The Enemy at the Base Pool

 The baby pool was a generous three feet deep at one end, and the two of us sat up to our necks in water just cool enough to be a relief from the brutal North Carolina heat. Her youngest child was Timmy's age and had passed his swim test, so she didn't need to be here with Joey and me -- she wanted to. Sometimes she'd playfully grab Joey's ankle has he swam away squealing and laughing, like she was some kind of swamp monster. We had just met that day, and we were talking about all kinds of things -- school, Okinawa (we'd both been stationed there), England (she was from there), having kids when young (her), having kids when not so young, jobs we've had, of course COVID, and our families. That morning I had posted in a local Marine officers spouse Facebook group, looking for ideas for how to keep a bored nine-year-old occupied. We had just moved to this new neighborhood and were going through a rough time with Timmy, and a rough time in general with all the upheaval that 2020 had to offer. She commented on the post saying she had a son that age and that they were always looking for things to do. We messaged back and forth a few times and arranged to meet at the base pool that afternoon. 

Before I knew it, two-and-a-half hours had gone by, and I'd sailed painlessly through the doldrums of a summer afternoon. Our kids had played together for hours, had had frozen treats from the concession stand, and were now exhausted, but not in a cranky, melting-down kind of way. I felt like this new person and I had shared a burden, and in doing so, had lightened it for us both. It had been so effortless. Just two people in a pool, sharing life for a little while. 

That evening sitting on the couch I opened up the Facebook profile of my new friend. Then I sat there nonplussed, staring at the screen like "Uhhhhhhh..." Her cover photo was a meme I think most of us have seen a bunch of times. It was a cartoon about Bob voting Republican, Sally voting Democrat, but then the words saying that they are still friends because they're adults were crossed out. The gist of it was that if you are a Trump voter, you're a terrible person, we have nothing in common, and can never be friends. I showed it to Tim, having already filled him in on my day. He shook his head, sighed, and said, "Nothing good is going to come out of this. Someone like this will not be forgiving." What he was really getting at was, "I just don't want you to get hurt." I clicked away without friending her. But then we saw each other a few more times that summer at the pool, and another time in the fall, when I swung by her house to pick up a golden pothos that she had propagated. It is one of my favorite plants, and I remember her every time I see it. I am not looking for a deep friendship, but I like having a friendly face out there. As long as our paths continue to cross, I'm always going to want to wave and smile at the very least; and if time allows, and ask her how things are going.

I, too, am a person who sees things in black and white. I've given up social media for Lent, but my Facebook newsfeed is an echo chamber, in which I like and agree with those who are pro everything I'm pro, and anti everything I'm anti. I admit to unfollowing those who are outspoken in opinions I don't agree with. Close family members get a pass on being wrong, as well as a few dear friends. If they don't fall under either of those categories, I can know usually by a quick glance at their profile whether they're "my people" or not. Sometimes an article will pop up with a title like, "OK, Lazy Mom at the Playground, I'll Watch My Child AND Yours," and I usually resist clicking on it or the comments because I know I'll only see people destroying one another. Everything is us or them, and I have no use for them. I admitted as much to Tim a few months ago, saying that I know I'm part of the problem, but I can't help it. Tim had to give up Facebook for while as well, because he was tired of going down rabbit holes and being outraged all the time.

Recently, although it's been going on for quite some time, I've become aware of something very sinister afoot, a concerted effort to divide everyone on any and every possible line. I watched and then made my kids watch the Netflix documentary The Social Dilemma. I think this is something everyone ought to see because it's affecting everyone regardless of whether they're even on social media themselves. Then I read a book called Them: Why We Hate Each Other - and How to Heal by Ben Sasse, which goes into the history of how for the last couple decades, community has already been breaking down, with people less likely to be rooted to one place, to join clubs, and to get to know the people around them. The resulting loneliness drives them online where they seek connection they lack in real life. They are turning to "anti-tribalism" and political hatred to fill the void of not belonging to any real "tribe." We have outside enemies that are exploiting this situation and they're going to get us Americans to do their dirty work of destroying our own democracy. I think we've all seen some ugly fruits of those efforts in the last couple elections, and it's only the beginning.

An already bad situation became worse when COVID came on the scene. With masks covering half our faces, we're even less likely to see one another as individuals. When everything got canceled and we were discouraged from leaving our houses, we got deprived of whatever real-life connections to other people that we had to begin with. Frightened and suspicious, hunkered down in our own corners, we rage at everyone else.

But it wasn't always like this! I remember the good old days when I set up my own Facebook account after many months of looking over Tim's shoulder as he scrolled through his. I was a little scared to take the plunge, but then I picked the most recent and best post-haircut photo I had for my profile, and went for it. I would take seriously the prompt, "What's on your mind, Rachael?" and I had an audience of family and and a smattering of friends I was sure were hanging on my every word when I shared, "Rachael is so excited, she got both girls to nap at the same time and is going to get all kinds of things done!" For years I would share an album of pictures from every milestone of our life, and every trip we took, and eagerly scroll through those of my friends. My circle grew with every move and new person I met. I relished the feeling of always being connected, no matter where we were. As a shy introvert, I could smooth away any awkwardness by taking the time carefully craft my words, and only share the photos that showed me and my family in the most flattering light.

