@theterrace

Thievery, nothing short of old-fashioned thievery, took place right in front of that fountain. The setting: Elon University, Elon, North Carolina. The occasion: Emily’s graduation. The object of interest: The ice sculpture. Who would have done such a thing? There damnable deed demanded due process.

But that was in the past and in February, we came facing the future, one that envisioned Sophia and Tatum in college-stamped hoodies lugging laptops. Tatum’s verdict was a “probably not” and Sophia’s was a maybe enthusiastic “maybe.”

Now, the College of Charleston was a different story. It was of definite interest to both girls. Perhaps in part, Josie and I are to blame. We drove out to the marine biology lab and snuck in through the gated car park bars behind another visitor with a pass. We breathed in the smell of salt and marsh, ogled the shells, and felt like creative castaways. That was super fun.

The UNC schools were informative but not necessarily inviting, especially Wilmington, which Tatum claimed felt like a mental hospital. Um, no thanks?

However, we had a very nice stay in Wilmington with Noelle and Mica. Tatum even got up for our sunrise walk on the beach, although she also slept in the car after feeling the arctic sand under her bare toes. But the rest of us had fun. The night prior, we had laughed our way through dinner with Noelle’s mom and boyfriend, who were exactly as cool and funny as I have long imagined. Being a library professor at Appalachian State University who gets to take students overseas regularly sounds like a dream job.

Then it was time for Tatum’s delivery back to Staunton and Sophia’s first visit to Stuart Hall. We softened the blow by staying at Penmerryl Farm, with its startling stars and mint-loving equine residents. Our first college tour required some kind of restful element (for the mothers at least).

And as for who done it, the grandparents of course. Poppy and Grams stole the ice sculpture—it’s fate remains unknown, but I can assure you it’s not hidden in the attic.

Just seeing the photos makes you feel like you’ve stepped into an old-fashioned Santa Clause fairytale. Idaho in winter is feet of snow piled outside a handmade log cabin, sturdy and cozy against the arctic temperatures, a fire blazing inside and stockings hung with care.

The Biggar girls grew up visiting Granny O there, and we ogled the magical photos, wide eyed, from our bougainvillea-laced tropical patio in Jakarta, sweat beading on foreheads and backs.

So when snows piled up in Cabin John this January, I chucked the kids outside with sleds and a wave, vaguely promising tomato soup and popcorn upon return. It was only when they stomped feet in the foyer an hour later that I absorbed the Marley situation.

While my kids peeled off snow pants and duck boots, dropped wet beanies on the hardwood floor, and draped their Columbia coats on the coat tree, slender Marley stood shivering in her gray corduroys and kept her black puffy zipped to the neck.

“You okay, Moose? You look like you could use a full body burrito wrap,” I said.

“Yeah, I guess I’m just still adjusting to this east coast weather,” she replied. She took off her puffy to stand by the fire and I saw she was wearing…nothing but a crop top.

And it was then that I realized that Marley didn’t know about the art of wintering. I got her thermal long underwear, a silk long-sleeved undershirt, pure wool socks (no synthetics) with purple snowflakes, and waterproof gloves. I explained about layering, putting waterproof pants over the tops of boot rims, and keeping ears and heads warm.

“I guess I never knew that scarves were so functional. I just thought they were aesthetic,” she mused. The next day there had snowball fights and Bali leaped like an Idaho reindeer around them. They stayed outside for ages. Education is a many-dimensional, magical process.

It also bears repetition. The next day, Marley and Finn shoveled the walkway at Hampden Lane. Marlena was gloveless.

It must be in the blood, this feeling of being drawn to the vast expanse of California coastal blue views. At first I was disappointed that Tatum’s spring break in mid March didn’t align with Clara’s, Finn’s and Bridget’s at the end of March—we had planned to reprise the prior California college trip for these four—but now I’m so glad we had this trip with Tatum and the grandparents alone.

Truth be told, Tatum was understandably most excited about seeing her friends from Wingate Ella and Ainsley. Ella had a sleepover at Thornhill with us, then the girls collected guide friend Ainsley and they stayed a night in Santa Cruz. We got to see them for brunch in fairytale Carmel-by-the-Sea.

As excited as Tatum was to see her friends, I think Doug was to make a new friend in David Black. They bonded over toys: drones and a commercial-sized tv. And the love of good food and wine. In fairness, it was a spectacular situation for technology because a pod (?) of whales was playing just offshore and David captured the gliding and playing using his drone. Close ups on the tv made us feel like we could touch the whales.

