Here

It hits me sometimes, randomly. 

You should be at school right now.
Or
I should be picking Nolan up from preschool.
Or
We should be at dance/gymnastics/swimming/t-ball.

Whatever the moment, the refrain in the back of my head is always the same:

You shouldn’t be here.
I shouldn’t be here.
We shouldn’t be here.

Though there are days I can hardly remember our “before”. There used to be times, numbers on the clock, that were burned into my brain: 

8:25: leave for preschool drop-off
8:46 (I think?): Caden and Brooklyn catch the bus
11:10 on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays: leave to pick Nolan up from preschool
11:10 on Thursdays: leave to meet Caden and Brooklyn for lunch
6:00 on Tuesdays: dance
5:30 or 5:45 or 6:00 (I can’t remember) on Thursdays: gymnastics for the boys

I don’t know what they’ll remember about this time, at six years old, at four years old. Will they remember not being able to go to school? Will they remember all these days strung together at home? Will they remember watching videos of their teacher, of worksheets, of submitting activities on their tablets? Will they remember getting more screen time? 

They were only in school for all of six months, after all. Maybe all this being home again simply seems like a return to normal. There’s a sense in which they don’t know what they’ve lost. The Kindergarteners were supposed to have an end-of-year zoo field trip, but Caden and Brooklyn didn’t know about it yet and I’m sure not about to tell them. They should be experiencing their first track-and-field day at school, instead we’re doing it virtually. (See also: explaining what track and field is.) Nolan should have an end-of-year party, complete with cookies and songs for us parents. He should be playing his very first year of t-ball.

There are some things they know they’re missing, kind of, but still, they’re intangible. I’m not sure they would have remembered if we hadn’t told them about missing their dance recital or that baseball probably isn’t happening this summer. They understand a little bit more that they’re missing out on museums and parks and playgrounds and playdates and beaches. Normal (what should be normal) kid stuff.

There’s a sense in which I’m carrying all of these losses for them. I’m the mom. I feel them more keenly. I know what they’re missing.

You shouldn’t be here.
We shouldn’t be here.
I shouldn’t be here.

Kids are resilient, these three are resilient, I know they are, they’ll be fine, we’ll all be fine. (I’m fine, this is fine, everything is fine.) They’ve been troopers. They had more questions than tears (in fact, there were none) when we told them they couldn’t play with their friends, go to school, do their regular activities. Still, I worry about their lost childhood. (Too much? Too dramatic?) Because they’re only little for so long, we only have them for 18 years, they’re only little little for much less than that. Even the loss of one summer (three months of school, one dance recital, one session of swim lessons, one season of baseball, countless birthday parties, one family vacation, all the things) feels like a lot.

And they’ve been great but it’s still hard. It’s hard because we’re all home together and even on the days when things are pretty good, it’s hard. It’s hard because just a few days ago I realized that Caden and Brooklyn have actual real-live email accounts for school to check and let’s all please remember that they’re SIX right now so that falls on me. (Hi, I basically ignore them.) It’s hard because we can’t go anywhere we usually go for fun. It’s hard because I recognize the privilege in my complaints and how can I even be talking when we have a backyard and the time and ability to homeschool and enough money for food and toys and ice cream just because. It’s hard because we’re all here together and have been here all together for so long and I saw a post on Facebook the other day that said the way our kids talk to each other is a reflection of how we speak to them and if that’s true then we’re doomed, all doomed, because there are days where I don’t think we can all speak any words around here without crying and/or yelling and so apparently they’re all going to grow up to be serial killers instead of kind human beings and I’m sorry, society, but I tried.

+++++

We usually go on a bike ride in the afternoon. Usually the boys take their scooters and Brooklyn takes her hand-me-down bike from a neighbor and sometimes it hard for me to keep up. Sometimes it’s like pulling teeth to get everyone to go but they all enjoy it in the end.

