A Milestone, Marked by Milestones
As the United States marks one year of living under the shadow pandemic, I approach my own milestone: forty. We may define March of 2021 by a singular measure of days, one year since shutdown. The last year of my thirties was more aptly characterized by a culmination of extremes, some that I hope never to repeat- and others that I hope to never leave behind.
My Readingest Year
Most moms did not sit around in 2020, hoping for something to fill our downtime. We didn’t have a chance to wallow in boredom when restaurants closed. In this pandemic, parenting is the unpaid essential work that seemed to multiply tenfold. So, “Grateful for having all this time to read” doesn’t really describe how my stack of books grew so high. I read out of near mania; I couldn’t not read in 2020. I am grateful for the writers who brought a dish to my literary potluck, in a particularly hungry year.
"Mom, do I wear the wildfire mask or the Coronavirus mask?"
My kids considered our worst day of air quality to be extra special. Not only were their Zoom classes cancelled due to evacuations, but they also got their very own N-95 masks. There’s not a hint of sarcasm in that sentence. My children literally skipped out the door, they were so happy. Blocking out 95% of non-oil based particulates is the new cool.
Time/Change
Last looks are hard. Often, they pass us before we’ve noticed. By the time we muster up our attention to look with a sense of ending, what we wish we were looking at has already gone. Change sweeps through and alters those last looks without asking our permission.
The power's out. So are the kids.
Some wineries have called off their picks altogether, until they can get enough power restored to run their pumps. The combined consternation of the valley’s finest winemakers, however, pales in comparison to the other problem-scourged cohort in town: parents.
When a Place Is Also a Way
You can be halfway across the globe, and still be on familiar ground: the world around you looks a certain way, the air feels a certain way, rhythms follow a particular pattern. One knows to reference the mountains or ocean, or- in the case of one of my home towns- highways or cow pastures. Terrior for humans. A place is more than GPS points; in the best places, a place is also a way.
What twelve year-olds can teach you when you give them a bunch of tests
When you go through the same routine with a few hundred students, either one-on-one or in small groups, certain patterns start to emerge. I was a teacher proctoring a test, but I felt like a student of the adolescent condition. Our students had a lot to teach me. Here’s what I learned.
We Are Each Another's Mother
Living far away from family makes you realize the importance of connections you might otherwise simply expect. In my family’s case, we cherish the people who encircle us and hold us close just because they want to. In turn, it has taught me the magnitude of how much one friend can impact another. It’s also lucky that no matter how selflessly and consistently that love shows up, it will never replace an actual mom. So we have carte blanche to nurture the people around us with abandon, if there is a gap to fill. I mother better because of who surrounds me. In that way, we are a mother to each other.
Reluctantly, Joyfully, Waldorf
Even for a family who doesn’t smell like patchouli and carrots, Waldorf is awesome.
About The Time I Invited a Poem to Dinner
A word to those who might consider thrusting a poetry assignment upon a room of friends who happen to also be contractors, salespeople, and chefs: go easy on them. A few folks took to the task like they’d been waiting all night for a pen and paper. Others reluctantly humored me for the sake of being good sports. Most everyone else was just peer pressured.
Scratching My Texanness
A surplus of cabernet in my life and a deficit of pinto beans & queso was probably at the root of the problem. Was I terribly homesick and afraid to admit it? Was I just sitting still long enough for the holiday stress to catch up with me? Had a deep loneliness been brewing within, that just now heated to the point of bubbling over? Was this music Just. That. Good? Except for the last one, the answer was no. The only logical conclusion was this: Somewhere deep inside, my Texanness had been scratched.
Dropping the L-Bomb
My compassionate word-blunder had an unexpected side effect: it unlocked the “do not touch” part of my vocabulary.
Stepping In It: Survival Tactics for the Harvest Widow
When my kids were babies it felt like we just burrowed ourselves into the living room curtains for the harvest months, and reintroduced ourselves to sunlight just before Thanksgiving. My kids are old enough now that if we went that route, no one would make it through November with a pulse. Smart harvest tactics are key to survival.
Breakfasting "Up"
Breakfasting up is like marrying up or moving up, but with less effort or commitment.
Tattoo Dysphoria
That's the appeal of the modern tattoo: there is so much we cannot control about the way people see us. Genetics and culture team up with a few other variables, and do not ask us if we feel like we should look tall or fat or redheaded. We get what we get. But with ink and a needle, we have infinite means to adorn the outside with something comes from within.
Reluctantly Waldorf: Parent night, where everybody cries.
It was quickly evident, however, that the line between a parent's greatest hope for her child and the fear that the hope will never be realized is painfully direct. Sure, we were asked to look forward. But it was actually a thinly veiled ploy for looking within.
Bloom. Like a freakin' echinacea.
Not every seed will grow, but sometimes the beginnings of an idea can take root, and suddenly you've got oranges and pinks and blues and pollen for the bees and beauty for the neighbors.