It was my great pleasure to see Robin and David, to walk their magical morning walk with them along the creaking coast, to sleep in the Athens-Paris guest room, and learn about starting up start ups. They are already endeared to neighbors, I can tell.

Despite friend fun, college tours were also pretty fun or at least informative. Our first stop, naturally, was to see Justine at Cal Poly San Luis Obispo. Justine was glowing. She seems so happy there. I could tell by the fact that she tidied and vacuumed her room for us and by her wide smiles and warm hugs. She showed us coffee spots, a favorite building, and the koi pond. She has found or created the right school for herself, for sure.

But Tatum’s heart started to glow like the California sunshine with our stop at UC Santa Barbara. And who could blame her? It was beautiful, buzzing with an eclectic mix of surfer boys in flip flops with shaggy hair and groups of brown-skinned boys with Sikh styles to someone with a white lab coat. The latter was in the marine biology building which we walked through without invitation and learned how science students make jokes on bulletin boards: “What’s the difference between a dog and a marine biologist?”

Tatum also loved UC San Diego, which has a similar vibe, though maybe slightly more chill and less glittery than UCSB. Although it did house the Dr. Seuss library, an excellent selling point.

Pomona College, although vaguely interesting from a family history vantage point, was cold, quiet and dark on our visit, which dropped its star power considerably. We had the unfortunate luck to arrive on a cloudy day during spring break and a power outage. Regardless, the small size and lack of marine biology program render it less likely to make the top ten list anyway. But we did have a lovely lunch in the village, which Tatum much loved.

The answer: One wags a tail and the other tags a whale.

Tatum’s highlights: lunch at Pomona, an Italian restaurant in the village; sitting on the beach in La Jolla; walking around UC Santa Barbara with Mom.

It must be in the blood, this feeling of being drawn to the vast expanse of California coastal blue views. At first I was disappointed that Tatum’s spring break in mid March didn’t align with Clara’s, Finn’s and Bridget’s at the end of March—we had planned to reprise the prior California college trip these four—but now I’m so glad we had this trip with Tatum and the grandparents alone.

Truth be told, Tatum was understandably most excited about seeing her friends from Wingate Ella and Ainsley. Ella had a sleepover at Thornhill with us, then the girls collected guide friend Ainsley and they stayed a night in Santa Cruz. We got to see them for brunch in fairytale Carmel-by-the-Sea.

As excited as Tatum was to see her friends, I think Doug was equally so to make a new friend in David Black. They bonded over toys: drones and a commercial-sized tv. And the love of good food and wine. In fairness, it was a spectacular situation for technology because a pod (?) of whales was playing just offshore and David captured the gliding and playing using his drone. Close ups on the tv made us feel like we could touch the whales.

It was a huge pleasure for me to see Robin and David, to walk their magical morning walk with them along the cracking coast, to sleep in the Athens-Paris guest room, and learn about starting up start-ups. They are already endeared to neighbors and Robin’s starting to feel more like this is home.

Despite friend fun, college tours were also pretty fun or at least informative. Our first stop, naturally, was to see Justine at Cal Poly San Luis Obispo. Justine was glowing. She seems so happy there. I could tell by the fact that she tidied and vacuumed her room for us and by her wide smiles and warm hugs. She showed us coffee spots, a favorite building, and the koi pond. She has found or created the right school for herself, for sure. Justine and I had a moment in the SLO mission where we stepped into Mass in Spanish—beautiful.

Santa Barbara took the proverbial cake on the tour. The weather, the camps, people of all colors, head wrap styles, flip flop styles, the brownies at the buffet—all were pretty enticing. Best of all, we found the marine biology building and walked through it on our own, not seeing anyone, but seeing cool-looking labs with glass bottles, posters regarding specimen collection schedules, and nerdy science jokes. The building tour ended with the sea sparkling expansively in front of us. I think that pretty much closed the deal for UCSB to slide into the highest-wow slot. UCSD was a close second and for similar reasons. We are not sure whether out of staters have much chance at admissions though.

The visit to Pomona should have been amazing because Tatum had two generations of alum with her, in Goodnews and myself. But the Admissions office was closed, despite our scheduled information session; there was almost no one on campus; and, most strange, the sky was gray and cold. It was not only spring break, but also electrical work had unplugged the sockets, accounting for the lack of buzz. The dumpy weather was just unaccounted for.