They’re (mostly) diligent with their schoolwork in the morning. I make sure we’re done by lunchtime. Nolan is basically another Kindergartener right now and sits right along with Caden and Brooklyn, counting by 10s and segmenting words and yelling out answers to their teacher’s questions. It will be interesting to see him go to Kindergarten in two years when he has a third of the curriculum under his belt. Heck, it will be interesting to see him go back to preschool in the fall (back, back, please go back) after sitting through Kindergarten material for the last few months,

“Mommy,” Brooklyn said the other day, “In the fall, when we’re first graders, the sickness could still be here.”

“Yes,” I said. “We might still be doing school kind of like this in the fall.”

(You shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be here. We shouldn’t be here.)

She scampered off after that revelation. I didn’t tell her yet, I won’t until there’s certainty, but I’ve been mentally preparing for school in the fall to look different than usual, different even than what we’re doing now, though I don’t know what that looks like yet. Every other day? Every other week? Half days? Still distance learning some days, some weeks, every day? I’ve been researching iPads to replace their too-slow tablets as a precaution, been mentally preparing for the rest of 2020 to look nothing like what we ever would have thought.

Little did I know when I mourned Caden and Brooklyn’s start of Kindergarten (But like a HAPPY mourning. Oh what I would give to have an ordinary sadness right now.) that I would get a mere six months of reprieve before they’d all be home again, 24/7, full time, more work right now than they have been for the past couple of years.

Here we are. Usually on top of one another. (I don’t know why we have all this square footage, both outside and in, when all they ever do is share the same few square feet of space.) And sometimes that looks wonderful and idyllic and other times it involves screaming and crying. But we’re here. It’s here that we’re learning and working and cooking and baking and laughing and shouting and playing and reading and connecting. Right here. Which is, unexpectedly, unusually, unbelievably, exactly where we should be.

On Eating Less Meat

Over the past few years, my family has transitioned to eating less meat. For various reasons: we know a diet filled with plants offers many health benefits compared to one that is heavy in (especially processed) meat. We know animals are often abused in a broken and unrelenting food system. We know animal farming and production, particularly of beef, is a big contributor to climate change. And as far as environmental impact goes, eating less meat is one of the easier ways to make a change as an individual.

This isn’t about going vegan or eating vegetarian. At least not for me. I have friends who fall into both of those categories and I applaud them. For me personally, the thought of never eating carnitas tacos or a bowl of slow-cooked beef bourguignon ever again sounds devastating. I think about this as making intentional choices on when and where I’m cooking and consuming meat. 

As a part of our health and wellness series, I thought I’d write up what this looks like for me. Please know: I am no expert. I’m just a concerned mom/woman/citizen/consumer doing what she can for herself and her household. I’ve included some resources at the bottom of this post to people who know far more than I do. You’ll also find links to a few of my favorite meatless recipes.

Read more about how we’ve been eating less meat over on the Twin Cities Mom Collective.

The President of Breakfast

Note: I wrote this post and submitted it a few months ago for the Twin Cities Mom Collective. It’s amazing how much has changed since then. Not only can I assure you that my kids are no longer getting off the bus every day at 4:00 pm (Remember those days? Was it all a dream?), but I am also no longer the President of Breakfast. What had been our normal for many months has, like so many things, been entirely upended in the past three. Also, my kids know what Eggos are now. I don’t know. Here we are. * insert shrug emoji here *

Breakfast used to be my husband’s domain. I don’t like getting up any earlier than I absolutely have to and he enjoys spending time in the morning with the kids, so we settled on this arrangement years ago. But then last fall the school year started and my twins went off to kindergarten, and everything fell apart.

Well, that’s a bit melodramatic. Really what happened is that the school year started and my twins went off to kindergarten and everything fell apart... at 4:00 p.m. each day.

That’s when my twins step off the bus. My youngest wants to play with his siblings who’ve been gone all day. My daughter wants to find a friend to play with because her social bucket apparently needs to be filled, even though she’s just been at school for the past seven hours. Her twin brother needs to go sit in a room with some LEGOs by himself because he’s just been at school for the past seven hours. I want to go through backpacks full of lunch boxes and paperwork and “Mommy look at this!” - all while I also need to start thinking about dinner. Oh, and I am also simultaneously handling three kids clamoring for five different snacks at the same time.

