August 2020 – Life Off Headset

Weekly Recap + What we ate

Last week was our final week of summer vacation. School starts tomorrow. I’m trying to keep an open mind about distance learning and hope that I can be as supportive as possible.

I have to say, I do miss our annual trip to buy school supplies. There is nothing like that smell of Staples, the whiff when you walk in of plastic and wooden pencils. And fresh school supplies! So pristine and full of potential! Well at least this year, I didn’t have to silence my inner critic when the eight year old chooses a garish sparkly backpack featuring a licensed character. Something in me finds it hard to be supportive when confronted with so much glitter and shine, knowing it will have to be replaced come January.

I wanted to take advantage of the lack of screen obligations this week to spend time outdoors, and so we went on two outdoor adventures: a small walk along a creek on Monday, and for our Thursday adventure we went to Patapsco State Park. Both times the children whined that they didn’t like walking, but then ended up having a great time.

Patapsco was perfect for a hot hot day. The hike we chose was near a creek so the kids could play in the water. We didn’t bring any swim clothes, but they plunged into the water fully clothed and didn’t seem to mind. The river was pretty low so the three year old could go wading safely. Afterwards I asked the eight year old what made this adventure a good hike and she said, unequivocally, “It was near water.” I’ll have to file that one away for future hiking trips.

I tried out the hiking backpack carrier for the first time with the baby. It was a something that my brother had passed down to us last year. I had been reluctant to use it because I was afraid it was going to bulky. But you know what is truly bulky? Front carrying a baby in an Ergo while having a backpack of snacks and supplies on your back. My brother’s hiking pack had all sorts of pockets so lunch was tucked into a little space underneath the baby’s seat, while towels, wipes, one single diaper and hand sanitizer also had its own pocket. All the supplies and the baby on my back – with a sun shade! So easy and practical.

The hike to the waterfall was short but steep. There were a few moments where I almost pitched over with the baby on my back, but we all managed it to the water falls. We were one of the only people wearing masks, but groups seemed to be trying to give other groups some space, if not always 6 feet. The trail seemed unusually populated for a weekday morning, and I don’t know that I would feel comfortable there on a weekend, truth be told.

The baby fell asleep in the carrier during the hike and I successfully managed to get her out of the carrier and into the car seat without waking her. Which, as everyone knows, is a monumental achievement of stealth and smoothness. Also helps that sometimes she is a truly deep sleeper. (However, strangely not at 1:30am.) We stopped for ice cream on the way home, though the baby and the 3 year old fell asleep so only the eight year old and I indulged.

We also re-discovered the joys of fort building this week. Well, I had the joy of fort building. The kids had the joy of fort commissioning. We had gotten the kids this fort kit last Christmas. It’s gotten a good amount of use since then – great periods of frenzied activity with it followed by neglect. Earlier this summer we had even taken it outside and made forts in our backyard. This is definitely one of those projects where the kids dictate while I toil. “Taller!” “Can it have two rooms?” “I want a pointy roof!” Which is all fine – I enjoyed the building process, and afterwards I enjoyed the quiet as the kids dragged blankets inside and settled in. I did not, however, enjoy the shouts of disappointment when the forts were collapsed by sibling clumsiness.

Other things this week: my friend/ college roommate came over for “happy hour” – I’m really enjoying that she lives in the area and I hope she never leaves. I cleared out a bunch of space in the freezer by taking breast milk to the milk bank. I did some creative cardboard box building (more on that later). I discovered The Goes Wrong Show on Amazon. Not as funny as I want it to be, but still pretty funny. I do wish that it had more of the backstage view of things, but I don’t think that is the concept. Still contemplating my life choices, and wishing I had the time to do something on that front, but life doesn’t go as well when I neglect the children.

Quote of the week, courtesy of the eight year old: “The day after the pandemic is lifted, we should have a day off school so we can do all the fun things that we didn’t get to do before.”

Also – thing I said this week, that I never thought I would have to say: “Don’t put salami on your sister’s head!”

Last week’s meals:

Saturday: Pasta and meatballs. Super simple all made in the Instant Pot: layer some tomatoe sauce, pasta, frozen meatballs (made months ago because they are a good staple to have in the freezer), and more tomatoe sauce. Cook at high pressure for 22 minutes. On days I’m feeling ambitious, I will make the tomatoe sauce, but Simple Saturday is not for ambitious cooking. The Husband does note that I complicated things by making pesto to go with everything.

