@theterrace

What’s that expression, “The days are long and the years are fast?” It is wild to think we have three middle schoolers in the house all of a sudden. Finn and Clara celebrated their 5th grade promotion on June 13, after the weirdest year ever. True to form, the celebration was unique. There was a car parade through the Bannockburn school neighborhood, followed by a parking lot/grassy hill outdoor gathering last Saturday. It was surprisingly moving for me. Finn loved the parade, while Clara was mildly mortified. They received sweet photo memory books and personalized m&ms and their first diplomas. And suddenly our elementary school years are over.

On Clara’s memory and dreams slide, she wrote:
My favorite memory from my Bannockburn was probably making terrariums/ecosystems with Ms. Nam in fourth grade. It was super cool because we actually put living creatures in them.

Maybe I could end up being some sort of chef or restaurant owner. (I also love animals, so I wouldn’t mind working at a shelter). 

On Finn’s slide, he wrote:
My favorite memory at Bannockburn:
Is in fourth grade, when Mr. Leyva was dancing on top of the table. 

My hope and dream for the future is:
To be more like my uncle and to be wiser and to play sports.

In the era of COVID-19, surviving is hard enough.

Yesterday, it felt like we went from sweatshirts and fuzzy socks in the morning to, “Moooommm, my room is so hot, can’t we turn on the air condition?” by late afternoon. The heat made everyone crabby. One child was quick to tantrum over misunderstood homework, another picked fights with her brother, the third turned pro in dart shooting with her eyes. I wanted to shred the leftover loner socks who seemed to mock me with their unwillingness to be paired and put tidily away.

Luckily, Uncle Hugh served as a peacemaker by nodding sympathetically to our stories of woe and driving the children to Bethesda Row for take-out frozen yogurt.  Our “problems” were small and fixed by a small gesture.  I was grateful for the peace it brought. 

But there are small problems and there are big problems, right?  And regardless of the size of the problem, what’s the right approach?  Sometimes I struggle with knowing when to be a peacemaker and when to get angry.

Jesus showed us both sides of that coin. He showed us how to bring unexpected protectiveness and mercy into relationships when he spoke up on behalf of Mary Magdalene, challenging anyone in a haranguing crowd to parade their perfect record of behavior in comparison to Mary’s imperfection. By holding up a mirror, so to speak, Jesus brought peace in the crowd, Mary’s transformation and our own heads bowed in awareness of our shameful behaviors.

But what about when there is no transformation, only continued wrongs; when there are no heads bowed in shame, only defiance and increased threats of violence? And I’m not talking about hitting one’s brother. When Jesus entered a temple and found it had been converted into a “den of robbers,” he got angry. He flipped over tables.

After reading the news about George Floyd being killed by a white policeman, I wish someone powerful would flip over tables. I know I want to, especially after hearing stories from friends of mine like Jen about living as a brown woman in the United States. COVID-19 is just the latest terror for her to navigate while raising her family in an often hostile country for black and brown people.

Her teenage son, for instance, hopes to go from the Maryland suburbs to the beach for a couple of days with friends, which is a tradition in these parts when the school year ends. “My husband is having conversations with our son about how to behave, how to survive, how to come back home,” Jen said. Jen’s daughter, in elementary school, has been sent contorted photos of herself made grotesquely ugly with a caption, “hey sexy.” Jen is exhausted, depleted, sad and scared.

Such cruelty to blameless little girls, such everyday threats to our young people and fatal violence to our neighbors—these are big problems that are worthy of being angry about. What would Jesus’ response be after flipping over the tables on these realities? I don’t know. But I do know that every mom brown, black, yellow, white or purple, deserves the chance to be mad at nothing more than lost socks and the chance to earn a little peace by getting fro-yo without feeling in danger along the way.

It is a mixed up time for sure. I tried to think “safety first” in how to get off the beaten path for Memorial Day weekend. The original beaten path is The Loop, as we call it, the circular walk through our neighborhood. Another beaten path is The Trail, which meanders through the woods and by the creek before delivering us politely to Clara Barton playground. We love these and our other beaten paths, but we thought in an effort to welcome summer enthusiastically we could find a new trail. It would get us moving and boost our mental health immunity.

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Hugh, Josie and I decided on Kent Island, just on the other end of the Bay Bridge on the Eastern Shore. Terrapin Nature Park has a trail along the beach and through the woods. (Unfortunately to grandmother’s house it does not go.) It was wonderful.

The children did notice there was something slightly different about this beach as compared to, say, a Bali beach. Maybe it was the 20 degree cooler weather, the big Bay Bridge in the background or the smaller strip of sand. Finn lamented the lack of waves. But still – a beach! A small thrill. The children found a small bridge to jump off of, which gave Hugh just enough time to read the Post.