But we made up it by showing Tatum a few favorite spots—she was intrigued by the story of the goat in the basement of Clark V—and an excellent Italian lunch in the village. Tatum found it interesting that Hollywood sometimes chooses Pomona to film supposedly east coast scenes; that Goodnews had a curfew even in college; and that my college boyfriend and I sent notes to each other by email, this invention that was new when I was in college. Ha ha. #feelingold.

On the personal side, we showed Tatum some of the family homes in Pasadena, which are not only still standing, but also are in beautiful condition in eye-popping neighborhoods. We saw Buppy’s first home; the sweet bungalow in which Nawny & Buppy lived and waltzed when first married; and Goodnews’s sometimes-home at her maternal grandparents’ house, the childhood home of Bama and Unc (Bernice and Robert Brush, children of Bama and Bampa). Mom/Goodnews lived there as a baby with her mother Nawny (Bernice Brush Wallace) when her father Buppy (Hugh Wallace) was away during WWII.

In addition to this claim to family fame, there is claim to public fame for the house on Bushnell Avenue. This is where Back to the Future was filmed. We meet the current owners, Jed and Jodi Reagan. (Jodi and I must have overlapped on the Hill, me working for Senator Kennedy and her for Senator Kerry.) They have 3 young boys and didn’t care a bit about an impromptu visit into their warm, messy house, which is still grand and gorgeous with original woodwork, stained glass and stair rails. The fish pond in back has been replaced by a small pool and Bampa’s workshop out back is now an au pair suite with high-end Keurig and Apple appliances.

What a gift, literally and figuratively, for Mom and Doug to be on this journey with us. Loved spending the glittering days and glowing sunsets with them, sharing Route 101 views and brunches, and trading off on car naps. Thank you, Mom and Doug!

I know it’s post season for a Christmas post, but I can’t let the moment go unnoticed. One of the most fun and funniest nights we’ve had all year was our December 16 Christmas Eve with Dad and Mary Ellen. We wanted to celebrate with them before leaving for France, so they came to our house to toast the season and gamely brought dinner so we could focus on final packing and wrapping.

And of course, when I say “gamely,” of course there was quite literally, a game. They brought in bag after brown paper bag, used and assorted from a variety of department stores and shops, and placed them not under the tree, but on the dining room table.

Christmas Eve dinner was a game of White Elephant. “Natch,” meaning naturally, to use my grandmother’s colloquialism. (I have to mention Grammy because her birthday was on Christmas Eve, and because she was indeed always game for something fun like this.)

So we each picked a number out of the proverbial hat—actually just a crumpled but clean brown paper bag brought for the occasion—and in that order, picked a bag seemingly from Macy’s, the Apple Store, or The Paper Source.

The first person to code was Tatum and her bag proffered a lovely looking Caesar salad with fresh croutons that had only spilled a little. Blitz then picked a random bag and found yummy looking orange beef and rice from a Chinese restaurant. She kept the beef.

Marley went next, saying, watch, I’m going to get a hot dog or something. And…bingo! Marley’s mystery bag held a rather cold hot dog from Costco.

Other bags held a gyro, other bonafide Chinese dishes, an entire pizza. It was hilarious! There was some swapping and stealing of preferred dishes, but people were mostly so excited to get their mystery dish that they kept their own. Marley kept the hot dog.

The best non-food gift was made by Clara, who found a box of loose photos in the basement storage room and made a collage for Poppy. It was a thrill to see photos from long and short ago. She’s super creative and loving.

And in other Christmas news, Rob won the contest. You know which one.

Aix…so many words and so little time. We had an aixcellent time, the food was aixemplary, and bring together for Christmas was a joy par aixcellance. Okay, great, thanks—I got that out of my system. Originally, Kevin and I had wanted to have the family visit Delhi for Christmas, but we couldn’t find affordable tickets over several months so we decided to meet in the middle, and Paris had the lowest ticket costs. That was not a hard sell! Then we decided it would be more fun with family and before you know it, it was a full family reunion in Provence.

It’s hard to capture this magical trip in a blog post. I might need more: One for the food alone! Or the art. Or the family time. But let’s start at the beginning, which was Christmas Day itself. Doug said it was one of his favorites ever.

For lunch, Doug provided three beautiful rotisserie roasted chickens—they are small, healthy and hormone free, plus we were feeding Finn plus eight other people—and Mom and I shopped and cooked for the side dishes, salads and baguette. And Mom got a work-of-art bouche de Noël from a patisserie around the corner. Entering it felt like entering an art gallery.

