@theterrace

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.

Living in group quarantine is doable. Here’s what’s working for us.

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The neighborhood feels quieter than it did even a week ago. People are more cautious, more afraid. But no matter how seriously you take this, you have to laugh when you see certain things. “You laugh, but you will see,” said Hugh.

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We are grateful to have a yard, that’s for sure. And a trampoline. Kevin has been on the trampoline (thanks Brooks!) twice this week, winded after 5 minutes. We have to be creative with our exercise these days.

We’re also trying more online activities, including YouTube yoga, chess.com for Poppy and Finn, online piano lessons and gymnastics practice, morning group sessions for Finn, and online youth group and livestreamed church. And creative selfies take awhile.

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We are grateful for the puppy, but she has started chasing toilet paper. Not the precious toilet paper, anything but the toilet paper!

There are plenty of creative fun and weird moments to be had, and all the less fun moments, well, they just don’t get captured on camera.

Three months ago, I had one of my favorite outings ever. Dad, Mary Ellen, Josie and I attended My Fair Lady at the Kennedy Center. It was one of my favorite outings because it is one of my favorite performances and Dad’s, and we got to see it with him upright, wearing snappy shoes, on the red carpet, as it were… not on a screen in a hospital bed. It was a fabulous performance and an elegant evening.

Two months ago, Finn and I joined the O’Learys and Habtus in a Canaan Valley caravan to take on the slopes of West Virginia. It was beautiful sliding down the crystalline powder under the exuberant blue skies, and the boys had their snowball fights, oblivious to the moody clouds. It was cozy playing games in front of the fireplace and talking at the kitchen table until 1 am.

Last month, we ventured to Deep Creek for some cottage time, if not lake time. We went to the movie theater, ate at Unos with Craig and Diane, played games with Poppy and Grams and the kids had a blast sledding at Wisp while Hugh and I drank hot cocoa.

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A couple of weeks ago, I was at Bannockburn leading the kaoroke table, we were out grocery shopping, and we blithely chatted with friends on the street.

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And now we’re living in Crazy Time. Coronavirus has hit like a ton of bricks. The U.S. has bungled the overall management of it in some ways– although it is incredibly complicated balancing health and economic worries–and over 1,000 Americans have died. (Gov. Hogan of Maryland has done a great job, though.) Basic necessities are in short supply. Kevin bought a 50-pound bag of flour, which gave us lots of laughs, but I have already distributed about 6 10-cup bags of flour to friends and family. (He also bought a 2-pound bag of chia seeds, but no one is asking…)

The six of us Chez Tomlinson are doing pretty well. We are thankful no one is ill, minus Clara, who has ongoing headaches and stomach aches–mercifully not the coughing and fever of COVID19. During the week, we have a semi-functioning routine for the children to keep up with academics in the morning and there’s nothing but free time in the afternoon. There are chores and 30 minutes of PE required, but there’s probably too much screen too. Oh well.

Some of my friends have wonderful home-school routines set up from 9 am to 4 pm. They do Khan Academy math and literature reviews and play beach in the basement. Meanwhile, in my house, Tatum is trying to put mascara on the dog, Finn is learning how to create a booby trap waterfall above the door, and Clara is eating frosting out of a plastic tub.

Kevin, Hugh and I are trying to co-work, squeezing into bedrooms and basement corners and possibly the laundry room and overtaking the kitchen table and porch as needed. I am so grateful for a spacious house and yard.

Finn just asked, “When is coronavirus going to be over?” We all wish we knew. Be well, loved ones. “Stay healthy, stay home,” as the post office clerk told me.

I feel a well of anger. I have not used my voice for a multitude of reasons…I don’t know where to post, who I’m even speaking to, I don’t want to offend. But I feel sick. I open the paper and I see headlines and read about issues that are so deeply wrong. I don’t care what political party one belongs to, people know what’s right and what’s not. Here’s a headline for us this morning: “Apart for nearly a third of her life after border separation.” Maria, in Gautemala, gets to see her third grade daughter in Florida only on a phone camera. They talk every afternoon, and they hang up and they cry. Find some human being with a heart who can tell me this is an acceptable outcome because that mother wanted a better life for her daughter.

Here’s another headline for us this morning: “4 Democratic senators help reject ban on sale of assault-style weapons.” What is wrong with people? I feel so angry. There is no reason anyone not in the military needs an assault-style weapon. Don’t tell me that’s infringing on people’s rights. No one should have the right to kill without pause at a moment’s whim in a civilized society. And whoever looks back to the Constitution and lays claim to unending rights should buy their neighbor a tank or give their enemy a nuclear weapon. I am no Constitutional scholar, but even a cursory understanding of the historical context of the second amendment opens bare the need for a collective protective element when the nation had no federal army. There is no way the rational writers of that document–meant to be a living, breathing document–could have foreseen nor would have condoned any and every random person being able to kill as many neighbors or strangers as they liked on a whim. That is completely illogical, and the irrational stranglehold on such a sick idea is devastating to our country.

Here’s another thing that’s making me ill this week. We all look with curiosity at Michael Bloomberg entering the election race. He seems to be saying some good things, he seems like an interesting and viable counter to the immature, self-centered, destructive force of President Trump. I was hopeful that he would be worth considering. Then I learn about him saying this about his role as a salesman: “Do you want to f***? He gets turned down a lot–but he gets f***d a lot too!” Or this, said to his colleagues: “[Computers] will do everything, including give you [oral sex]. I guess that puts a lot of you girls out of business.” I am embarrassed and angry to even have to write that in my own blog, much less that it can be read on the front page of a newspaper by my 12-year-old daughter. I am so angry. I am furious.

People in power need to stop trampling on people who are not in power. Legislators need to start making laws that respect the humanity and dignity and worthiness to live that we are born with. Executives need to stop devouring power and trying to grab more by ignoring the boundaries of checks and balances; and those at the head of branches of government need to use their muscle to preserve those boundaries.

I know some might say that these headlines or quotes are biased because of the paper they are in printed in–all media is determined to be politically skewed now–but I disagree that they are irrelevant or worth dismissing because of the name Washington Post at the top of the paper. The same would be true of the Wall Street Journal or any other news outlet with integrity. If we read them, learn things and listen to people, we can build bridges so that we can understand each other and make decisions that make sense, and work hard and humbly to lift other people up, not kill their relationships, their dignity or their bodies. I am so angry. I wish I knew what to do to make things better. I know that at least trying to find my voice is a start, even if I’m only talking to myself and possibly my mother.