Alaska Day 1: The 28-hour birthday.

I learned noon is our best departure time. Kicking off Day 1, we had a low-stress morning with plenty of time for Brian and I to run, cram more into the suitcases, and cook every last perishable item in a completely random breakfast buffet. Eggs, string beans, watermelon, and cake anyone? But there wasn’t too much time for us to get completely annoyed with the incessant questioning on when we were leaving.

Day 1 of this trip was Baya’s 8th birthday. Facing two long flights and a time change, we started pitching the benefit of getting 4 extra hours of birthday early and often. She shrugged each time before eventually responding with a full-on eye roll. She perked up seeing a bird flying through the airport waiting area. Then everything changed when the AMAZING Delta crew wished her a happy birthday on the intercom. She got a round of applause from the other passengers and a snack pack with her favorite chips. Wow!

Backing up a bit…

When this opportunity first hatched, Brian took my rough clay of an idea and formed it into an awesome itinerary with, like, reservations and everything. Even with all the anxiety, I was REALLY looking forward to this trip.

Why?

I felt so lucky to squeeze this in before school starts. Like everyone, we’d been in the house for 5 months and needed a serious change of scenery.

Also, I was born in Alaska. We left before I had any memories of my own. My concept of this last frontier was formed by my parents’ stories and pictures over the years. I had none of my own and really wanted to go back.

And there’s the reality that traveling anywhere for any length of time is challenging with packing, dogs, kids, work, the house- all of it.

Of course, the biggest thing on our minds was Covid. Alaska has an exceptionally low infection rate and wants to keep it that way. The state has strict expectations for testing and quarantine. Before we left, we had one test 5 days out and another 3 days out and limited our contact leading up to the flight. Upon arrival, we completed a declaration form with details on how to reach us for contact tracing, if needed.

My heart skipped a bit as we came off the plane- part relief, part surprise that we were really here. Everything from there was so smooth. We met a welcoming crew from the public health office then had an easy luggage pick-up, car rental, drive-through McDonald’s for extra happy kids, and finally a gorgeous drive to our first hotel.

We made it! Phew!

Called to a bigger role: How our PTAs might help save us this fall

Across the DMV, we know public schools will start virtually this fall.

The dialog in my neighborhood, text chains, Facebook page, and my own head has centered on school administrators and teachers. The Monday morning quarterbacking is about right and wrong. It’s about what they did or didn’t do, knew or didn’t know, considered or ignored. It’s a mix of data, emotion, anecdote, bias, anger, resignation, and satisfaction.

Anyone else feel like the friend at the end of the row on the Tilt-a-Whirl? Dizzy and… squished. I’m ready to get off. This ride sucks.

But this post isn’t about the decision we’re in. It’s about how we got here and what happens next.

It’s about our process. A look back can inform our look ahead.

Our mistake was assuming the decision about schools reopening was a decision for schools to make. It is but only in the narrowest sense. In recent months, we’ve all come to appreciate that "school" isn’t just bringing together kids, teachers, and curriculum. It’s routine, friends, teams, food, safety, and support. And, yes, in the most honorable, respectable possible interpretation of the word, it’s childcare.

The actions needed to go back to school far exceed the scope and capacity of what administrators and teachers can offer. These professionals play a critical role but not the only one.

There are essential roles for parents and students, we know. What’s less obvious are the roles for local businesses and non-profits. We're in a megacommunity.

A megacommunity acknowledges and embraces the reality that some challenges are too big to be solved by a single entity. Solutions require a coordinated effort and are driven by shared ownership among a much broader group of groups. Our common goal to educate and care for our children compels us to act- together.

The challenge we're facing this fall requires us all to play bigger. To pull of a set of solutions at scale, we need a convener and a coordinator. We need central group of somebodies to light the torch and make sure it’s passed.

Who might this be? What about our PTAs?

Wait, wait, stay with me for a sec. I’m serious.