But I recall that it wasn't long after that I began to see a dark side to all this. I would share something that meant something to me, and when it wouldn't get more than a couple likes, I would think, does anyone care? Comparison reared its ugly head too, because I had some really popular friends whose posts would get a ton of likes. I remember the first time I realized that not everyone was thrilled by what I had to say. The year was 2010, and I took to Facebook hoping to commiserate with other moms of toddlers, saying something like, "This kid won't stop asking me questions!" A person I was well acquainted with in real life commented, "I would give anything to be having conversations like that with my son." Her autistic son. I realized how thoughtless and ungrateful my words had been. It was a good lesson for me -- I would never again complain on social media about a developmentally typical child doing developmentally typical things. And really, if I'm griping about anything besides the weather or the flu, I'm going to offend someone. There is always someone who would love to trade places with me on my worst day, and I would do well to remember that. 

The pictures are still great, and so is being connected with friends and family from afar, but over the years it has just gotten bogged down with so much crap. 

I've become increasingly guarded and filtered as the years go by, almost to the point where I mainly lurk, like the stuff I agree with, and occasionally post the pictures that I think would mean a lot to some others to see. I'm rarely moved to post anymore, or even comment. If I'm being honest with myself, it's maybe in part due to insecurity. It's also that somewhere along the way I realized it's not healthy to always be bouncing things off such a large number of people, and then waiting for their agreement, or admiration, or affirmation, whatever it is I'm looking to get. Instead, sometimes I'll take a photo or I'll find something that strikes me funny or thought-provoking, even the occasional gripe, and I'll share it with the one person, or a handful of people, who will get it. Like Tim, or my mom or siblings, or an old friend from high school. Even if they didn't appreciate it, I would still know that they love me. I can see that the more I've pulled back from social media, the better off I've been. Still, as I told Tim the day I decided to give up social media for Lent, I didn't/don't know if I could give it up forever. That would mean missing out on all the cute pregnancy announcements, family pictures of people I knew way back when our kids crawled around together, and just important life updates. Not to mention some good sales! "Mostly the pictures, though," I lamented. "I'll never see anyone's pictures again, and they mean so much to me. Even the people I knew in real life for two years back in 2005."  He said, "If you had never seen these people's pictures, are you telling me you couldn't have a happy life?" I had to admit that if I had never seen them, I wouldn't know what I was missing, so yeah, I guess I could have a happy life without them.

On the second day of Lent I got an email notification that a friend of mine wanted to tag herself in some of my photos, and man, I was dying to click over and see what photos those were. I forwarded the email to Tim, saying, "The machine knows me well. It knows I don't like to ignore a friend and I love photos." When I said "the machine," I was referring again to The Social Dilemma. Photo-tagging in particular was discussed, with one of the creators of the technology saying, "Do you ever wonder why the photo isn't in the email?"

I have a feeling that in a few weeks I'm going to be back on Facebook and Instagram, scrolling past a lot of crap and looking at everyone's beautiful photos in their Easter attire. Maybe I'll give myself some new limits. For one thing, I refuse to consume any of the articles. My news is going to have to come from other places (still trying to work out what places those should be. I'm woefully uninformed but don't know what sources to trust), and I'm not going to spend any of my time on there being angry at people, or thinking about how they're wrong or stupid. Another limit would be the amount of time I spend, and that will probably be the hardest to enforce. I need never put the apps back on my phone ever again, that's for sure. Who knows how many minutes of my real life I've traded away in exchange for a few photos, a few good deals, and a lot of negativity.

"When we look around our neighborhoods, we should have eyes to see that we share common interests and goals that are more important than just about any questions of federal policy -- chief among those goals, raising our children to become kind, thoughtful, gritty, respectful adults who use their skills and talents to serve others. I don't want to worry that politics is going to prevent my neighbor from keeping an eye on my kids when they're all playing in the front yard." These words from Senator Ben Sasse's conclusion of Them sum it up best for me. This is what's challenging me to get out of my little bubble, get out from behind a screen, and talk with actual people. So scary! Unfiltered Rachael sometimes says the wrong thing. The (metaphorical) mask could slip, and they'll see the real me, not the edited me with the carefully chosen words. I might even, although I shudder to think it, disagree with someone in person. Following the example of volunteerism set by my husband and our parents, I'm volunteering a few hours a month at our parish and school, and will be encouraging our kids to find their own opportunities to serve. We chose to buy in this neighborhood because we saw families and kids outside interacting and dared to hope that we could become part of a real, physical community. And, oh boy, I hesitate to even type out these words, but I am toying with the idea of attending an HOA meeting. And then I'll have the right to complain about whatever I think could be improved in this neighborhood.