We exchanged presents in our spacious living room area and then kicked back with books, movies, coffees and naps. Just like home—only the windows opened onto boulevards with little French boys playing with new scooters, flower markets around the corner, and our favorite bistro where we dined for Christmas dinner. Mom’s French onion soup is better than theirs, but everything else was excellent. Kevin ate a lot of steak.

Finn’s favorite part of Christmas actually happened the night before, at the cathedral. It was beautiful, old and packed for midnight mass. We were spread across tiny wooden pews that has made guests sit up straight for centuries. Uncle Ron and Hugh, both tall and broad shouldered, could hardly turn in their pew across the aisle. Therefore, it was a rude surprise indeed when Uncle Ron got whacked on the head from behind. He couldn’t turn around to see why. Then it happened again. The most powerful time to laugh is when you’re not supposed to, obviously, and Finn got the laughs. He tried to be discreet, but when one tries to stop, the urge to laugh even more is stronger than will power.

And of course, it’s infectious. The girls, bored, were already fighting their own giggles, something to do with the shape of the chandelier bulbs. Tatum has turned to me three minutes into the mass and whispered, “Mom, everything’s in French.” The fight to be polite and awake—Mom and Doug were also fighting jet lag—was too much. We were probably not discreet when we left after an hour, but at least we could laugh freely in the cold, twinkly Christmas Eve air. And Uncle Ron could replace his hat to his head, that being the source of the whacking by program from the older gentleman who had been seated behind him. I don’t think Finn will ever forget the joy of seeing a grown up get in trouble so surprisingly.

The days were easy and light, at least for me. Kevin and Finn did an incredible hike over many miles in mountainous terrain with beautiful azure views. Finn decided to go for a dip, never mind the freezing cold temperature of water and air. That was a highlight for them both.

My water highlight came in Cassis, a small ocean-front town east of Marseille that had a beautiful beach. My favorite memory of the trip might be watching the kids play on the sand one night. On one side the black, soothing ocean; on the other, a modern light show projected onto ancient stone village townhouses in purples, greens and oranges. There were giant fish swimming across one minute and Ancient Greek motifs the next. Eventually hunger took over so we found a restaurant and ordered nothing but desserts for dinner.

What do you know about Cézanne? I can offer three interesting tidbits. First, for an artist as prolific as he, it’s incredible that he painted entirely from two spots only, the first being a one-room studio and the other being a grassy knoll with a long view just up the hill. Second, he painted some fabulous, huge paintings of women, as they all did in those years, yet he was too shy to use live models. He used a single wooden doll to serve as his only model for all those paintings. Third, his father wanted him to be a banker. May we all follow our own paths.

The week was not so much about tours though, as it was about sitting at cafés, eating, and watching movies. We all gathered around the tv each night and watched a French-themed movie: The Count of Monte Cristo (we then visited the island housing the Chateau d’If), the Pink Panther, Midnight in Paris, for example. They all provided funny or aixciting intergenerational entertainment. And now it’s time to make my aixit.

After years of staying put, and kind of going kaput, we traveled to Paris not once but twice within the year, within a month. (And I went to Pakistan too—a banner year, travel wise.) For the kids, it was their first trip overseas since returning from Indonesia. Paris provided a circle, being our launching pad to the States in the summer of 2018, and our landing point for Christmas 2023.

The weather was just right for France, moody and mostly misty, always overcast but never quite raining. That gave us plenty of opportunities to hole up for Belgian beer or chocolat chaud, depending. We walked a lot in spite of the weather, and one of our best days included all forms of public transportation. We separated near Sacre Coeur at noon with instructions to meet at the Eiffel Tower at 5.00. Hugh and Finn walked (to the tippy top of the Eiffel Tower); Heather took the bus; Kevin took an Uber from the office; and Clara and Tatum took the metro and got lost on the way, to their delight.

We all made it in time to board the tour boat on the Seine for sunset, a glass of wine and a sparkling Eiffel Tower. One of Tatum’s highlights from the trip was her first shower in our Montmartre apartment, from which we could see the Eiffel Tower glimmering in the low-hanging sun. We were situated directly across the street from Sacre Coeur, giving us an amazing view from the sofa.

Paris at Christmas is so glittery. We walked from the Musée d’Orsay through the Christmas market at the Tuileries Gardens (catching a few amusement park rides and a winter picnic along the way), to the showy shops along the Champs Elysée. “Are those real?” Finn asked, seeing the Gucci, Dior, and Galeries Lafayette store windows. The winter window art reminded me of Saks Fifth Avenue at Christmas, all magical landscapes for the imagination.