It’s kind of the worst.

Within two weeks of the start of school, I asked my husband to re-arrange his work schedule.

“Is there any way you can start at 7 so you can end at 4?” I asked him one desperate evening. He works from home as a software developer; I knew it was in the realm of possibility. “I can’t be everything to everyone.”

He could. And he did.

But with him now starting at 7:00 a.m. - a full hour earlier - breakfast is now firmly in my domain. I started rising earlier to tackle this task. Instead of using that time to get ready for the day while my husband controls the breakfast chaos downstairs, I wake up earlier to throw myself together so I can take control of it all myself.

I grew up eating toast and cereal and Pop-Tarts and Eggos for breakfast. It was the 90s and this sufficed. Also, my mom isn’t a morning person. I think anything that took 3.42 seconds to unwrap and pop in the toaster was exactly in her weekday morning wheelhouse.

My kids wouldn’t know a Pop-Tart or an Eggo if one popped up in our toaster - those pantry staples from my youth haven’t made it to my own house. But Honey Nut Cheerios and Life cereal are on a regular rotation. Cooking is not my husband’s forte, so cereal became an easy go-to in the morning.

I followed suit after I became the President of Breakfast. Once upon a time, I thought I would be the kind of mom who flipped pancakes and sausages before school and make egg scrambles to fill their bellies with protein. I didn’t factor in the whole I’m-not-a-morning-person part.

Photo by freestocks on Unsplash

Read the rest over on the Twin Cities Mom Collective.

Read, Watched, Listened

I love reading just about everything (okay, you won't see any mystery or sci-fi picks on here), watching things that make me think and especially if they make me laugh, and wholeheartedly embrace the podcast. I also enjoy hearing about what other people are reading, watching, and listening. Here's my two cents worth.

P.s: I got rid of the Amazon links and instead have linked to local bookstores. Consider this a gentle nudge to support indie. :)

READ

Kitchens of the Great Midwest
This was so good. I already want to read it again. It took me a little bit to get into—and keeping the characters straight was somewhat complicated at first—but I got one-third of the way through and could NOT put it down. J. Ryan Stradel has a gift at making people come alive on the page. Also I just love the shootouts to things in the Midwest. It doesn’t happen very often in novels and I just adore that Stradel has embraced the Midwest and made it an actual PLACE in his books, instead of some flyover space.

Burn it Down: Women Writing About Anger
This was…fine. Like most essay collections from multiple contributors, some were better than others. Some I skimmed, some I skipped entirely, others left me cheering. I feel like the topic is so important and I wish I could give it a better recommendation, but honestly I could take or leave it.

Once More We Saw Stars: A Memoir
Trigger warning: loss of child. This was a beautifully-written memoir for the most tragic of events. I literally have no other words to describe it than that.

The Dutch House
True confession #1: I am not an Ann Patchett fan. (In literary circles, this is akin to saying you like to murder puppies.) True confession #2: I loved this book. My love for family dramas is well established so maybe that was this one’s saving grace? Each of the characters had their own flaws, but I love a character with good, believable flaws. I also love that this was set around a house. It gave new meaning to the idea of writing about place.

Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind
This was a fascinating, if somewhat dense, read. I didn’t think I was all that into it, and even thought about putting it aside a few times, but something kept bringing me back. I had to read more. The attempt to tackle the whole of human history in a single go is certainly audacious, yet the large brushstrokes Yuval Noah Harari paints with are thought-provoking and sometimes eyebrow-raising—in a good way. I should say that overall it wasn’t dense in a technical sense, more dense in that it is a lot of subject matter to pack into a single book, though he does it amazingly well.