In normal years past, PTAs help deliver the full school experience for kids and teachers. Armed with contact lists, spreadsheets, and Pinterest boards, this volunteer army is resourceful. They’re master communicators and they know EVERYONE. They function as fund managers, planners, recruiters, includers, and appreciation and celebratory event coordinators.

We know this is no normal year, however. So, imagine an augmented PTA comprised of parents, teachers, and for- and non-profit community members. Imagine aiming all their organizing, mobilizing, and communicating power at our shared kid/school/care challenge. Imagine stepping up and playing big. Really big.

What might that look like?

First, we’d need another call for volunteers. Our current set signed up under the assumption of “business as usual” and they’re going to need help. Not only do we need more horsepower, but we also need a more diverse skill set.

Next, we need to settle on a few priorities to start and who (broadly) will need to be at the virtual table with solutions.

I envision a collection of agile, short-term working groups focused on hatching creative solutions. Their output would include resources, information, and recommendations- no mandates, no liability.

I personally would start by bringing some access, transparency, and diversity to this pod formulation process that right now feels like every family for itself. I’d then move on to socialization and coordinating small groups, outdoor recess, and enrichment activities.

What do you think? Could the (minivan) cavalry roll in?

Eight Things I Want for Mother's Day

Marin is nine. So, that would make it eight years ago that I learned an important lesson about Mother’s Day. It’s simple: tell him what I f’ing want. Do not let him (now them) guess wrong for the sport of the “how well can you read my mind?” game.

This approach is hard because that means I have to think about it. It’s worth it, though, because the chances of a nice day versus a huffy day go up significantly.

On this particular Mother’s Day, it’s seems less about the stuff and more about bring intentional with how we spend the time. The challenge of anything celebratory under Stay at Home orders is making the day different from the smear of days that came before.

So, what do I want this year?

I had to think hard. The truth is that I have everything I really want. Then, I buy the few things I never knew I needed on Amazon as I see them. So, it’s definitely not a “thing”.

After some reflection, I’m asking for these eight:

1. Time out of the house to run. I always get this so it’s not really an ask. I just want it documented.

2. Someone to stretch with me because I won’t do it otherwise. Some kind of family yoga class—even if it’s just 5 minutes- would be cool.

3. Fresh flowers for the kitchen.

4. A Facetime call with my mom.

5. No pancakes. Like, really, zero pancakes. Knock yourself out, kids, if this is what you want on my day. That’s totally fine. That said, I’d really love an Old Fashioned around 5pm. Extra cherries, please!

6. I’m happy to cook dinner mostly because I like cooking but a little bit because I don’t like you messing up the kitchen. But…if someone wanted to make a special dessert and wash the mixing bowls afterwards, that’d be super great. You know I like everything you make.

7. An entire day without someone scream-whining, “SSSTOOOOPPPPPPP!!!” If you believe your hair might be at risk for being stepped on, get your head off the damn floor. Thank you, sweeties.

8. And, I saved the big stuff for last. I want the sick to breathe easy again. I want everyone on the front lines to feel appreciated and get a moment to catch their own breath. I want testing at scale and progress on a vaccine. I want job openings and economic recovery. Alas, I know I can’t have these things right now. Instead, maybe we can find us something helpful to do- even if it’s small?

Moms! What’s on your list?

From Yesterday to 10 Years from Now

Yesterday was my best pandemic day yet.

It’d been a tough, tough week as we passed Day 50 under Stay at Home orders in Virginia. It wasn’t sick and dying tough or homeless and hungry tough. It was the “I’m so lucky AND still feeling worn down and out while straining to keep the machine going” kind of tough.

It wasn’t just me. It was our whole house.

Then, yesterday came. The sun was up on time- bright and yellow after days and days of gray rain.