Sunday: Cauliflower Chicken Tikka Masala from Dinner Illustrated

Monday: Udon Noodles Stir fried with Vegetables. I believe I used zucchini, carrots and eggplant.

Tuesday: Sweet Potatoe and Chicken Thai Curry from Dinner Illustrated. I used Panang curry rather than red because that’s what we had. A definite winner.

Wednesday: Leftover Cauliflower Chicken Tikka Masala from Sunday. Threw in some potatoes to bulk it up. We had originally planned something else for Wednesday, but… life and consequences.

Thursday: Roasted salmon, pan fried Brussel sprouts and Instant Pot potaotes. Also ate sliced cucumbers on the side. I’ve come to embrace the idea that carrot sticks and cucumbers are a perfectly legitimate side dish.

Friday: Pizza take out while watching East Side Sushi. A lovely movie which left me craving sushi and wanting to sign up for a knife skills class. We streamed it on Amazon, and the subtitles weren’t working for the Spanish and Japanese dialogue scenes, leaving us clueless as to what was going on in many parts. It didn’t make a difference – you could totally tell what was happening. I can’t tell if that is a sign of good story telling, or simplistic story telling. Or maybe both?

Seeking and Sharing

I was out walking with my kids the other day. We were running some errands and had some time to kill in a part of the county where I usually don’t spend much time. So I asked my friend google if there were any trails nearby and three options came up within a 10 minute drive of us.

We headed to the first one, and there was no where to park. So we drove on. The second one was apparently a private trail access for residents of that neighborhood only. So we drove on. Thankfully, the third one, had parking and public access. Thankfully, because by then the kids were definitely getting irritated by having been in the car for almost half an hour and mom’s seemingly aimless driving.

The trail meandered through some wooded areas, more or less parallel to a stream and the unfenced backyards of some houses. There were some people loading their bikes onto their car when we arrived, but it was pretty empty otherwise. A sign at the beginning of the trail mentioned that the trail was maintained by a local mountain biking group. I was a little nervous because the dirt path itself was pretty narrow and I would probably have to pitch the kids into the undergrowth not to get run over by bikes if any were to come upon us as we walked.

As it was, the trail was pretty empty. We came across a lady walking a dog and one or two other walkers, but that was it. At one point, we went off the path to what looked like part of an old drainage tunnel into the stream. I sat on a log and nursed the baby, while the two older kids spent some time throwing leaves into the water and watching them float down the stream. The shade and the cool rush of water made it an ideal place to rest during our walk. The weather was pushing the mid 80s, and even the sound of the rushing stream seemed to make things feel less hot.

It having rained the night before, there was definitely mud. The eight year old was wearing her sandals and delighted in the cool squelch of mud between her toes on such a hot day. Of course the three year old wanted to follow suit in his brand new, still-shiny pink sneakers. I tried to be okay with that. Perhaps my initial squeak of disapproval was unsuccessfully smothered as I mentally reminded myself that it was just mud, and the purpose of impromptu hikes is not to stay clean.

On the way back to the car, the eight year old ran on ahead down the path while I paced myself with the three year old’s sturdy little legs. At one point, I looked up and saw the eight year old talking to a man who was working on some of the trees. As we got closer, I saw that he was part of the mountain biking group that maintained that trail. By the time I got to him, however, the eight year old had taken off again, so I nodded hello, and continued on.

“Were you talking to that man?” I asked my daughter, when I caught up to her.

“Yeah,” she replied.

“What was he doing?”

“He was pulling vines off the trees.”

“Oh.”

“But I knew that. I could tell. But you know, ” she continued, “sometimes when you work by yourself, it’s nice when someone comes up and asks you questions. I wanted to be nice to him and be interested in what he was doing.”

Later that day, I was listening to a recent episode of On Being, featuring a conversation between the host Krista Tippett and the renowned primatologist Jane Goodall. Tippett always releases an unedited version of her conversations, alongside the edited version that is heard on the radio, and I usually prefer listening to the unedited version of the conversations. There are so many small details that don’t make it to the edited version – details that are not really substantial to the conversation at hand – a mic check where Tippett asks the guest what they had for breakfast, for instance – but I think they really show the craft and care that go into having a sincere conversation.

There were so many thoughtful and inspiring moments in their conversation, but the one that struck me the most came towards the end. One of Tippett’s standard questions towards the end of a conversation is to ask the guest what they think it means to be human. And Goodall, as part of her answer, said that it was the difference between intellect and intelligence.