It's an interesting experiment, two suburban moms in the wild who met each other and had a face to face conversation before they'd had the chance to learn from social media that they had every reason to hate each other. I understand Tim's instinct to protect me. He knows me well, and he's seen how much rejection, real or perceived, wounds me. But if and when the rejection happens, I refuse to take it personally. She won't be rejecting me as a person -- just as a symbol for everything she's against. It's a risk I'm willing to take. I will not hide my beliefs if they come up in conversation, but neither will I issue her this disclaimer: "Before we meet at the pool again, you might want to know I'm a registered Republican."

Master bedroom - the perfect paint color

First, a quick update about Delaney and Annie: They had their first day of in-person school yesterday. I dropped them off because they still haven't been assigned to the bus. They both had a little case of jitters when they got out, but when I came back to get them, they were both in a good mood and telling me about their day. Delaney accused Annie of power-walking past her without waving at one point. "Next time you owe me a wave!" Annie claimed not to have seen her. I smiled, thinking Annie sounds like me, with power-walking and tunnel vision in hallways. They'll be going Thursdays and Fridays from here on out.

Our last master bedroom had walls that were what I thought was a lovely shade of green that I told Tim I wouldn't mind having in our own house; but he said he was "sick of green." 🤢 He really wanted something new, and had some ideas brewing, so I was happy to let him take the reins, decision-fatigued as I was from painting the rest of the house. I told him I wouldn't even mind if he just picked the same color as the living spaces -- a safe choice.

Fortunately, Tim doesn't see these decisions the same way I do. It ended up being the best surprise. He took my wish for green and mixed it with his idea for something fresh and different, and here's what he got: Benjamin Moore November Rain. I can't believe how much I love it. It inspires me to make the bed every morning, to put all my clothes away, to open all the blinds and let the sun shine in, to twirl around the floor...haha, ok, you get the point. Nothing in this room is new, besides a framed full-length mirror and a few plants, but everything looks new to me with this color.

It's more green or less, depending on the time of day and how much sun is coming in. Late afternoon is when I like it best, and there are a lot of windows letting the setting sun in.

Sometimes I think I must be the only person who gets this excited over a paint color. Then I remember that I'm 41 and we just bought our first house.* Other people our age have had their "starter house," then their, what would you call it, intermediate house? and have probably been in their forever house, maybe even their dream house for a while now. Meanwhile we went from one military base house or rental to another, because we saw it as much more advantageous for our lifestyle than buying. We loved the ease and convenience of living on base, and the houses were more than adequate. The heating and air-conditioning worked, the water ran, the appliances were in good working order; and if any of the above were not true, there was a number to call and people who would fix it. It would have been unfair to expect it to be pretty on top of everything else. Many military wives have the enviable skill of being able to make their base house look like a Pottery Barn catalog (with hand-me-downs and thrift store finds, no less), but that was not me, try as I might. I always thought maybe some new curtains were what we needed, or new furniture, this or that, always something. Tim would tell me just wait, and one day we'll have a house of our own and we can make it everything we want. Did we really want to paint over the beige, only to have to paint back over it before we move? I could see the wisdom of not putting the money and energy into a place that wasn't ours, and I tried to decorate in small ways, but I would still get frustrated waiting for one day. 

Well, the day is here! We have a house of our own that we love, and if there's something about it we don't love, we can change it. I still look around and think these floors are so nice, or I love that crown molding. And the perfect paint color for our bedroom can still make me giddy.

*I don't count the condo he bought and sold before we got married. It did pay for my engagement ring, though.😁

Homeschool Postmortem

One night last week when Tim got home from work, he sat down at the kitchen table with a sigh and said, "Well, America didn't burn down today." I shook my head and said, "I doubt I'd even notice if it had."

I was so consumed with my own problems, I barely noticed our country was headed toward an apocalypse. Disclaimer: I am aware that my problems are not real problems. They are the kind that can only come up in a life with abundance and options. 

By the end of a whopping three months of homeschool, I found myself increasingly worried, anxious, and exhausted. I was taking kind of a triage approach to the areas of learning and well-roundedness that I envisioned for them -- choosing each week a different thing to make my focus, and then letting that thing go to the backburner when something else took precedence. For example, one week I'd be on their case to spend more time reading; the next, I'd be after them to spend more time outdoors because this is what homeschooled kids are supposed to be doing. This was supposed to be the whole point of taking them away from hours of Zoom! I was supposed to be cultivating an environment where learning is happening even when we're not "doing school" -- but the only thing flourishing was laziness and complacency. I never for a minute forgot all the things they should be learning and doing every day, not just sometimes. I just didn't have the mental bandwidth to deal with more than one thing at a time. It took me a long time to admit I was in a crisis, but I think if you were to ask Tim, he started seeing my distress signals early and often.

This post has to have pictures, whether or not they have anything to do with anything.