I got to Giant before 6:45am and scored 2 big packs of toilet paper and a half-dozen donuts. Leaving the TP in my locked car in the driveway, I headed out for a 10-mile run with a long interview with Michael Lewis in my ears. I came home to happy kids. They were happy it was Saturday, happy knowing they’d get outside and, of course, happy there was something different for breakfast.

We walked dogs, chatted with passersby, and stood awestruck as the Blue Angles blasted over the house. After leftovers for lunch, we spent the afternoon in the dirt planting annuals and vegetables on the patio and in the garden. The kids flowed in and out of the backyard, on and off their bikes. We only needed one Band-Aid and a short time-out while Linc (very loudly) insisted that we have Baya arrested for crashing into him.

After a second shower, we set up chair pairs in the driveway and caught up with our dear neighbor friends over BYO-cocktails and snacks. I learned I’m the last person on the planet to hear about the IMDb. After more leftovers for dinner, we settled in to watch Pitch Perfect on the porch with popcorn and sticky, baseball-sized macaroons.

Between the sun, the run, the toilet paper, the sugar, the dirt, the (lack of) dishes, real live conversation, and the kids finding dozens of ways to entertain themselves (by themselves), it was a great day.

I share for this reason. Writing not only helps me think but it also helps me remember.

My memory has limits. It also changes with new information or as louder, more persistent voices seep in. This shiftiness feels like a risk and an opportunity.

Writing is an offering to my future self. It’s the gift of a more personal and familial perspective as official version of history is written by someone else. It’s the gift of color and texture as the details are summarized away.

So, I write it down. And, here’s a friendly challenge. You should too.

If you need a place to start, answer these questions. Write in words or emojis, pithy statements or long silky sentences, stream of consciousness or with Strunk and White within close reach. It doesn’t matter and doesn’t have to be “complete.” No rules, no grades. Just writing.

When you’re done, you can post it, email it to friends, or stash a printout in your underwear drawer. If you’re so inclined, I’d love to read yours.

Your future self knows how this all turned out. Help her remember what it was like right now.

Back for More

Spring Break ended yesterday. We would have just flown back from California after a week in San Francisco and Yosemite. My stomach would be aching from laughing with Ali Wong alongside my dear friend and neighbor. We would be scrambling to clean out the backpacks and make lunches.

Instead, we’re oozing into this week like we did the last four. It’s remarkable how we adjust, how quickly we develop a new routine, and how easy it is to forget what it was like before. I don’t like the social distancing any better. I’m just more settled in. That settling in is a privilege and a luxury as soft, smooth, shiny, and rare as any other. I know.

Spring break did offer a breather from the ultralight, misty pressure that came with getting the kids online on time and through their required reading. Spring break also brought spring. I love forgetting then re-remembering each year how many trees bloom. Our neighborhood is filled with disorganized tulips and that fuzzy lime green of new leaves.

And while we filled the time off, I’m ready to go back to homeschooling today. The kids are craving structure too. I can tell when they ask me for the 438th time if they can watch TV.

I have to be honest, though. I’m not REALLY homeschooling.

It’s more like I’m stringing together enough distractions to keep them sort of productively occupied through the day. I make sure they’re logged onto their devices at the right time to talk to their teachers. Then, I make them sign off at some point several hours later when I realize it’s been several hours and that’s probably too much screen time. But what’s too much? I don’t know. Brian’s better. I hear him doing site words and math worksheets from behind my closed office door.

I’ve also instituted an “Alexa First” policy. They kids should ask that little robot as many questions as they like on rounding and prefixes. She really hasn’t been pulling her weight lately and needs to step up. She’s significantly 1) more likely to be right and 2) less likely to get annoyed by the interruption.

My goal by next September is to keep the girls stocked with books (they’re crushing through Harry Potter) and get Linc reading and riding his bike without training wheels. And instead of worrying about keeping up with the State of Virginia’s standards, I’m going to fill in with lessons on the stuff I know.