“I believe that a trick of this intellect,” she continued, “… was that we developed this way of communicating – of speaking. So I can tell you things that you don’t know. You can tell me things that I don’t know. We can teach children about things that aren’t present. And all that has enabled us to ask questions like ‘Who am I?’, ‘Why am I here?… and I believe, part of being human is a questioning, a curiosity…”

And as I was listening to this, I couldn’t help but to remember what my eight year old said in the woods earlier that day, and how she seemed to understand that asking questions and exchanging information was so fundamental to connecting with other people. I was struck by how her sense of empathy manifested it self in a natural curiosity. And I thought, perhaps it is not just the questioning that makes us human, but also the seeking and sharing.

I know this pandemic has been hard on many of us because all the ways that we usually seek and share have been restricted – especially all the ways we are compelled to seek and share with strangers. One of the challenges I’m finding these days is nurturing that impulse at a time when we are being told to be suspicious and cautious around people who aren’t in our “bubble”. It’s a challenge both as a person and as a parent. My daughter seems to show no such reluctance to seek and share, but I have to balance that beautiful forwardness with the need to behave safely and responsibly.

I remember one day, about three weeks into the quarantine, when I had to go to school to pick up a laptop of the 8 year old. The school employee handing out the laptops was the first stranger I had seen in ages. And interacting with an unfamiliar person sure felt strange. It was as if I had forgotten what it was like to smile, exchange pleasantries and connect with someone new. The deeper we get into staying at home, the more indefinite the terms are, the more I worry that my impulse for connection and curiosity will wither. And I wonder if I have to worry about the same for my children.

Back in June, on and episode of Fresh Air the epidemiologist Michael Osterholm made a comment about how we should stop using the term “social distancing”. “What we should do is physical distancing, but don’t social distance” he says. “If there is ever a time when we all need each other, it is now.”

That thought has stayed with me over the months. Yes, we are quarantining, but we don’t need to isolate ourselves off from anyone, not even strangers. So I try to smile at people, even when wearing a mask. I try to take time to read and exchange tips with internet strangers in different forums. I encourage the kids to speak up and compliment people’s dogs when we meet them on our walks. When we do encounter neighbors, we take time to talk and catch up. On hikes, we maintain distance and wear masks, but we also take time to tell fellow hikers of neat things that we’ve passed on the trail so that they, too, might also be on the look out for frogs in logs and waterfalls. We remind ourselves to connect with others, to ask seek answers, and to share information. This pandemic does not mean we need to go forth alone.

Friday Recap + what we ate

This was not a good week for me holding my shit together. But moving on.

I had enrolled the 8 year old in an online drawing class – I was hoping to get her some more interaction, and I think she enjoyed, but it meant that we didn’t get as much outdoor time as we usually do, and I think tempers were somewhat frayed because of that. I’m still trying to figure out what is the right balance of outdoor time and interactive computer time.

We finished up the tie dye projects from last week. The bight starbursts and spirals of colour really made me happy as they sat on the drying rack. The blue dye was more potent than I thought and it took four wash cycles to get to a place where the shirts did not bleed in the wash.

Our adventure this week was to the zoo. A lot of the buildings were closed so that social distancing could be maintained, but there was still lions, tigers, and elephants to be seen and ice cream to be eaten. I don’t know that I would feel comfortable going again; people were really good about wearing masks, but I would have preferred more distancing. I keep optimistically taking the kids to places that have opened with precautions in place, but then realizing that the variety in people’s risk tolerance does not really put me at ease.

I watched the Met’s beautiful production of Eugene Onegin starring Anna Netrebko. For once, I watched it on our tv rather than on my computer or iPad. There is so much opera content out there right now. I want to take advantage of the chance to see these operas, but I also want to remember to really watch and not just view. Hopefully being more choosy as to what I watch and watching it in a focused way will help towards that.

(Incidentally, it was a double Netrebko week – for Friday movie night, we watched the Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement, in which I was surprised and delighted when she made a brief appearance as “Opera Singer Anna.” The eight year old was really excited to hear opera in a movie. More so when she could identify it – “That’s La Traviata!” she shouted, as if it were trivia night. )

The 3 year old needed new shoes; his old shoes had holes in the toes. We made an appointment for our local kids’ shoe store and had a trip there. He chose some bright pink shoes. I appreciated how the lady at the store who fitted him did not bat an eye or try to steer him towards the rack of blue and green shoes. He is now a 10 extra wide. I asked about shoes for the just walking baby and our salesperson said that they weren’t necessary until cooler weather.

