was irritated that I didn’t speak up and post that it was our rocks that were found. “That’s part of the fun – not knowing who is doing it!” I explained. She disagreed. Oh well.

While out walking the dogs the latest artistic creation in one particular tree in front of a house that I know has a couple of littles. I quickly made my deposit last week and I hear the door swing open and I walked quickly away. A window slid open and the mom I regularly wave to as we drive by called out to me.

“He saw you! I couldn’t stop him!” I laughed and agreed that I was in fact busted. “Are you the one that has been painting these rocks?” She asked me. I smiled and said yes, it was me, but that I’d found some in my walks that were not ours – that others had started painting and hiding, too! She said she loved them and it gave them something to look forward to on their walks.

Today as I was finishing up painting a fresh batch, the hubby walked in holding a gift bag. Curious I asked him what it was.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “It was on the porch.” I opened it up and found a card and some acrylic paint pens!

I got teary as I read the card. I remember how hard deployment was with littles under normal circumstances, but with COVID19 on top of it, playgrounds unavailable, stay at home orders – Groundhog Day is likely an understatement. Painting these tiny canvases has been a fun escape but has reminded me of the importance of community. While we may be socially distancing, we still need each other. People need people.

And maybe just a little splash of art.

Human-ing

Everywhere we look we see signs of the virus, steps to prevent the spread and the inescapable ads and emails of every single company telling us ‘we are all in this together’. People wearing masks when out getting groceries. The lack of the need of gasoline for a car that spends days in the driveway. The stay at home orders have been for us inconvenient, but hardly a hardship. My heart breaks for the many that this is not the case.

While being at home, we’ve made crafts, continued our homeschooling curriculum and have gotten outside in some incredible Pacific Northwest weather days. As an introvert, I’m good most days. When chatting with my people, we all seem to have a wide range of emotions on any given day. Life is continuing on, but we are modifying. Some are no big deal, and then other days we are sloths trying to crawl through the hours that feel eternal. Time warps in quarantine. Some days are good, others feel yucky and every shade in between. In short, it’s been weird.

After 9 weeks of being at home, with the exception of the grocery store, I had a dentist appointment today. It felt odd knowing I actually had something scheduled on the calendar. What do I even wear? Should I leave early? (New dentist, unsure of exact location – duh. Google.) All the weird anxious thoughts I usually have at the dentist, plus mush for brains due to lack of normal socialization.

I carefully selected a shirt to go with a pair of capris. I picked out sandals. Every time I’m in the dentist’s chair looking at my feet I wish I’d put in some effort into making my feet look presentable. Or at the very least worn closed toed shoes. Not that the dentist cares, but in my head the dentist totally appraises each patient’s feet. Yes, it’s weird. Yes, I am aware that in reality they likely don’t give a rip. Yes, I have imagined the dentists and hygienists laughing at patients feet after a long day. You don’t think these bizarre thoughts and imagine crazy conversations? Hmmm, perhaps just me then.

With all of that rolling around my head, I shaved my legs. I clipped, filed and painted my toenails. I moisturized my legs and elbows.

For. the. dentist. I dressed up for the dentist. Okay, that’s a lot, even for me.

After sitting in the waiting room for a few moments, I was escorted back to my extra-sanitized chair. ‘Please do NOT act like a weirdo who hasn’t spoken to adults in real life in 9 weeks!’ I instructed myself. ‘Don’t be awkward!’

Fidgety and hoping I would be comfortable with the new dentist, I settled in and chatted with the hygienist who seemed quiet, reserved and…well, that is all I could tell from the eyes up. Having curly hair herself, we discussed the thing that all curlies discuss – products. It made us both relax. ‘I can do this, I am doing this,’ I cheered myself on silently. ‘You are human-ing!’

By the end of the cleaning and consult on work to be completed, the hygienist and I were agreeing that life felt hard and disjointed. The dentist told us of his started home improvement projects, and that since he was back to the office he’d now have to manage his time better than before to get everything finished. They hygienist laughed, admitting her pants were now tight after living in sweats for a month.

We’re all just out of whack. To varying degrees no doubt, but out of sorts nonetheless. It’s all just….odd. In the meantime, I have painted toes, shaved and moisturized legs, and of course, clean teeth to go with my quarantine brain.

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