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Bali was in dog heaven, digging her way to China, no passport or mask considered. She got away from us at one point and enthusiastically jumped on a man down the beach who was lounging half asleep against a log. Luckily he just laughed.

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And the walk was woodsy-marshy and great for chatting with our friends. We slipped on masks when people came by but there weren’t too many. We and the Hathways are in each other’s bubbles, but still, we traveled in different cars. We wanted to explore historic Stevensville, but the second most interesting thing we found was a sign for “blowfish racing.”

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The most interesting thing we found was Rita’s Italian Ice, our drop off point for food and book donations for some newcomer Guatemalan families living in Sudlersville. Rita’s has gelati: italian ice plus frozen custard. Tatum had mango ice and vanilla custard, Clara had blue raspberry ice and strawberry custard, and Finn had vanilla custard with chocolate sprinkles. We sat on the grass in the shade and sunshine, surrounded by American flags, and it felt like Memorial Day.

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But now I’m a little anxious, wondering if we shouldn’t have left home. Maybe we should have stayed on the paths we knew. Parenting is fraught with new decisions these days.

Here are thirteen things to know about Tatum’s birthday.

13. She made her own birthday cake, checkered with green and white squares across two rounds. I have no idea how she did that, but it was cool. She wanted to make yellow fondant icing but I couldn’t find gelatin on the empty shelves at Giant.

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12. We’re living in the time of COVID-19 and therefore quarantined, or “quaranteened” as Sophia and Georgie put it. New virus, new hair style.

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11. She was woken up to the sound of a trumpet blaring from our bushes. This reminds me of Dad blasting the Hallelujia Chorus to wake us up as teenagers. Georgie’s version was less aromatic to the ears but definitely produced happy gawks from passers by and giggling from all the embarrassed and gleeful kids. The Hathways also put up an orange HAPPY BIRTHDAY TATUM sign on popsicle sticks in the yard. So creative!

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10. To find her presents, I put together a scavenger hunt with ridiculous riddles, like this:

When you turned 10, you got bubble gum tea, two holes in your ears, and time with kitties.

Now that you’re 13, you have a new dog, you still like cats, and you can sleep in like a log.

So go look in a place where you get very cozy

On lucky-day sleepovers where toes get frozy.

9. Presents included a translucent starry phone cover (Uncle Hugh), a purple seahorse t-shirt (Baba), coupons for bubble tea (Finn), acrylic paints (Mom and Dad), all-white (trendy but ack) Nike sneakers (Goodnews), Smithsonian Magazine (Grandoug), a sewing book and Quality Street chocolates (Poppy & Grams), a star choker and starlights for her room (Clara), money (Morrisons, Baba, Goodnews), a hot water bottle wearing a sweater (Mom), overpriced Lululemon leggings (Mom and Dad), and super-desired Airpods (Uncle Brooks and Aunt Kathy).

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8. We’re in lockdown, but we snuck in a garden visit with Poppy.

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7. Tatum got surprise deliveries of Cinnabon from Mom and flowers and balloons from Uncle Brooks and Presley.

6. Her neighbor Jessica made a colorful HAPPY BIRTHDAY TATUM sign for our front door.

7. We went to the beach. It was just off of Rockville Pike near Poppy’s old office, but the chichi Pike & Rose fairly transported us to Rehoboth with it’s painted-fence ocean and sandy set up.

5. Did I mention we’re still in lockdown? We had a parking lot play date.

4. Tatum got birthday videos and messages from the world over. She got virtual hugs from long-lost JIS friends to her church buddy here to beloved cousins and kin to staff from Jakarta. She got a little teary eyed. We all did.

3. Her request for dinner was salad (Sweetgreens take-out) and chips (Doritos). Doritos are only allowed in our house on birthdays due to palm oil restrictions from Finn.

2. Tatum is sweeter and more affectionate than ever. I think not going to school suits her spiritual well-being, if not her academic progress. She continues her creative pursuits, making hand-sewn clothes for Clara’s doll and losing time in her painting and new interest in chalk art. Neighbors are impressed by her back flips, aerials and back round offs in the yard, and she continues her gymnastics conditioning virtually. The friends she mainly spends socially distant time with right now are Sophia (BFF), Luli, Andrea, Caroline, Rachel and Emma.

1. The day after her birthday, she doubled pierced her ear with a needle, ice and an apple core. She is grounded (obvi). I guess she’s 13.

