She’s only left our house 3 times in 6 weeks

Elsa Jane’s one in a million.

She’s super social and loves her friends fiercely.  But she’s pretty content sticking close by home and family.

Last night, as I tucked her into bed she whispered to me.

All her REALLY important thoughts she whispers to me before sleep.

It was simple, sweet and sad, but not an ounce of a feisty declaration she sometimes makes.  Ok often makes.

“I miss my friends.”  She whispered in her still sweet little girl voice.

She’s been talking about elaborate care packages for her two besties.

So today while everyone else was occupied (Sarina physically distantly making up a virtual cheer try-our routine for high school cheer tryouts, Mark & Carl weight lifting, Charlie playing xbox with cousins or buddies) I took her to Island Market to pick out a couple of goodies for her care packages.

On the way she wondered aloud if everyone would be wearing masks.

I realized that while I’ve had to go to work a couple of times and shop for food, she’s been cocooned at home.  She’s left to drive to the fire station to pick up something Mark had forgotten but didn’t get out of the car, delivered rocks she painted for her grandma Chica and Nona and grandpa for Easter then this outing.

No stores or strangers.  She hasn’t seen for herself everyone week g masks and gloves.  The fear and compliance side by side.  The crazy sneeze guards protecting the checkers.  The whole science fiction reality out there.

She’s been home plugging away at schoolwork, Zoom classes with teachers, art journaling, reading, watching Gilmore Girls, Outlander, doing puzzles, practicing basketball, baking, letting me talk her into trying on Sarina’s freshman year homecoming dress.

Being a normal 11 almost 12 year old girl in crazy times.

18 and on the Cusp of Freedom

18 and on the cusp of freedom finds us here.  She should be preparing for graduation, whiling hours away with her buddies, getting a job, preparing for college cheer tryouts, shopping for her dorm room.  Yet here we are.  I’m her only option for a running partner and I’m trying my hardest to keep up.  Selfishly I’m enjoying this time with our family.  Yet my heart aches watching all that she longs for.  (This was my Facebook post from March 22, 2020-we continue to run 5 miles 3x a week and will start adding a mile each Friday to do the Capital City Virtual half marathon).

It’s the abrupt finality of it all.  No winding down.  No countdown to the last few days walking the halls that at first felt so big and foreign at age 14, now so familiar they can be navigated with eyes closed.  Halls that now feel like home.  Where so many emotions, feelings, experiences, lessons in and out of the classroom we’re felt, learned, experienced, lived.

Today, after gathering in a car corral (assuming they kept proper social distances) they agreed its the little things they miss, like driving to school.  18 year old kids shouldn’t have to miss driving to school.

Last night she was dreaming of a second prom dress.  A gorgeous emerald green dress.  Naively thinking she might still get a prom.

Friday, April 6, 2020 at 2:30pm, Governor Inslee announced no students in k-12 grades in Washington will return to their classrooms for the remainder of the year.  After a tearful FaceTime with my favorite teacher friend I went to the backyard to find Sarina.  I hugged her as she cried and she asked if she’ll get a graduation.  I didn’t have a real answer.  My best guess was if not, they’ll come up with something amazing.

This is how I found her. She was beginning a painting, the popular stylized Japanese wave.  It looks like a tidal wave.  Kind of how things feel right now, like a massive tidal wave looming above us, beautiful and terrifying all at the same time.

This is a discarded art project I found.  I love the message, and hope they remember it.

And this was my letter to seniors I posted to Facebook today.  While we feel the sharp pants of loss, I hope they can see the gifts this time may give them.

Dear class of 2020:

I believe that this class, the class of 2020, 

is destined for greatness.  

A typical senior year must not have been right for you, because you are EXTRAORDINARY.  

Every last one of you.  

You will go out and do amazing things, 

be great people, 

inspire 

and bring about the change our world needs to heal and prosper.  

While I’m heartbroken you don’t have a common senior year, that milestones the rest of us took for granted may not happen for you, I know- without a doubt- that now is YOUR time to shine through this darkness.  

Show the world how wonderful we can be.  

Soon, you will be our leaders.

And I cannot wait to watch all the incredible things you all do, 

in big ways 

and small ways.

You will do them with grace,

and patience,

and with thoughful consideration for each other and our neighbors throughout the world.

I believe in you.

Costco in weird times

This is how I rolled at Costco and Haggen today.

I looked like a bank robber.  It felt ridiculous and scary.  I guess this was a logical step after the shift to carrying out items without bags- that always feels like I’m shoplifting.

I did try to smile a lot with my eyes.

I’m sure it just looked weird.

Here’s a recreation of the eye smile.

It took A LOT of self talk to get out of the car and stroll up to the store, accept my ticket for TP and pretend I didn’t feel like I just won the lottery.

Who would have guessed that Costco would feel intimidating?

It was a whole new world today at Costco.  They really corralled you along a specific route.  Had cones out to remind you how far apart 6 feet is.

When you get to the entrance they hand you a freshly sanitized cart.

Since people are still hoarding TP, they’re strict about doling it out.  I guess their system is they ask you if you need TP, like a scalper at the door.  You nod yes they slip you a red ticket like for raffles at the high school games.  (But careful not to touch your getmy hands.)  Once inside you fork over the ticket and they put a pack in your cart.

Two weeks ago I didn’t think twice about popping 3 packages of 5 dozen eggs into my cart.  I never would have guessed that just days later I would feel guilty loading up my typical 15 dozen eggs.

I wanted a sign that says, “I’m not hoarding I have 3 teenagers and an 11 year old taller than me.”

But I kept going, when I was brave enough for eye contact I tried my weird eye smile.

No gloves yet, but my hands are so dry.  I’ll probably wear gloves next time.

I hoard hand wipes, I have since I studied abroad and my American roommate brought the mother load of individually wrapped hand wipes.  I’ve grabbed as many as I can every time I find them ever since.

So I’ve had a great stash of Purell wipes from chick fil a in my purse that I use the second I get in my car.

I guess the bin of those at chick fil a are now a thing of the past.  Probably Buffalo Wild Wings too.

Things you notice when life slows down

Scraps begin to re-grow.

Homemade bread can become part of the routine.

Tying flies was an incredible skill to learn from an uncle and reinforced in fly fishing class at school. Fortunately a friend at https://spawnflyfish.com/ has all the necessary tutorials.

The kids are capable of working in the business when they want their own concrete ping pong table.

May wants to help with the table too.

But found her own treat, poor little bunny, swallowed whole when Elsa bribed her with treats to drop the poor unfortunate soul.

Thoughtful friends are worth their weight in gold.

A side by side of senior cheer pictures and my girl SHINES.

A neighbor I’ve never met seems super awesome.

April Fools can be so fun.

I’d love it if this were true.  Charlie thought it would be cool to drive in 8th grade.  Carl and Sarina didn’t fall for it.  Elsa zipped upstairs to spread the word, until her friend (whose mom had posted the photo I borrowed) enlightened her it was an April Fools prank.

Dad is still a champion hair braider.

And some days it’s ok to lay in bed and eat a bag of Reece’s peanut butter eggs.  At least I finished something while Mark was on shift.