It may be the longest week in the longest summer in the longest year that ever was. But now it’s over with the wonderful news that Finn has strep throat! This means we can return to the land of the living, or at the land of the semi-living. Or the land of the creatures who crawl along the shore.
Yesterday I found Clara in a heap on the kitchen floor. A box of crackers was organized in checkers fashion beside her. She apparently was so bored that she couldn’t even be bothered to stand to eat, sit to eat or indeed even eat the crackers. She just moved them around awhile before laying down to die. The day before that I found her asleep in the middle of the day on top of the washing machine. I’m not sure any of this characterizes living.
But now! Life is on the horizon again! Finn’s second COVID19 test of the month has come back and all signs point to strep throat. We will be going out to lunch at Bretton Woods today to celebrate, and Tatum already has plans in the works to see Sophia if the mamas allow it. We need to discuss last-week’s activities and long-term strategy first, of course. Since when did a simple sleepover become so complicated and have implications for what happens a week from now with someone completely unrelated? It’s kind of a hassle, to say the least.
But I’m thrilled to have a simple case of strep to manage medically, even if managing our social life is the equivalent of a quadratic equation. And bonus, Clara will eat sitting up today! In clothes that are not pajamas! This summer’s not SO bad.
It is a gift to have a getaway camp, even for a weekend, in these locked down times. Our getaway is Deep Creek, and we’ll take any invitation we get. So here we are for our second visit of the summer, trying to keep true to our summer traditions.
Now we just need some cousins! We’re getting closer. We were very happy to see Defibaugh kids. Aiden and Finn practically rafted down the mighty Mississippi before sneaking up on the girls, who were playing volleyball. They had no plan upon arrival and the girls could not have cared less, but planning the sneak attack provided an hour’s worth of entertainment for the boys.
And more cousins are soon in the picture, with Cody and Sean now Virginia neighbors! We will get to see them after two weeks.
Finn led us in a rousing game of Exploding Kittens tonight, Tatum keeps beating us at Anomia and Dad and Mary Ellen taught me a speed version of Bananagrams that was stressful, but the good kind. We have big skies, cold ice cream, boat rides, porch dinners and thunderstorms, what could actually be stressful? I can sleep in, not wear makeup or shoes, read an actual book and go on long walks with Dad here. Maybe it actually is summertime.
It was a little sad not to be able to go to Deep Creek for the Fourth, our cousin- and extended-family tradition from the last how many years. But given that we couldn’t, we made the best of it with a visit to our favorite river spot for an afternoon picnic and swim, and then back to the Potomac at nightfall to see the fireworks.
Our river spot has become a saving grace for the summer–open even when the pool is not, no reservation needed, masks not required. Following a wooded trail through a Boy Scouts campground and down to the tree where Pooh might live, we turn right and walk about 10 minutes, stepping over an occasional fallen log and stone-studded creek, and then we get to the secret sandy bank. It’s not completely secret, since we often find a troop of teenagers there, or a Spanish-speaking family enjoying the cool shade. We have our own diving board in the shape of a leaning tree, and lots of spaces for standing back flips and digging.
Yesterday, I was just about to fall asleep on the picnic blanket when I got whacked three times with a shovelful of dirt. That was the first surprise of the day. Bali was digging her way to Wuhan through the sand and I was on the receiving end of the dig. She has become an avid swimmer. She just loves it and is brave and gleeful for any stop to swim, just like the kids. I wonder if the current is strong but Hugh said it hasn’t been so far.
In the evening, we took our second picnic of the day to the Potomac, this time along the George Washing Parkway down past National Airport. We had a panoramic view of the river and fireworks all along the horizon, including the big official ones down to the left, just past the Capitol. On the right, the moon was breathtaking. It was orange, enormous and low in the sky, just over the water. It cast a long stream of orange light on the soft waves of the river, pointing right to our grassy spot by one of those willowy trees that I love.