The Democratic National Convention was this week- a strange, slick affair of speeches and effusive partisan love. It was odd to listen to these rousing speeches devoid of audience applause or reaction; a certain momentum seemed lost to me. I was reminded anew about what a powerful and heartfelt orator Barack Obama was, and how inspiring he could be. The vitriol in his speech was a little surprising, but perhaps shouldn’t have be, given the occasion.

For me the most meaningful aspect of the Democratic ticket right now is Kamala Harris. More and more this year, I’ve come to see that representation in the mainstream matters. Everyone talks about Kamala Harris being Black, but I think it is equally important to recognize that she is half Asian. Part of the story that we were traditionally told about being the “model minority” was about being quiet and assimilating, being invisible even. I am recognizing, however, that the model minority trope is unfair and oppressive, and in fact hurts true diversity.

When the people that are seen in positions of leadership are all white and male, it is easy to think that is just how things are. Regardless of what I think of Harris’ past performance and policies, to see a Vice Presidential candidate that is from the same continent as my parents is amazing and can’t be taken for granted. When she was nominated as Biden’s pick for running mate, I almost cried as I stood in the kitchen listening to the news.

Here is what we ate this past week:

Saturday – Zucchini boats (using up leftover filling from last week’s zucchini boats)

Sunday – Shrimp and Broccoli Pad Thai from Dinner Illustrated. This was really really tasty. It was a lighter, tastier version than take out.

Monday – Salmon Tacos with Cabbage Mango Slaw

Tuesday – Stir fry (Eggplant, green beans, peppers)

Wednesday – Broccoli Quiche and Salad. Quiche made ahead of time, before we went to the zoo. Quiche is actually a pretty regular easy meal for us – I make a big batch of pie dough and freeze it, so all that I have to do is saute vegetables, blend milk (or buttermilk), eggs, flour, garlic, herbs together with shredded cheese. Put it all into the pie crust and bake. It feels fancier than it really is. Also great for using up bits of veggies in the fridge.

Thursday – Ginger Catfish, made by husband. Really tasty

Musings on a garden haul

This cheery sunflower greeted me this morning when I wandered into the kitchen. The husband had been out early today doing some garden maintenance.

Our garden is, unequivocally, his garden. He pours over seed catalogues, chooses what to plant. His basement work room is part grow room where he makes things sprout from seed and keeps plants alive. In the spring, he plots about mulch and stakes and growth. He drives great distances to garden centers, and brings home succulents on trips. (The domestic trips only, of course.) He devotes a lot of care, energy, and thought into what we can do with the beds of dirt that surround the house, and how they can be cultivated to make our lives better.

I am not a gardener. It can get quite buggy here, and I am a mosquito magnet. Digging in dirt while being eaten alive in eighty degree weather is exactly zero amount of fun for me. Also, I’ve never understood flowers. Sure they are pretty. But then they die. And I think, “Well the flowers are dead, but there’s still greenery – maybe they’re still good!” And I have to agonize about throwing them out and wonder what else I am symbolically throwing out. It’s complicated. I’m probably overthinking it. It also makes getting flowers on opening night a much more wrought experience than it needs to be.

Sometimes I will pull a weed or two from our garden. But only in the shade of early morning or late afternoon. And I have been known to mow the lawn. Actually I don’t mind mowing the lawn. But the Husband actually seems to like it, so I mostly leave him to it.

I will, however, happily cook what he grows. And I will make suggestions as to what vegetables I think would be interesting to have.

This weekend, these appeared on our counter:

And tonight they became this:

There is something very satisfying about consuming vegetables that months ago were just tiny seeds in the palm of your the Husband’s hand.

One year, we had a huge tomato crop and I learned how to can tomatoes. That winter, having summer tomatoes in the midst of cold and snow was magical. It is a little unclear as to whether we will have a bumper crop of tomatoes this year. There are cherry tomatoes on the vine. The kids will pick them and pop them into their mouths. I hear there is a melon or two coming up. The Husband seemed surprised at that.

We are very fortunate to have a yard, especially this year when stay-at-home orders has made the options for spending time away from home fraught with choices and risk assessment.

I do like the magic of seeing things grow, though. Earlier this summer, I did that grade school experiment of growing a squash seed in a jar with a damp paper towel. It was neat to track the progress and watch it sprout.