This is so embarrassing for me to admit, but first I gave up the science curriculum because we weren't liking it, and then I scrambled to come up with something new. I didn't like the history either, so I gave it up for a few weeks and then went back to it because I couldn't come up with anything I liked better. Looking back, it was all hastily chosen, and the only thing that worked out well was the language arts. I was unable myself to keep up with the schedule I created for us, and thought that's OK, I'll ease up. We'll adapt and do what works for us. We all did physical education together in the beginning; then I said they need to do a physical activity on their own; then I forgot about it entirely. Saxon Math gave way to Khan Academy. Everything started to slip through my fingers. I set what I thought were reasonable daily goals, weekly goals, and then wondered why it was so dang hard to meet them. I needed help, but this was my show, and co-ops are not an option where we live. (It would have been yet another place to drive anyway -- lest we forget I have two other children in two other schools.) I would vent my frustration to Tim, who dealt as best he could, backing my efforts when possible, but this wasn't something he was prepared to take on after a day at work. And he did not like coming home to a stressed out Rachael.

One day, and which day in particular it was, I don't remember. Only that it was the last week before area schools were to go on Christmas break. Probably Monday or Tuesday of that week. A lot of things were going through my head, like it's not supposed to be this way...nobody is appreciating my efforts...I'm trying so hard...this is all for them, but they don't even care... All of a sudden, into my mind flashed a quote from The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis: "She's the sort of woman who lives for others -- you can always tell the others by their hunted expression." I sat there stunned, my pity party brought to an abrupt, record-scratching end. I knew I was in real danger of turning into this fearsome specter who "lives for others."

We brought back family game night, starting with the one Santa brought us this year, Ticket to Ride. It's  a winner.

Nobody had asked me to do any of this. Nobody was requiring me now to do any of this. I had brought it all on myself. I sent up a quick prayer and went once more to the girls. They readily agreed that I should enroll them at the middle school to start after the break. Things moved very quickly after that. A few clicks of a keyboard and it was done. When it sank in I let out a body-deflating sigh, put my face in my hands, and allowed the tears to flow. I had had such high hopes for this little venture, and now it was another failed experiment.

It was singularly humbling to face the fact that I could not do this myself. To admit that I was not serving my family well in the capacity of middle school teacher. To realize that all the really great reasons there are to homeschool in the time of COVID or otherwise, just really don't apply to me or my family. While the current situation is not ideal, my girls are capable of keeping track of their own schedules and doing their own work, and they are motivated to do so by their teachers who are somebody besides me. 

It took a while before I came around to this kind of perspective. For several days I just felt like I'd fallen flat on my face. Tim listened, comforted me, and gave me space to go through my mourning process. It was tough. I didn't want to even look at the materials we had, and kept thinking what a waste. I felt so defeated and like, what was the point? Maybe it will make sense one day why I had to go through this. As Olaf said, "This will all make sense when I'm older." 😅 I think that if I had started homeschooling the girls when they were little, this would be a very different story. We are all too set in our ways. 

The week they went back to school, it took a little more doing to get Delaney into the math class she belonged in. The school only wanted her to be in it if she had been in it since August. I hadn't seen this coming, obviously. I don't want to go into the boring details, but as I put it to Tim, "I interfered once and messed things up, and now I've got to interfere one more time to make it right!" I pleaded my case, citing the crazy times we're in. It's funny because I'm usually the parent no one even knows about, but I'm pretty sure the middle school staff know my name now (and are hopefully not cursing it). But they were very gracious and accommodating, the girls are now settled in and back to work, and I can recede to the background again. For those of you I asked to pray for a special intention -- that was it! Thank you and thank God.

I have to say, now that this is all said and done, I am sooo relieved. I am so glad not to be carrying this burden. There is still time and now a little more mental energy to dedicate to teaching them things they won't learn in public school. I can tell they're happier too, and looking forward to being back with their friends next Friday when they go back to, what is it? Plan B, one day a week in person. (That's the plan anyway, we'll see how it actually goes.) They are once again spending many hours in Zooms, but as long as I've got a kitchen stocked with food, I can count on seeing them a few times a day. Earlier this week I got my first robocall in about six months, informing me that Delaney's going to be looking at a high school course catalog and registering for classes soon.😲 Can you believe it? Our naptime Poopcasso is going to high school in a few months. 

I've read this book three or four times, and I've gotten something new out of it every time. The letters are written by a senior devil to a novice one, giving advice on how to secure a soul's damnation. Of course Uncle Screwtape is unwittingly instructing us readers how to live our best lives, avoid temptations, and get to heaven when we die. It is humorous, insightful, sometimes downright chilling, but just. so. good. Not a single wasted word. I love everything CSL.

Merry Christmas!