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I am so glad the kids are not too old for Easter egg hunts, and I’m so glad the Easter Bunny was granted permission for essential travel. The kids had a blast looking high and low for the eggs, although actually only two of them were excited about it. I guess between 11 and 12, there’s an age divide because Tatum was too cool for school when it came to looking for eggs this year. But she did design the eggs and color in a door sign for us. And she made some sweet cake pops.

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We had a really nice lunch–Kevin made a North African egg and tomatoes dish and I brought the raspberries and cream and hot cross buns–and classic dinner with ham, scalloped potatoes and garlic roasted asparagus. We delivered Easter/coronavirus gift bags, which felt edgy and bold in these days on quaranteam. Another bit of essential travel.

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But our favorite part of the day was a garden party in Dad’s front yard. We gathered distantly across a card table and watched Tatum do back flips in the sunshine. The kids scrambled (ha ha) over each other to find the eggs Dad and Mary Ellen had decorated and hidden for them. We watched Bali try to catch birds and do fat furry little tumbles. We watched strollers-by smile at Poppy’s tree, now decorated like a priest with a patriotic mask. Dad served tea and tangerine lemonade and a lady-finger fruit tart and it felt like Easter.

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Bali is the sweetest dog that ever did live. She can be a little spark plug, as Kevin says, but mostly she is sugar and spice and everything nice.

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Her birthday was January 20, and we brought her home at just shy of 8 weeks old, a little early due to the start of Crazy Time. Because we are friends with her previous humans, we got to see her as a newborn too.

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There couldn’t have a better time to bring home a puppy. She is already a service dog: part entertainment, part responsibility training, part therapy.

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Bali always did come through for the hard times.

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Bali is the sweetest dog that ever did live. She can be a little spark plug, as Kevin says, but mostly she is sugar and spice and everything nice.

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Her birthday was January 20 and we brought her home at about 8 weeks, a little early because of Crazy Time. Her previous humans are friends of ours, so we got to visit her as a newborn.

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We could not have timed it better. Every family needs a puppy in quarantine. It’s a great survival strategy–part distraction, part therapy. Yay Bali.

This dog is so sweet. She’s a little spark plug at times, but mostly she’s just sugar and spice and everything nice.

She’s the classic pandemic puppy. Although I had ordered her from the catalog of perfect dogs through my friend Jacque the vet as a surprise Christmas gift to the family, who had been begging me for months for another dog, we couldn’t receive her until she was born into the world and then weaned from her mother. Her mother Ginger is the epitome of a sweet, calm, well-behaved golden retriever, so I was willing to bank on our pup being an apple close to the Ginger tree.

We got a text from Jacque on March 17 that she was close enough to weaned to come get her before their home and the world closed shop on March 20…so we did. We picked up our little Bali the next day, when we could still practically put her entire little furball body in the palm of our hands, and made the short but life-changing drive home across the historic one-lane bridge.

We welcomed Bali into our home and hearts. Even when she unspooled miles of toilet paper during the national toilet paper shortage, we loved her with unguarded delight. She was and is our playmate, therapy dog, distraction and exercise partner all day long. And for a few more months, all night long too.

Her soft curls spring and bob with each wail as the 4-year-old Australian girl learns that all of her favorite restaurants are closed–the Chinese place, MacDonald’s, Nandos. All that’s left to eat now is Mummy’s cooking. Messy sobs everywhere. This is what I just watched on a shared video from a friend, and what can we say? Some griefs are universal. I could use a good bowl of Mom’s boeuf bourguignon right now.

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Oh, but wait…I’m getting Dad and Mary Ellen’s awesome shepherd’s pie and fresh-made sesame bread and spinach salad. Twice a week, they are making dinner for us. I think, all global evidence to the contrary, I am supposed to be cooking and helping my parents, not the other way around. But there you go. I need all the help I can get! (Hugh and I do the grocery shopping, so that’s a pretty good system for the spring of 2020.)

There’s the digital divide, income equality, the North-South divide, and now there’s the parent divide. There are those without kids in the house who are taking these unexpected quarantined days to journal, take up yoga, clean out the garage, binge watch Netflix or start applying moisturizer.

Then there are those with kids in the house.

Working, parenting and homeschooling are three different jobs. Parenting in itself encompasses about 24 different jobs: financial provider, social scheduler, discipline cop, pastor and mentor, cheerleader, safety instructor, keeper of the cultural traditions and values, chauffeur, cook, house cleaner, housekeeper, chore manager, room inspector, party planner, Santa, tooth fairy, etc. To add teacher on top of that seems mildly or grossly disrespectful to teachers (and parents!). To add productivity as a full-time employee into the same day is only possible if you pretend the other two jobs don’t exist.

If it takes a village to raise a child and your village is taken away, all you are left with is a wobbly two-legged stool to stand on. Good luck with that! I wish I had some moisturizer.