I get a lot of pleasure from the small joy of noticing that one of the Husband’s plant looks different today. I know, objectively, that things grow and time marches on, but change seems magical sometimes. Especially gradual change – the kind where you don’t see something is changing until you look again. You glance at something one day, and it’s different, somehow. And you ponder why it looks different, and there is a new bloom, or a new sprig or a plant is three inches taller than the last time you really took time to notice. And you think, “What happened when I wasn’t noticing?”

Friday Recap + what we ate

The baby started walking in earnest this week. Which was quite a bit of surprise for us since the other kids didn’t walk until they were 14 months old.

Even more delightful was when she realized that one of the perks of being biped was that she could move around the house… while. eating. food!!!!!!

You could see the light of discovery in her face as she toddled around the kitchen clutching her half eaten plum.

The Husband says, “We now have a toddler.” My poor heart says, “No! not yet!”

Yesterday morning, I came down to the kitchen to find a Jackson Pollack-esque trail of milk swirling from the kitchen into the dining room, culminating in a puddle of milk on a very special stool that had belonged to my father in law in college. I had to admire the artistic swoops and dots, even as I banned the three year old from walking and drinking at the same time. We have long used the Thermos Funtainers with straws as a spill proof option for milk and water, but I guess spill proof doesn’t account for when your three year old turns it upside down while open.

Tuesday night we played Parcheesi. Well, the Husband, eight year old and I played. The three year old threw dice randomly and moved pieces. We pretended to him that he was playing, but he was having his own little game. I’m on the hunt for games that we all can play. He is borderline able to play Uno. He can play the right cards, he just has not concept of winning or the object of the game.

This was a rainy week, so we didn’t have an adventure, or indeed as many long walks as we normally did. Also, I had finally recognized that the eight year old needed some interaction and enrolled her in a theater class. Next week, I’ve scheduled her for a drawing class. I had resisted at first because I wasn’t sure what she would get out of it other than more time on a screen, but then I realized that it gave me more undivided time with the three year old (while the baby napped), so I guess that’s good thing.

We also just tie-dye some shirts. And a pillow case. And an old onesie. Basically anything I could find in the house that was 100 percent cotton and white. I had ordered some white shirts on Amazon for the project but most of them fit exactly no one in the family, hence the scrounging for things to dye. I think it will be a lesson in patience to wait until tomorrow to see the results. It was my first experience with tie dying and it was about as messy as I thought it would be.

Right now, the eight year old is folding laundry as she watches Turandot streaming on the Metropolitan Opera’s website. Earlier this week, I set up a Zoom play date for her and when we were trying to pick a day, I wrote to the other parent, “She needs to check the opera schedule first. I can’t believe I just wrote that.” I’m so grateful that the Met has made these operas available. It is a good incentive for getting my kid to do chores.

What we ate this week:

Saturday: Kielbasa (from the Kielbasa Factory – amazing place) and coleslaw. Super easy dinner – pretty much toss kielbasa on griddle, mix dressing and toss with chopped cabbage. It took less than half and hour to get to the table. I think I want to dub Saturdays “Simple Saturdays” and strive for these low maintenance type meals.

Sunday: The Husband called and audible and we had Five Guys Burgers and Fries for dinner. I think one of the foods that I miss the most is french fries.

Monday: Zucchini Boats. I baked them a little longer than stated so that they were soft enough for the baby to eat.

Tuesday: Tofu Banh Mi from Dinner Illustrated

Wednesday: BLTs, made with bacon from the Kielbasa Factory

Thursday: Falafel Hash (a recipe from the Purple Carrot, a vegan meal kit, in its Mark Bittman days), and Greek Salad. Eaten in wraps.

Friday: will be pizza, as always, though I’ve also had the prospect of a meatball sub waved in front of me….

Useful Stage Management Skills in the Real World: Lightwalking

Usually I’m the one who puts the 3 year old to bed and the Husband puts both the baby and the eight year old to bed. Last night we decided to switch and I put the baby to bed. I haven’t done this in a while because it doesn’t go well for me. My method of putting her down involves nursing her to sleep and then being stuck underneath a sweaty sleeping baby because a) she is super sensitive and wakes whenever I move, b) I am too short to reach over the crib railing for a smooth baby touchdown to the mattress, and c) she has my nipple firmly clenched in between her teeth.