It's the fifth day of Christmas. Tim is at work, school is on break, and Timmy's at a friend's house from school. A couple of us are still in pajamas. At least once I'm going to order the kids outside for fresh air and exercise, and nag them to read a book. Someone will be taking the dog for a walk (most likely me). I'll be calling Annie back to the kitchen to clean up her baking mess. I've got a to-do list, but it feels like I have all the time in the world to do it. My cleaning schedule has gone by the wayside, but occasionally a dirty toilet or floor will spur me into action. I'm describing the typical day in the life of 2020. But unlike the endless tedium of spring (two weeks, they said!), I can really savor and appreciate this break because I know I only have a week more of it. When things start back up, it's going to get busy around here quick.

Grace told me she thinks Christmas is a good time for me to update my blog. So it is. This one is for you, Grace.

We went to Mass Christmas Eve at 4:00, and then watched A Christmas Story together after dinner. We managed to get all of them to bed at a decent hour, in particular Joey, who had been reminded probably a dozen times by his siblings how important it is to get to sleep so Santa can come.

In the middle of the night I heard Joey climbing into bed with us and telling Tim, "Santa came! And he gave us lots of presents! And he ate the cookies, and the carrots, and drank the milk." I thought, uh-oh, he might not go back to sleep now. But thank goodness he did.

Eight-thirty saw Tim rounding the kids up for the obligatory tree picture, while I got my first cup of coffee. Then I held the phone so Tim Sr and Carolyn could watch them open their presents on FaceTime. It did not even occur to me to take pictures of them opening their presents as I held the phone, sipped my coffee, and watched through bleary eyes. 

Once the kids were done, I opened my presents from Grace. The girls got impatient watching me because I took too much time removing the paper and admiring the boxes they were in. They laughed at me, but hey, I enjoy the packaging too, especially when I can save and reuse it. She gave me some comfy clothes, which I love and can never have too much of. Then--surprise, surprise--a present from Tim. We had agreed not to give each other any. I said, "Oh boy, I thought the new kitchen was my present!"

You guys, it was an electronic fly swatter! When those pesky kitchen flies come back, I'll be ready. And if a fly should happen to land on anyone's head, well, you know I've gotta do what I gotta do! Zap.

But that wasn't all. There was more. Inside another box were ping-pong balls, paddles, and a net. What did I need these for? Tim told me to take it all upstairs, and I did, leading a procession behind me. In front of the window in the FROG was a ping-pong table that Tim and Delaney had made for me after I made a comment some weeks back about how much I used to enjoy playing ping-pong in my grandma's basement. I was delighted. With my comfy clothes and ping-pong, I need never leave the house.

Here are some photos of the rest of our lazy Christmas Day.

Delaney with two of her gifts: a new Patriots shirt and a Child Chia Pet

Annie got a stand mixer from Grandma and a donut pan and sprinkles from Auntie Kathy. She put both to good use.

The day after Christmas, Tim and I headed out to pick up a TV stand for the FROG, that Tim had found on Facebook Marketplace. When we got to the seller's home, she told us she was moving to Washington State and wanting to get rid of all kinds of stuff. She just didn't like posting the ads and having to deal with all the messages. She asked us if we wanted any more furniture for our FROG, and I said I'd take a look while Tim and her son loaded the TV stand into his truck. That furniture wasn't something that would work for us, but when she told me her outdoor furniture was for sale, my eyes lit up. New outdoor furniture had been on my list for some time, but not really a high enough priority. It's always so overpriced. Her stuff was from Lowe's like ours, but it was prettier in my opinion, and two of the chairs rock. We ended up taking the whole set, rug included, for $50. Tim made it all fit in the truck, and I said, "That's why we can never get rid of the truck." What a nice surprise that was! I am spoiled.

This morning, along with some more presents for the kids, some goodies for me arrived from Mom and Anna. Two sets of Trader Joe's white pine hand soap and lotion--one for now and one for next year! The stuff smells divine. Mom gave me this book with a note written inside.

"Dearest, I bought all the copies I could find years ago after I saw one in person. I hope you love it as much as I love you and your family. To your first home with joy. Love, Mom"

"I laughed when I read this again before sending. But hey--you can always dream.💗 P.S. Tim can prepare with grace and you appreciate with gratitude." That is how it goes around here: Tim has much more grace in the kitchen than I do, and I am grateful to eat any meal that I don't prepare.🤣 And I can always dream of the day that the kids will eat our meals with gratitude. Maybe if I wear a flapper dress?

Well, hello there. It's been a minute since I got on here last. I haven't been jumping on here to enumerate my failed resolutions or the times I don't measure up to my own standards, but trust me, there's been a lot of that happening around here. At the same time, I have to look around and see that life has been incredibly good, we have so much to be thankful for, and even that I, personally, am managing to do some things right, even when it feels like I'm just bumbling along. Documenting life here has always helped me focus on that better, but strangely enough, I rarely find myself wanting to do that. This crazy year has had me diving deeper into my faith; and it seems that where I used to find myself with lots to share, now I find myself with almost no words. With whatever time I have free, all I want to do is listen, read, contemplate, and absorb. I'm like a bottomless pit needing to be filled with everything good, beautiful and true in the face of all this uncertainty.