Untamed
I have followed Glennon Doyle for a solid decade now. I remember reading her blog when she had less than 1000 followers. (How do I remember this fact? I guess I was enthralled from the very beginning.) To watch her journey from wife and mother to viral essayist to published author to social activist has been fascinating. This book is the culmination of her past decade’s work. Maybe her life’s work. I found something to cheer on virtually every page. Women need this. Hell, men need this. Buy it. Read it. The end of my fangirling. (For now, not forever.)

Anne of Green Gables series
As soon as social distancing hit (9 weeks ago? 10? I don’t even know anymore.), I ordered this from one of my favorite local children’s bookstores. For myself. I actually began by reading Rilla of Ingleside as an ebook from the library because I needed to read about someone else going through an absolutely insane time in history. Also because that book is comfort reading at its absolute best. Then I got hooked and decided I needed to start all over with the series, with the logical conclusion being that I needed my own set. I have no idea where my own original set went, but these are the exact same books I had as a kid. This has been my pandemic comfort reading. Here’s my quick review of each book (Warning: I’m sure there are some spoilers here.):

Anne of Green Gables
An absolute delight. It’s a classic for a reason. 5 stars.

Anne of Avonlea
A decent follow-up. 4 stars.

Anne of the Island
A decent follow-up to the follow-up. And I love Anne and her friends as college students. 4 stars.

Anne of Windy Poplars
The worst of the entire series, as far as I’m concerned. It feels like it’s just a placeholder until she marries Gilbert and I just don’t care. Stil, it’s Anne. 3 stars.

Anne’s House of Dreams
I adore this one. The new characters, her early married life, the house of dreams itself. 5 stars.

Anne of Ingleside
The whole time I read this one I couldn’t help but think, “THIS IS MY LIFE RIGHT NOW." Anne is surrounded by small children, and motherhood looks good on her. I saw some reviews moan that there was too much about her kids in this book and not enough about her, but I a.) disagree and b.) that seems right to me. These are still children’s (or at least YA books) after all. Kids aren’t going to want to read much about the struggles of parenting and marriage, though that shows up, too. 5 stars

Rainbow Valley
A decent continuation of the Ingleside chronicles. 4 stars.

Rilla of Ingleside
Hot take: I’m torn between whether this or Anne of Green Gables is the best in the entire series. Maybe I lean toward this one just because it’s more adult? This follows Rilla (Anne’s daughter) as a teenager living through WW!. Despite the heavy subject matter, it is a delight through-and-through. I’ve probably read this one more times in my life than AofGG itself. 5 very enthusiastic stars.

WATCHED
Tiger King
I mean, did you even quarantine if you didn’t?

The Good Place
We got addicted to this show and then watched three seasons in a matter of weeks. That’s basically unheard of for us. Kristen Bell is a gift to humanity.

McMillions
True crime stories with blood and murder and crime scenes: hard pass. True crime that’s all white collar? I’m ALL IN. This is SO. GOOD. You know you want to see how the McDonald’s Monopoly game was scammed in the late ‘90s early 00’s. It may also make you disappointed to discover that no, you were never actually going to win, no matter how hard you tried for Boardwalk. Also also: you may crave some of those Mickey D’s fries every time you watch. (No? Just me?)

Hillary
This documentary. It’s so good. It’s also depressing. It’s vulnerable. It’s full of what-ifs, especially in the midst of our current pandemic. (And let’s not forget that right before all this COVID stuff hit we had just the chance to have Elizabeth Warren, the last woman standing, get the Democratic nomination.) Sigh. Still, it is so very worth the watch.

LISTENED

There are two podcasts giving me life lately. One is The Daily from the New York Times. They do such a good job at breaking down the news into digestible segments. The other is the Nightly Nuance from Pantsuit Politics. Usually, these are only available at certain tier levels through Patreon, but given the current situation they’ve opened up their Nightly Nuance episodes to all supporters. Their Nightly Nuance coronavirus check-ins help me feel a little less alone, a little less crazy, and have become essential to my nightly routine. Also Beth’s regular Nightly Nuance episodes are so helpful at parsing out individual news stories and tangents. (P.s. they’re scaling the coronavirus check-ins back starting next week. I’ll be eagerly awaiting each one.)