I did a quick inventory. It’s a short list. The new Camarote house curriculum will include:

1.       Making lists

2.       Thinking about the future and laying out a plan to get there.

3.       Organizing information and creating PowerPoint slides

4.       Walking in high heels (useless so we’ll skip it)

5.       Sharing unsolicited advice (creates more issues that it solves so we’ll skip this too), and

6.       DIY home hair coloring

We should be through this material and on with our lives by June when, by the grace of God, they’ll be at camp. Sigh.

Meanwhile, here’s a little snapshot of the other stuff we’ve been up to:

• Ate and drank. Ate and drank.

• Started our seeds both in the ground outside in the raised beds and in the house.

• Built an “under the tree” hideout and dug a self-filling mud pit in the backyard.

• Decorated bunches of sweet, soft cookies that came with their own little paint palette, courtesy of our dear cookie and cake fairy godmother.

• Painted stacks and stacks of watercolors.

• Made homemade poptarts that were messy but surprisingly easy and good.

• Zoom’d with family and friends.

• Read to the dogs and started online puppy training class.

• Dyed the girls’ hair. I’d like to pretend this happened in a moment of parenting desperation, but it didn’t. I was delighted they asked!

• Rode bikes in jammies.

• Hunted Easter eggs.

• Watched YouTube videos on creating a tablescape. I’d expected to miss family and food on Easter. I was surprised when I found myself missing other stuff—like getting dressed up and sitting down to my mom’s color-coordinated table overflowing with flowers. Baya helped by setting everything up and making place cards.

• Learned to use the piping bag. Baya listened and promptly frosted a dozen cupcakes perfectly. Marin was doubled over in laughter for 30 minutes as she sculpted the entire cast of the Lion King in mashed potatoes.

That’s all for now.

Have a wonderful week!

Missing What I Have

This is “The Wisdom of the Universe” by Canadian artist Christi Belcourt. For me, it’s completely captivating and feels right, right now. It’s beautiful from across the room and then as you get up close, you see it’s true complexity in millions of tiny dots- like needlepoint. I was lucky to see this at the Renwick a couple of weeks ago. Now I’m glad I bought the shirt. You can click the image to read more about it and the artist.

I’ll admit that I cried yesterday after hearing that Virginia schools would be closed through the end of the year. I called my dad, faked it through my last few conference calls, took a walk with a dear friend, and then set the bowls out for chili. The evening went on.

It’s a strange feeling to miss something you still have. Amidst the confusion, anxiety, and economic loss, my gain has been precious time with my husband and children. We’ve been doing (for the most part) the things we like doing anyway- just a lot more of it. We’ve been reading, cooking, crafting, playing in the backyard, playing on our phones/iPads, walking our dogs, and just hanging out. We miss closeness with our extended family and friends but have been connecting in other ways.

Overnight, the relentlessness of our routine evaporated. Staring at the bottom of the pot, the things left were the only things I ever really wanted. For that, I am grateful. We are just so lucky.

The tear in my heart is the tremendous loss and worry others are going through. It’s real and now. Because their suffering is active, I want this to end. It won’t be as soon as we’d like but it will eventually end.

As we scatter, I’ll miss the closeness we had. Maybe it’ll even feel too short. But, we’ll start again because it’ll be the next right step.

When we reopen, we’ll all be getting to know our new world. It’s hard to guess now how noticeable the shifts will be. I have hopes for more.

I hope employers encourage telework more.

I hope we sit down and eat together more.

I hope we get outside more.

I hope old friends connect in creative ways more.

I hope we all give each other a bit more space, time, and kindness as we all try to figure things out.

And I hope our children internalize how connected we are. They’re going to need that perspective later to settle other destined problems.

PS- I write when I want to know what I think. It’s examining then pressing this one view between the pages. It’s for next year when the uncertainty is gone, and I want to remember. And it’s for forty years from now. My grandkids likely won’t hold a book, but I hope to give them another reference point in their history lessons.

What do you want to save about this moment?