Yesterday was Joey's 5th birthday. After I dropped Timmy off at school, I was sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast when my bedroom door opened, and he came out (he always winds up in our bed by morning). He stood there all disheveled and sleepy because he gets out of bed before he's actually awake. I looked over and said, "Happy birthday, love!" He gasped and said, "I'm five!" Then he ran to me and launched himself into my arms. After I set him back down he asked me if he'd grown, and I told him he definitely had. The magic of going to bed four years old and waking up the next morning five!

He was fake sleeping because I wanted this picture and he won't nap except in the car or at church; even still I'm amazed at how his face, and all their faces, revert to newborn when they're asleep.

As I always do on their birthdays, I broke out my treasure trove of memories. The night five years ago I went to bed heavily pregnant and exhausted after an emotional day. Feeling the breeze come through my open window, and seeing the branches swaying. Waking up Tim and calling my midwife a few hours later, but trying not to get too excited. My midwife Joanne in her "Midwives help people out" t-shirt. Seeing the kids off at the school bus, frying eggs at the stove, and wondering if, in fact, there would be a baby born that day. Walking into the kitchen triumphantly holding up eight fingers. Laughing with Tim as we walked around our neighborhood, and then getting a couple really good contractions. Pulling the new little one up to my heart, and searching his scrunched-up face for familiar features.

We took the kids to the trampoline park on Sunday, as a special birthday outing. He got to celebrate at school with treats and a new book. Then it was just us later for cake, ice cream, and presents. We got him the next size up bike, and at first he was pretty intimidated by its height, but by the end of the evening he'd taken it for a spin around the driveway. He also got three remote control cars, an assortment of other cars, and some Transformers, all of which have kept him busy playing inside on this cold day. He goes to preschool Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings, and hangs out with us the other two days of the week.

Another thing I've been wanting to share: Tim finished our kitchen transformation right before Thanksgiving. I love how it turned out -- so much lighter and brighter. The cabinets were spray painted professionally, and the old tile was replaced by Brazilian cherry like the other living areas. The backsplash and counters are new, and Tim put in more under-cabinet lighting. He did an amazing job with the pantry too, but I need to clean it up and get it looking good in there again before I take a picture. 

And here are a couple "before" pictures, so you can really see how far we've come. The one change that had the biggest impact -- as in, if we'd done nothing else, we could have gotten by -- was painting the cabinets. Tim keeps finding little nicks in the paint and it's driving him crazy, but I don't look that closely and I still love it. At one point Tim uncovered hunter green paint behind the stove, and it was crazy to imagine the whole room having been hunter green at one point. 

Plan D

 If someone had told me last year what the 2020-21 school year would look like, I just would not have believed it. Of course none of us would have believed any of what's happened the last several months, but this is reality.

I happened to go back and read my last blog post, and it occurred to me that at the end where I mention our very own "Plan D," I never elaborated on what that was. Now that we're about a month in, give or take, I'll do just that. 

So, June and July saw the two of us just hoping for the best, and not even entertaining the idea of the worst. I think that after the fiasco of virtual learning in spring was done, I just wanted to eject that experience from my brain and enjoy the summer. But then began the rumblings of the next school year, the school board polling parents to see how they wanted it to go, and then deciding regardless to go with Plan C, which was all virtual learning, for at least the first nine weeks; and then reevaluate after that. That was a huge disappointment, although truthfully, Plan B, which had also been on the table, wouldn't have been better. That would have had the girls in school one day a week, and Timmy in school two days, with so many stipulations it sounded like a logistical nightmare. With the girls, I could make anything work. But Timmy, whether he knew it or not, desperately needed the structure of the traditional classroom experience, with a teacher to motivate him in person, and other kids his age to be around. He's a bright boy and a good student, but for him, the wheels fell off the virtual learning pretty quickly. It was a draining and disheartening experience. The following text exchange between his teacher and me was fairly typical for the those last couple months of third grade. It makes me sad to look back and remember how such a great school year turned into a complete goat rope. Ms. G loved those kids and worked so hard.  

We called up our Catholic school, St. Paul, and learned that they had room for another fourth grader. We took him to the tour, got him signed up and his uniforms ordered, so grateful to be able to get the boy out of our house and learning again. This happened with maybe a week to spare before the first day of school in mid-August.