One of our most fun evenings was much more down home, when the kids ate take out at the new home of Oscar and Elsie, good friends from our Jakarta group who moved to the area near the World Bank office and the Arc de Triomphe in August. After kir and cocktails, Kevin and I ate out with Tash and Andy and remarked on the absurdity of finding it easier to get together in Paris than in DC, where working and schooling a few miles away makes regular get togethers difficult. (We sprout and worked at their house upon arrival.)

We missed Brooks so much, and had even picked the charming Montmartre area because we thought he would love it, having never been to Paris or Europe before; but he had the opportunity to get cataract surgery and of course had to take it. But we did get to meet up with Hugh, since he just completed his teaching program in Edinburgh—so that was fantastic. Especially since we had to update our photo in front of Versailles. It’s been a minute since we’ve been there, maybe about 40 years.

Clara’s highlight of the visit to vanity-making Versailles occurred in the spectacular Hall of Mirrors. They were secretly following some cute guys, but then they realized they were not as secret as they thought. Tatum tried to hastily make her egress, caught her purse on a door handle and tripped. Discretion went out the gilded window. My favorite thing about Versailles was seeing a gorgeous dresser in Princess Adelaide’s room and discovering it was actually a commode.

The last important thing to note about Paris was Finn’s highlight, which was “eating food.” No food in particular, just all of it. It worked out well for all because we rarely finished our dinners and he rarely didn’t finish them for us. Parfait. But he didn’t touch the escargot, which Tatum not infrequently ordered. The warm chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream was also a regular order. It’s a good thing we were on the sixth floor of the building at the top of many steps up the Mont of the Martre.

Getting Finn to celebrate Finn is a quixotic climb. Even getting him to acknowledge he was born is challenging. He continues to be modest, to say the least, and anti attention. So we mainly celebrated the 15th birthday with a low-key family affair. Tatum couldn’t be there because of school but joined by phone. Kevin was still in town for the autumn-winter interlude, so that was lucky; and of course Poppy, Grams and Blitz are always up for a celebration and a chance to cheer on Finn. Also, great luck, our friend Noelle from Jakarta via North Carolina, was visiting.

Finn is a hard one to shop for gift wise because he’s very minimalist. The best gift I could have given him would have too been to clean out the kitchen junk drawer—the only thing we argue about is whether we actually need two spatulas when we could get by with one—but I don’t have it in me. So I got him the next best thing I could think of: a large recycling bin. He not infrequently goes into the woods of his own accord to pick up broken glass and other recycling. Thankfully, he loved it. He loved Blitz’s harmonica more (Clara loves it less).

On the other hand, Finn is not hard to feed, in the sense that the boy likes to eat. It’s not hard to find food he’ll appreciate. The quantities are occasionally a problem to keep up with. In honor of his love of all things pure, he had a vanilla cake with vanilla icing—and cherry chocolate chip Hagen Daaz.

After some coaxing, he did eventually agree to all a couple of friends to see a movie at the mall with him a few nights later—but they were not to know it was in honor of his birthday. Matthew, Finn Sullivan and Finn saw the 1980s classic “Die Hard,” which I had the joy of sitting through as well because teens are not allowed to see an R rated movie without an adult. I tried to be as inconspicuous as possible and sat in the farthest possible seat.

He’s getting better every day at jump roping and is getting excellent feedback from teachers about his performance at school. He found the first book he loves (aside from Dairy of a Wimpy Kid), called “Can’t Hurt Me,” a memoir by David Goggins. He’s most favorite creature on earth remains Bali. He is hard working, disciplined, responsible, kind, minimalist, fun and occccccasionally aggravated by those less so than him (i.e., Clara and me). He’s 15 and focused.

Clara turned 15! Theoretically, anyway, since we have continued the tradition of giving each twin a birthday that does not compete with the other’s or Jesus‘s cake day—so Clara’s birthday this year was on December 1.

With besties Georgette and Marley, we had some fine dining at the famous Martin’s Tavern in Georgetown, staying warm and dry on the patio with the help of heaters. There was discussion and speculation about JFK’s proposal to Jackie there a few decades ago. I also feel connected because Senator Kennedy had his own facto favorite spot in the restaurant.

She wanted to have her hair highlighted as her birthday gift, so she went to a salon—just like when she turned six!—and at first she loved it but then it turned into Angry Penguin, as displayed in her kitchen art. Overall, though was a joyful juvenile.