We Needed a New Plan

Last week, we had a school/work from home plan. It was official because I had printed it big and mounted it on poster board.

It should have worked. It didn’t work.

We struggled.

I simultaneously neglected the kids and work. On the upside, the guilt and confusion this caused overtook my anxiety. So, there was that.

The plan didn’t work because it was all about the kids. I hadn’t overlaid our respective work call schedules. I completely miscalculated our ability to oversee, manage, transition, start, finish, clean-up, logon, dial-in or the dozen other things they legitimately needed to do their part.

So, we needed a NEW plan.

Here’s the scoop. It’s a daily schedule- part fixed, part flexible. We’ll fill it out together as a family each night before. This approach shows everyone on the same page and gives the kids input on how they want to spend their free time (within limits.)

Rolling out this new, very simple approach yesterday wasn’t as straightforward as it should have been.

My part went great. First, I created the new file, neatly fitting everything onto one page. I printed it and colored in my call blocks with a marker from my personal collection.

Next, as Deputy as he was making his eggs, I very clearly explained the new sheet’s structure and process. He then sat down with his breakfast and messed the whole thing up.

I turned my back for one minute to refill my coffee while he filled in his call blocks all over mine.

As politely as possible, I explained he was doing it all wrong. He says, “Oh, I thought this was for the week. I thought that was Monday.” Seriously?! Even if he tuned out for our entire conversation, how’d he miss the 2nd column header in big font that read, “Dad.”

Sigh.

We could have made do but it was now messy. I wanted to start over.

“Do I have to do EVERYTHING?” may have been hissed as I went back to the office to print out a fresh sheet.

Not wanting to risk it, I just filled his in for him. Because I’ve learned that if I want things done my way and my way only, I do have to do everything.

Because I had to reprint it anyway, I ended up added rows for the ½ hour. Don’t think this is because we’re running some kind of precision operation over here. We are not. It’s because calls starting or ending at the :30 mark were a little confusing for the kids.

Anyway, we’re going to give it try. I’m optimistic. Or, I’m desperate? Delusional? It’s one of those. It’s hard to tell these days.

In other news, here’s a quick recap in pictures and bullets of week 1:

• Sushi take-out from our favorite, local family business. Yay!

• Chalk greetings around the neighborhood.

• Taking funny selfies.

• Baking. Oh my gosh, the baking. I’m thinking about restricting them to making only desserts I don’t like. This will be a challenge because it’s a short list of just licorice jellybeans and blueberry pie.

• Our big outing was a sunrise visit to the Cherry Blossoms. Plenty of social distance at 6:30am! This was by far one of the most memorable things we’ve done so far. I now want to make this an annual tradition.

• The dogs seem to have permanently moved into my office during the day- even using the shredder as a pillow. The constant activity and commotion were apparently disrupting their nap schedule.

• Our first big homeschooling win. A real, viable bubble gum bubble.

• The coolest, most colorful shortbread cookies. If you’re into consuming large amounts of artificial dye, this recipe from the Unicorn Food cookbook is for you!

• A fire pit fire with s’mores.

• And, of course, a lot of wrestling and laying around on the couch watching TV.

Did you do anything especially fun or memorable this week? How are you holding up?

Woman for Vice President!

Democratic presidential candidate Joe Biden recently announced that, if he wins the nomination, he’ll select a woman for vice president. This is exciting news!

After completing a Camp Quarantine research and writing project from Grandma, the girls sit down “View-style” discuss their perspectives on the characteristics of the ideal vice president and the issues she should tackle first.

What do you think?

What makes a great vice president? What issues are most important to you?

Eat, Walk, Hang Out. Repeat.

You know who is making out great in this quarantine? Dogs. All they want in life is food, walks, and to hang out with their people. Now, they’ve got it. 24/7 for the foreseeable future.