As for the girls, at first I thought they would just continue with virtual learning at the middle school. They are organized, dependable, studious, as well as a little more mature than Timmy; and I knew that it wouldn't be a problem for them. I still felt sad for them that their one overlapping year of middle school was to be spent at home. Then I got to thinking about how inadequate remote school had been for Delaney. The teachers kind of gave up because parents and students complained about the workload. Delaney said that as a result they had hardly anything to do. Annie is the only one who had a satisfactory remote learning experience, in my opinion. Her 5th grade teacher was a stickler, and Annie is a perfectionist, so they got on wonderfully. But now Annie would be at middle school, and she and her sister both be spending a gazillion hours online, and neither of them would be challenged enough. First I thought I'd try to supplement their learning with whatever I could come up with. That thought led me to another thought, and I cautiously solicited the girls' opinions one morning at breakfast, about this harebrained scheme I had brewing. If they had been completely negative about it, I would have said "OK," and turned my mental energies to something else. But to my pleasant surprise they were both open to the idea of having our own homeschool experience this year. They both expressed relief at not having to be in and out of Zoom meetings all day.

We did school pictures one day on the porch. Annie curled Delaney's hair, and for whatever reason, she put on a cowboy hat and bandanna for the occasion!

After discussing with Tim, I plunged into the world of homeschooling and curriculum shopping. I asked my sister Anna as well as a couple friends what they were using. Amazingly, they all told me the same thing. Well, for Anna it was what she had used last year, and it wasn't quite going to work for her this year, but to me it still sounded great. It's called The Good and the Beautiful. They have an open-and-go language arts curriculum that is several subjects in one: grammar, reading, writing, geography, and art/art appreciation. All from a Christian worldview. I also chose their history curriculum and a couple of their science units as well. Currently, we're learning about ancient Egypt in history, and mammals in science. I read aloud to them every day at lunch for fifteen to twenty minutes, and we are spending time together and having conversations that most likely wouldn't be happening if they were on their own schedules all day. They're using my mom's old homeschool standby, Saxon, for math, which is also what Anna and my two friends recommended.

Annie's turned out well too! 

I was so nervous at the start of this. I disenrolled them from school, submitted the homeschool paperwork to the State of North Carolina, and then lay in bed that night thinking, What have I done? It would be one thing if they were little kids -- how hard could it honestly be to homeschool two little girls in the younger grades? But these are big girls, middle schoolers, one almost in high school, and I felt barely qualified to teach them. In fact to be honest, I am not qualified to teach them math; I don't remember much of any concepts I learned beyond maybe 5th or 6th grade. Enough to get me by and that's all. But these girls are strong math students, and as I had hoped, they open the book every day, read the lesson and do it, with little or no intervention needed from me. No issues with coming from Common Core math. And I figure there are plenty of online resources out there if I need them. They are handling their language arts courses (which I've been told are advanced) well, which tells me the public schools and DoD schools have been doing a pretty good job with their core subjects thus far. There is a heavier emphasis on spelling and grammar than they've been used to.

The middle school band teacher is graciously including all the homeschool students in her program this year, so there are Zoom meetings for the girls after all, sometimes two a day for each of them. (Two Zooms a day apiece, all four at different times, just for one subject. If I'd kept them at the middle school for everything else, it is highly doubtful there'd be time in the day for me to supplement their learning in any way.) But now there won't be any gap in their skills. Annie is playing clarinet too. Reaching out to the band instructor in the beginning was awkward for me too; I was worried the answer would be a big fat no, not from the band instructor, but from the school -- like you don't get to go rogue and have band class for your kids. But that is not the case at all, and Delaney and Annie aren't the only kids in that boat.

Celebratory ice cream out after Timmy's first day of school

We're also doing a class with the whole family once a week at dinner, called Principles of a Free Market. When one of the kids asked me one day why the government doesn't just print more money and give it to the people who need it (a fair question!), I thought maybe it was time for something like this. I feel like we're being so much more intentional this year with what and how the kids are learning, and it's more effort on our part, but I know it's been a blessing to have the events of COVID shake me out of my complacency. I'm hoping that no matter what the plan is next year, we keep seizing opportunities to shape our kids and impart our values to them.

Back to Timmy for a minute -- I'm so pleased with Catholic school, which we had heretofore not been convinced was worth the expense. He wasn't happy to have to get up early and put on a uniform -- to the point where I didn't bother trying to pose him for a first day of school picture. I just wasn't picking that battle. Mornings are still rough, but we get through it. He leaves the house every day wearing a collared shirt tucked into pants with a belt. There are standards, so it's not just me trying to convince him not to wear holey sweatpants. On Wednesdays they go to Mass, and on that day he wears a button-down shirt and on his feet for once in his life are shiny leather oxfords. He looks so handsome. I attend the school Mass myself, and I see a more energetic side of our pastor as he talks to the kids, and the music teacher plays beautiful music. After Mass we say the Pledge, and the students recite the school mission statement. When he gets in the car every afternoon, he tells me about the football games at recess, quizzes me on things he's learning, and in general seems much happier than he is on the morning drive. Sometimes later on I'll be reading aloud or talking and he'll interrupt to say, "That's one of my vocabulary words!" and then tell me what it means. His teacher reads to them every day, too, in addition to having them read on their own, and I'm so glad. Sometimes kids aren't motivated to read classics on their own, the language looks too quaint to them, and they need to just be able to relax and listen. The current read-aloud is The Trumpet of the Swan by E.B. White, I believe. 