It seemed to be shining a light on all of us in our colorful river of American humanity. We were surrounded by all kinds of neighbors, families that looked Mayan and Middle Eastern, a young Black couple on bikes, a Chinese young man and elderly man in lawn chairs, women in hijabs, others in saris, and lots in red, white and blue sparkly flag shirts. As Hamilton reminded us the night before, we’ve all been immigrants sometime.
Tatum got creative with street chalk and cake yesterday, expressing the kind of America she believes in through her art.
We got home late–I have to say, even sitting in traffic in the crush of humanity on a mild summer night listening to crickets and samba music off a party boat was kind of gratifying, like a pretend run at normal–and let Bali out for a walk. And there was my second surprise of the day: Kevin was sitting under the pergola, home after three weeks visiting Brooks. He drove halfway across the amber waves of grain to bring us peaches for the Fourth.
When things have been the crummiest for me in life, I like to retreat, into the woods if possible. I like the leafy green of the trails that feels like an umbrella and a hug at the same time. The solitude and space give me room to quiet my monkey mind and think, to pray, to listen and to let the jumbled flotsam settle into a carpet in my head. I have many layers of carpeting by now, which at least softens the sounds, even though the amount of junk whirling around up there seems to stay constant. I love my nature walks.
Yet. There are only so many nature walks a person can take. My children are openly rebelling at the mention of another walk. I cannot require one more walk from them, I’m pretty sure, without a midget revolution on my hands. There is only so much solitude (or family time) that should be required in life.
Coronavirus doesn’t seem to care about our solitude-to-socializing ratio. The last four months have given me even more reason than usual to think about what it means to be part of a community because so many aspects of community life have been taken away from us. We can’t go to birthday parties, graduation celebrations, the Strawberry Festival or even a simple dinner party. We can’t have sleepovers, go to church, class, the office, we can’t stay with our parents. Coronavirus has been completely unreasonable.
We are left with the floppy, two-dimensional life of online living. So how can we make the best of it?
When I led a preK-grade 12 learning center for refugees, it pained me when the 17-year-olds turned 18, and the center could no longer give them classes. Outsiders would say, “Yes, but there are so many courses online now, they can just take classes online.” What a neat and tidy solution. I couldn’t explain how unrealistic and sad it is for isolated people to be expected to learn and achieve at high levels…alone. It’s like rubbing salt on the wound to place them into settings with such massive invisibility and lack of support, accountability or celebrated achievements. Now the whole world knows how hard this is. No meaningful learning takes place outside of meaningful relationships.
There are an infinite number of interesting, useful, entertaining or self-improving pieces of content on the web, everything from Khan Academy videos on quadratic equations to self-guided tours of fabulous museums to the diversion of movies to beautiful sermons and transcending concerts. My children watch videos of their teachers teaching, I participate in webinars for work, I could in theory do four hours of online pilates a day, we listen to pastors who don’t know us give wise and important messages. No one on the other end of those productions, however, knows or cares if I’m there or my children are there.
I have been able to articulate in the last few months one thing that defines community for me: The people on the other end of the camera know if you’re there and follow up if you’re not.
In community, maybe the teaching isn’t world-class, maybe the sermon or music video isn’t star quality, maybe the local pilates teacher is little stiffer or less balanced than the nationally renowned instructor–but someone knows if I’m on the other end of the camera or not. Someone cares if my child shows up or not. Someone is interested not just is speaking at us but in hearing from us. Someone wants accountability from us and dialogue with us. They want our imperfect contributions and they don’t mind our mess: They don’t care about our bed-heads and cluttered backgrounds and fumbling for the unmute button. They don’t care about the numbers of participants on the call or webinar or meeting or the number of likes or shares of a posting; they care about us–me or my child or my family–showing up.
Community, whether in the two-dimensional or three-dimensional world, means showing up and being in messy relationships and knowing whether the other person is there and alright. It’s a good thing I had time for a nature walk to figure this out.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.”
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.
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.
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.
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!
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).
8. We’re in lockdown, but we snuck in a garden visit with Poppy.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
@theterrace 