The Husband, however, has some crazy daddy magic technique that gets her to go down with minimal amount of crying. Except in the cases where I let her nap too late into the afternoon or she falls asleep during her post dinner nursing session. Then all bets are off and the baby gets to hang out and watch 30 Rock with mom and dad. These incidences are very rare. Dad is that good.

Anyhow, last night, after the Husband explained his flip and settle technique of getting the baby into the crib, as well as his very precise 10 minute walk, 10 minute rock routine, he left me with the baby.

So I got to do something I haven’t done since last October. I got to walk aimlessly around in the dark, trying to keep a little tyrant happy as I watch the minutes of my life tick by. Also known as lightwalking. Okay, so I wasn’t really lightwalking. But it sure felt like it.

Lightwalking, for those of you unfamiliar with the phrase, is when, during the technical period of a show, people stand onstage so that the lighting designer and the director can have bodies to look at as they create the lighting looks. Now who these bodies are vary by company. Sometimes they are volunteers who come and do it for cookies, coffee, and dress rehearsal passes. Sometimes it’s an intern or two or three. Sometime it’s a stack of chairs. At my home company, it’s the assistant stage managers.

Now, I love my job. But there is one part of it I don’t love to do. Okay there are two: 1) I hate having to tell the chorus to be quiet, and 2) I really don’t love light walking. It is physically tiring to have to stand still for minutes (or hours) on end (though a lot of stage managers are good at letting the light walkers know when they can relax and sit down for a second). Also, while often I bring a book or something, a lot of times I can’t really do much while light walking because someone is looking at you – or rather what the light is doing around you – so if you move, a voice from the darkness of the theatre will say, “Can you please look up?” Mentally you have to keep yourself engaged because once in a while the stage manager will send you on an errand to find the crew, or make some photo copies, or some such. So you stand there, a human mannequin, and just let the thoughts run through your head. It’s usually some monologue like, “Do I need to update the paperwork for this evening’s rehearsal? I should follow up on that note. Did I move that Post-It in my book? What’s for lunch in the Canteen? I forgot to tell the Husband that there are diapers in the wash. I have to pay the bills. Hmmm … what is this spike mark here and do we still need it?” and so on.

Faust groundcloth. Look at all those spike marks! Yes, we need all of them.

So over the years I have learned to embrace the special part of my job that is lightwalking. I’ve learned to enjoy my book one page at a time. Sometimes I’ll bring a crossword puzzle, or my fellow ASM will bring trivia cards which we can read to each other over the special ASM channel on our headsets. That latter is actually a fun bonding experience. I’ve learned how fun it is to get to be on parts of the set and recreate stage pictures (Tosca jump, anyone?), even to pretend to be a chorus of sixty with just two other ASMs. I’ve come to love the quiet of lighting session – this loud quiet of work being done, punctuated by the tapping of buttons as the electrician programs the light board, the gentle murmur of voices as the artistic staff contemplates the visual details, the quiet conversations of the crew as they wait in the wings for one of us to ask them to move a chair, or a wall, the soft scratchy brush strokes of the painter as they do touch up on the set, with their softly apologetic reminders of where not to step . I’ve learned to delight in looking up close at our sets – marveling at how the peeling painted foam looks like beautiful medieval rocks from the audience. I’ve learned to brace myself when someone calls, “Going dark!”, ready to have the lights all go out and be enveloped in velvety faux night. And I’ve learn to be really Zen about standing in the dark, to savor being onstage and looking out and appreciate how fleeting the work we do is. The gentle knowledge that standing on this green spike mark, this is where I am meant to be now, and this is what I am doing now, and there is nothing more important I can be doing for the show right now than standing right there, looking into that blinding light.

And last night, as I was trying to get the baby to sleep, I had this realization that this was my COVID version of lightwalking. This walking back and forth in the dark, the quiet murmurs of night time, this holding something ephemeral yet full of life in my arms, this protective possessiveness, this opportunity to be in the moment, in a walking mediation, even this living in fear of failure and tears while being slightly bored… this was where I was, and this was where I needed to be at that moment.

I guess I’m not going anywhere at the moment.

Books Read in July 2020

I actually got quite a lot of reading done in July. I had books that I was really excited to read with some really powerful, forward moving narratives.