To have some outside reinforcement in raising a child with the Catholic faith is pretty great, too.

I considered sending to Joey to pre-k at St. Paul's too, but I am so sentimentally attached to his preschool, which is the same one the girls went to. He even has the same teacher they did for pre-k, Mrs. Ann. He goes MWF 9-12, so it's a lot of driving to and from for me on those days, between him and his brother. I also volunteer a couple Tuesday mornings a month at Timmy's school library, and there's a lot of catching up to do once I get home. It's worth it, though, to have found a solution for each of them in these crazy times.

I am extra busy this year, and it's about to get busier with soccer starting. I have no problems falling asleep at night. This school year is an adventure, one that I definitely did not want, but we are going to make sure it's worth our while.

An Open Letter of Apology to My Children

Dear Delaney, Annie, Timmy, and (to a lesser extent) Joey,

I owe the four of you an apology -- one that I could probably get away with never saying, but I'll say it nonetheless. 

Several weeks ago, while I was in Cincinnati staying at your grandparents' house, I happened to be chatting next to the pool with your aunts Anna and Grace. Grace was talking about how hard it is to get things done around the house with little kids around (you remember hers are five and two). Anna said to her, "When they get older they'll help you out more." I said, "Mine are older and they're not much help." 

I think you'd all beg to differ, but don't worry, I'll be setting the record straight. I think that if you were ever not much help to me, the fault was never yours. I simply wasn't requiring enough of you, and the blame for that rests squarely on my shoulders. I thought I was doing my job but I was actually neglecting a huge part of it.

You see, I am the proud keeper of a housework schedule, which allows me (as long as I stay on top of it) to keep a 3000-square-foot house reasonably neat and clean at all times. As a stay-at-home mom, making this house a livable home is my responsibility, and it's important for my sanity that there is cleanliness and order. Not only that, I enjoy the laundry and the cleaning, and the feeling of accomplishment that I have when it's done. I really didn't think anyone could scrub a toilet the way I could. I didn't think anyone could push a mop the way I could. But then I would get frustrated at the four of you for messing it up. Worse yet, when the pandemic grounded us all, I resented that you never went anywhere so I could get this house in order! It shames me to admit that. 

I stayed stubbornly set in my ways for weeks, while waiting with bated breath for things to return to "normal." Anytime now, anytime now, I'd say to myself through gritted teeth as my face turned blue. It has since become clear that whatever normal is, we are still a long way away from it. After receiving the news that the public schools have decided to go remote for at least the first nine weeks of the year (but we know it will end up being longer), your daddy and I experienced a few days of turmoil. We had blithely ignored this possibility all summer long, but now here it was, reality knocking at our door. In the end we pivoted to a new course of action: Timmy is attending Catholic school, and the girls will be homeschooled by me for the year. Only Joey will be doing what was originally planned for him -- Pre-K at his same school, three mornings a week. Some of us will be spending even more time at home together. In light of the changes I've implemented this summer, I can look at this prospect with a newfound feeling of gratitude. There were things about my approach to parenting and homemaking that needed addressing, but that might never have happened as long as you stayed in full-time school. 

While you had been doing some chores for years, and have always been responsible for your own rooms, your father said it wasn't enough, and he urged me to get you all doing more. I don't know why I hesitated -- a misplaced feeling of guilt? A lack of faith in you guys' ability? Fear of push-back? The mistaken notion that it's easier just to do it all myself? Maybe all of those things. Whatever the case, I finally came around and started assigning you more work. It turns out he's right about yet another thing.😜 I am finding that not only am I feeling less burdened now that I am divvying up the work among those of you big enough to do it, I am appreciating having you around a lot more. Not only that, since you now have a hand in the vacuuming, mopping, dusting, etc., this makes you stakeholders in our home, as you should have been all along. This is your home too, and I want each of you to take pride in it. Your help with the yard has also been much appreciated by Daddy. And even though Joey can't do much yet, he's learning a lot from your example.

It's far from perfect here; there are days that you've vacuumed, dusted and Bona mopped the living room, but have forgotten to make your own beds. One or two of you may have completed your chores one day, but failed to brush your teeth -- you know who you are. There have been squabbles over who gets to do what, even with it being a list of items to pick and initial, first-come-first-serve. There are still times that decide it's easier to do something myself, knowing full well I ought to delegate it to one of you. We all struggle with the inertia of not having many places to go for many months, and our attitudes have suffered. We're working on it. We'll get there.

With school starting up again under our our very own "Plan D," I'm going to continue to depend on your help around here. It may look a little different than it does in the summertime, but I don't ever want to go back to seeing you all as little house-wreckers. That was very unfair to you. We will all be a little busier as we get into the school year, but I hope we all remember that it doesn't take long to accomplish a lot when we're focused, and that many hands make light work.

Love always,

Mama