She is doing well in her classes but doesn’t like school very much. She has a shoulder injury that requires rehab, so she’s low key on her tennis and lacrosse practices these days. She asks a lot of questions—again, a lot of “why?” questions, just like when she was 6!—but with more gusto these days. Favorite clothes include slippers, pajamas, baggy jeans or sweatpants, hoodies (hood pulled up half the time to cover the despicable hair), and small earrings. Poppy always makes her laugh. She loves to create a vibe in her room with candles and essential oils and music, dislikes being in photos, and is very excited about going to France for Christmas. She probably mostly looks forward to being 16.

I haven’t posted in such a long time, and I’ve been trying to plumb my little spirit to figure out why. Perhaps the combination of adolescent outrage at uncurated photos and news about them shared; a sense that the inside of my mind is like a swirl cone from the rundown boardwalk ice cream shop and sometimes I can’t think straight; living back on plain old home territory rather than a novel overseas landscape; when I’m working, it’s impossible to find space in the day or night to think another thought, even one as small as a half paragraph; and having quick ways to share news and photos on my phone ensure I have a lifeline to my parents, daughter and loved ones already…these obstacles conspire to stop me from pausing to gather my thoughts and share them. I need to seat myself in a mindful-moment corner and stay put. However, sharing the inside of the melting swirl cone may be a reckless idea because I can no longer provide any quality assurance.

Regardless, the end of the year always provides a good nudge to pause, reflect and look foward. So in that spirit, I will try to take stock of this year in this and a few subsequent posts, sharing events and changes to our lives in no particular order. I’m reading “Junkshop Window,” a collection of essays by family friend James Patterson, and love the idea of pulling out the junk, dusting it off and seeing whether any of the rubble might be treasure–or might be considered treasure later. I see my kids pouring over our printed collection of old posts from when they were little to reconstruct disappearing memories and construct their identities. Maybe a sporadic review of the year through a rear view window will help them remember this transitional year.

A key transition for all three of our pigs, as their aunt and uncle presciently called Tatum, Finn and Clara, was the move to new schools. Naturally, they continue in three different schools just to vex their mother. Boutique school shopping…it’s appalling, but here we are. It’s like it’s as ordinary as deciding between cheese grits, heuvos rancheros or yogurt parfait for breakfast. I can’t believe we became one of those families. For the record, we never intended that, it just kind of unfolded that way.

It seems like two of three of the pigs are happy in their boutique mud, metaphorically speaking, and one less so. Tatum is in 11th grade at a boarding school a couple hours from home, close enough to have overnight or weekend stays and far enough to have all the independence and social time that boarding school provides, which is fabulous. There’s a high proportion of international students at the school, including a roommate from Gautemala, and that makes us all feel right at home. Tatum has a pretty serious courseload included pre-calc, physics and AP world history, and it seems to suit her well. She’s on the volleyball team and I’m grateful I’m not required to drive her to Connecticut or Calcutta for games, like some of my friends have to do.

Finn continues at his small private school but moved from the middle to the upper school, which brings new responsibilities and freedoms. New responsibilities include more demand for time management and self-advocacy skills; new freedoms include a more infrequent requirement to be in school uniform. Homecoming this weekend shines a light on the hilarious, painful awkwardness of uneven maturity levels at the start of high school. Some kids are not ready to go at all–why stand around in too-tight dress shoes when you could be watching a Marvel movie at home with popcorn at the ready?–some are going with a date, and some are going in the amorphous pack that provides the cover of anonymity. It’s good to see the kids don suits and dresses, usually reserved only for Bar Mitzvahs or Christmas Eve services.

Clara and her friends tend to wear sweats and slippers to school, the opposite of getting dressed up. Yes, slippers. It seems that in the post-COVID era, many adults are just so surprised and happy to see teenagers standing upright and in public that all pretense of a dress code is being politely overlooked. It’s slightly disconcerting that Clara think that’s something more than pajama pants is getting “dressed up” for church. However, the public school system’s shrug at the pajama pants and slippers approach is better than the “you’re good as long as you’re genitals are covered” approach of Tatum’s previous private school. (For the record, by slippers, I mean extremely overpriced Uggs, which are the status symbol of choice in this high-end catchment area. We balance this with nothing by thrift shop clothes from ankle to head.) Clara is getting almost all As, math being a small exception, and has plenty of friends, but I have never once heard her be glad to go to school, alas. She would rather clean the bathrooms while dressed up than go to school, it seems.

Having three high schoolers is a new chapter indeed. I would take it over three middle schoolers any day of the week, even as a slightly embassed boutique school shopper.