Unfortunately, we had to make an unplanned vet visit yesterday. I switched Ro’s food too fast. I know, I know. I was feeling bad. She wasn’t eating her breakfast (but still plenty hungry for treats.) Not biting on bison, I thought maybe she’d dig on sweet potatoes and chicken. Alas, no. Not only did she not care for the new food, the quick switch created MAJOR stomach issues. Ugh.

Our vet’s new, quarantine-friendly procedures are really, really…. great, actually. Like, almost enjoyable. It was kind of a doggie drive-thru.

We pulled up. A tech came out to take all the relevant information. She then took Ro in while we hung out in the car, yelling out the sunroof, and fighting about which songs to play on my phone.

The vet then called with the diagnoses and prescription.

Basically, Ro’s now on a super bland diet. Normally, this would consist of homemade boiled chicken and rice. The vet (acutely aware of the situation) asked, “Do you have any chicken ‘cause last night I was at the store and all they had was plant-based sausage?” I gave her a quick freezer inventory and we agreed to feed the dog the vet’s food with a side of rice. She also got some subcutaneous fluids. This is getting incredibly boring, sorry.

Anyway, when they were done, they brought her back out to the car and I paid over the phone.

No wrangling them in waiting room filled with pissed-off cats. No fussing over who gets to hold the leash. No watching random-ness on Animal Planet. No forced reading about useless pet insurance. Just easy-peezy, in and out.

The others making out pretty good in this situation are little kids.

There seems to be a direct correlation between age and situational sucky-ness with this virus. The older you are, the worse it is… with a special poke in the eye for high school seniors.

Like dogs, little kids like snacks and hanging out. Well, they got that indefinite deal too.

On Day 2, we walked down to the “creek” (an area of controlled storm water run-off in our neighborhood.) I let them take their shoes off because, hey, why not add worries about giardia to my list? They then dug in the mug pit in our yard and played baseball with dad. The new food of the day was papaya. We agreed that it tasted okay but was too mushy (overripe) for a fruit salad so it got reincarnated as a smoothie. They finished the day with green cupcakes and sharing their St. Patrick’s Day presentations.

So, Day 2 was okay but I’m still not feeling any kind of rhythm. I wonder how long it takes for something to seem normal? Any thoughts? Let Rey and I know!

I Need a Compass

A dear colleague nailed it this afternoon. “We all just seem disoriented.”

She was right. I wasn’t sad or mad or glad like some Dr. Seuss book. All my tasks were shuffled and tossed in the air. As they fluttered to the floor, I wasn’t sure which of the 52 to pick up first.

I looked at them all and didn’t jump into anything fast.

I sat there hoping that our daily schedule would hold—not precisely to the exact half hour but to the general flow. I didn’t want them to fight too much or get bored too early.

Though I had tinges of worry about both interruptions and neglect, it all pretty much worked out fine.

To warm up, I dialed into an optional work call just to hear familiar voices and discuss something other than the virus. It helped with the next half-dozen.

The girls loved getting a clever research and writing prompt on St. Patrick from Grandma. They diligently wrote their notes and then reflexively started drafting PowerPoint presentations before their FaceTime review. I couldn’t have been prouder.

We all sat down for lunch together and then did a quick art project.

During dinner prep, Marin dissected a dragon fruit- the first up on new foods to try this week. As the produce fades, we’ll bravely make our way through to the back of the pantry.

At dinner, we did a round-robin about what worked and what didn’t. They liked the schedule but wanted more free time. Got it. We can totally do that.

Brian and I had worked out “who’s on first” for the day based on our scheduled work calls. It became immediately clear that the kids needed to know whose name to yell when. Going straight to the top every time isn’t working. They need to respect the chain of command.

At some point this afternoon, I played this little perspective-setting game with myself I like to call “At least the dog doesn’t have diarrhea.” Well…

Tomorrow will be a easier- or at least different.

As we shut down for the night, I’m feeling thankful for all the people who are still out there making our world turn.

Here are a couple shots from the day.