The Vanishing Half by Brit Bennett – 6h 24m. Novel about light skinned black twins, one of whom leaves their small Louisiana town and passes for white, and the other who returns home with a dark skinned daughter. It’s an intergenerational story. There is so much to unpack in this book about how our past is part of us, even when we re-invent ourselves. Particularly heavy is the idea of what burdens can you escape, and which ones you carry with you always especially when you are black. I also found the relationships between the characters so fascinating, and how the most “successful” couples were the ones that couldn’t get married.

Lady Be Good by Meridith Duran – 5h 32m. So one of my not so guilty pleasures is reading romance novels, mostly historical romances. I like the escapism of knowing there is a going to be happily ever after at the end, and the big emotions, that seem out of date to write about these days. I do tend to be pretty picky about which romance novels I read, though. The writing has to be smart, but not too anachronistic, and the plots not too ridiculous. The women have to be able to save themselves and the heroes can be a little tortured, but not so much that they are unkind or cliched. I had actually read this book before, but I didn’t remember that until about a third of the way through the book. But it still holds up. It’s about Lilah who works at an auction house, and Viscount Palmer, who strikes a deal with her to help him catch a crazy stalker. The plot is just minimal enough of a framework for some really great characters.

The Secret Commonwealth by Philip Pullman – audio book read by Michael Sheen. The is the second book in the Book of Dust Trilogy. Like all second books in a trilogy, it is a little unsatisfying in that you still don’t know where the story is going. But it was a good adventure and some really beautiful musings about growing up and growing apart from those you love.

Quozl by Alan Dean Foster – Hard copy, so no reading stats. Over ten years ago, my husband and I did a book swap of our favorite books as teenagers. I had him read Jane Eyre; he handed me this book. I finally got around to reading this dog-eared copy. Well, mostly. The first chapter is missing half its pages. (But then I asked myself – are the first fifteen pages of a book really that important?). Anyway it’s a story of a group of aliens that come to America and secretly settle in Idaho. It was slow to start (which I guess explains why it took me ten years to read it), but the story ended up being quite far reaching. It’s a little unsubtle in it’s criticism of human foibles, but was entertaining nonethe less. I realize that one thing I like about hard copies of books is being able to physically hold my progress in my hands.

Last Boat out of Shanghai: The Epic Story of the Chinese who Fled Mao’s Revolution by Helen Zia – 11h 37m. I picked up this book because I wanted to read a book about some part of Asian history. This non fiction book tells the story of four people who grow up as Shanghai falls to the Communists, and about each of their survival paths. I am embarrassed to say that even though my parents are from Taiwan, I know very little about the history of how Chiang Kai Shek came to bring his soldiers there and terrorized the people of the island. That is actually a very small part of the book, but I found it fascinating. I was struck by how all these events are not so far removed from us today. I mean the events in the book took place around the time my mother was born. Also – funny is that despite the different paths the people in the book took to survival, they all somehow ended up in the United States eventually. I’ve long been fascinated with stories of immigration and the things that lead people to uproot their lives and start somewhere new.

The Testaments by Margaret Atwood – 6h 58m. Sequel to the Handmaid’s Tale. This was definitely less cerebral than the Handmaid’s Tale, much more plot driven. I could definitely tell that it was written, as Atwood says, as a response to people wondering what happens at the end of Handmaid’s Tale. But I feel like that question mark at the end of the first book was what made it so successfully unsettling.

All Our Wrongs Today by Elan Mastai – Audio book read by author. An average (or really slightly less than average) son of a brilliant scientist living in a slick Utopian version of the present uses his father’s time machine to travel back in time and ends up changing the course of things to our very pedestrian present. It was trippy and a little mind bending with the concepts of time travel and changing futures, but it had a lot of humour, heart and beautiful things in it, about realizing how the things that are important should be important no matter what world we live in. It was a fun listen, and the end really choked me up.

Tough Monday

Yesterday was hard. I was trying to get the kids out for a walk before a 10am online camp for the 8 year old. There was much resistance from the 3 year old who didn’t want to go but also didn’t want to be left behind. There was probably a good deal of exasperation, cajoling, and yelling on my part. Finally, when we were literally half way out the door, the 3 year old desperately wanted his hat. So I locked the stroller on the steps and turned back inside to get it.

Only to see out of the corner of my eye as the stroller slowly rolled off the back steps, tilt backwards and crash down the three steps, landing on it’s back with the baby still buckled in. It was horrifying. And scary. And there was screaming and crying from everyone – baby, 3 year old, me.

We didn’t get out on our much needed walk after all.

The baby was fine. She has a doozy of a scratch on her head. But she nursed and we called the pediatrician and they told us what to look out for and gave us some good reassurances. Basically if baby vomitted more than once and was lethargic, we should call back. Also if “she just doesn’t seem like herself.”

There is something reassuring in this last directive – it reminds me that ultimately we as parents have to learn to know our child and trust our instincts about them.

The baby is fine. She is back to being her happy exploratory self. A little clingy and needy, but that is who she is at this stage.

The stroller is also fine. I was really worried that it wouldn’t be fine. This is actually the second time I’ve had it go down some steps. The first time, when the eight year old was a baby, there was no one in it and the frame broke. But the folks at UppaBaby were able to fix it up. Our eight year old stroller, bought as a steeply discounted floor model, continues to be a workhorse for our family.

And then the rest of the day happened. The eight year old went to online camp, the three year old ran feral. I fell asleep, sewed some masks, made dinner while the Husband watched the kids. The rains started. We got dinner on the table early, the kids helped Husband clean up, and we had time to play UNO before bedtime.

So then in the end it was a pretty ok day. I read somewhere that all that matters about a book is how the last chapter makes you feel. I guess some days are like that too. Funny how at 9:30am the day was the worst day ever. And by 9:30pm the kids were in bed, and it was a pretty good day.

Ten Months

The baby turned ten months old last week.

She is happy and curious. She stands independently and can toddle while clutching someone’s fingers. Her siblings love to take her little hands and walk her around, and it especially warms my heart to see the little human chain of three toddling slowly. The older kids seem as enchanted by her development as I am. I wonder if watching a baby learn to walk ever gets old?

She is starting to get into things, and loves to unload – laundry baskets of folded clothes, drawers of measuring cups, recycling bins of paper and empty containers. The bathroom trash bin. Yeah, that last one grosses me out a little bit. The other day, when my back was turned, she went into our CSA box, found a peach and devoured it, leaving a clean little pit on the floor. It made her so happy and I was somewhat delighted and proud of her ability to forage. With the other two kids, I installed cabinet locks at this age, but I haven’t done that this time around. I think I’m just wondering if I can get through this phase without the extra work…. (We do keep under the sink locked, though.)

AAAAHHHH! I blame her for this too. She clearly does not understand the value of TP.

She eats fruit endlessly and nurses constantly. I think she might be teething. She hates being in the high chair longer than it takes to stave off hunger.

The Husband is the only one who can put her to bed. But she sleeps mostly through the night -meaning 6:00am now, sometimes 6:30am. (Through the night used to mean 5am. It’s funny how relative it feels. Like how last month five hours of straight sleep felt substantial!) This last week there have been a few night wakings, but perhaps, again, related to teething.

I’ve been thinking about where each of the other kids were at ten months, and how each of our kids have had such different experiences with childcare, mostly because of the different work/life situation we had each time. Someone once commented told me that even when you say children grow up in the same household, it’s not really true because a family’s situation changes and every child is at any given age, in fact, growing up in a different household than their siblings had at that age.

The oldest was in an in home daycare starting at 11 weeks old, transitioning to a larger daycare center when she was about a year and half old. Through all that, I was still travelling for work, and she periodically had a patchwork of care when she travelled with us. Usually in Colorado my husband would be able to telework and he came out too. Or one of my parents would come. We also found a daycare in Colorado that had drop in days which we used and there were a handful of sitters. She also spent a couple weeks in California with my parents and went to a daycare by them. It was definitely stressful to figure it all out.

The middle child was just starting daycare at ten months old. Before that, my parents watched him, flying in from California to help when I was working. There was one period when we hired a sitter for a couple weeks, the one time I took him on a gig out of town. Just this past year, when he was 2.5 he started at a larger daycare, but that only lasted seven months before COVID sent him home. We declined to re-enroll him when his child care center opened back up.

And the baby… well I’m not sure when she will get to see daycare. So far, my parents watched her while I was working, and we hired nannies for the few weeks that we didn’t have coverage from my parents.

What to do with our children is foremost in a lot of people’s minds these days and there is no real good solution. In a way, I’m glad that being unemployed has taken away the need to do the risk calculus of sending a three year old to daycare. The financial math of day care costs is so much easier to figure out than trying to weigh what our personal risk tolerance is with the need to work. I’m sure that in the long term being unemployed is going to more detrimental than safely sending our kids back to school, but I feel oddly lucky that the financial choice is easier to make than the health and safety choice as I see other parents grapple with the choice.