A Gloomy Moment

Another fall. 

Another holiday season on the way. 

Another year passing.

Time is going too fast. 

I want to celebrate every moment and enjoy. 

But today I feel like I am mourning.

Mourning what has already passed. 

Baby days and toddler days and preschool days and big kid days.

Play group and soccer games and bedtime stories.

My Little Pony and Lego, American Girl, make believe.

Somehow I am already mourning the now. 

Teenagers and high school and all that comes with it. 

(Which is silly because it really just started). 

I feel like it will all be ending much too soon.

Then I remind myself... 

Not ending. 

Changing. 

But it feels like ending.

And the truth is

that I'm not sure I know who I am without them.

People survive this.

EVERYONE survives this. 

Just another phase of life. 

But the one I always looked forward to

and waited for

and planned

is on its final years.

The truth is

that I never thought about what comes after.

It's Hee-eere

The Current State of Things:

• One of the girls' friends just tested positive for Covid. My child is scared, I am nervous, we're all worried. 
• Yesterday we received a letter saying that since September 1, forty-one covid cases have occurred at their high school, with eleven in the past week. 
• Then, this morning, I checked my work email to see that someone at my school has tested positive. Fortunately I wasn't a close contact. But who's to say that I'm not a close contact of a close contact, someone who may test positive next week?

I feel like there is an invisible enemy surrounding us. For eighteen months we have worked to create a strong, protective barrier. We have followed the rules. Our family quarantined faithfully and for longer than many. We stayed remote for the bulk of the past school year. We are all vaccinated. We gave up a trip to see my parents and visit our beloved beach this summer. We haven't eaten inside a restaurant yet. We wear masks, even when we are in the minority.

And yet, it feels like the defenses are breaking down. The enemy is persistent and it's coming from every direction. 

I hate it.

We are still feeling the effects of the sacrifices we made. I see it in my kids' mental health and social lives. I feel it in the lack of travel and new experiences. I feel it at work, as a constant, irritating presence that makes sure that nothing is ever simple or straightforward.

I just want to let kids be kids. I just want to feel like we can let our guards down and feel free. 

I am so tired of all of it.

I'm not even really afraid of the disease itself anymore, but of the havoc it could wreak on our lives. With the amount of schoolwork my kids have every day, how could they survive a week of missed classes? What if it effects basketball, the thing that Katy has waited for for almost two years, or theater, which Maggie has waited for with equal longing? How on Earth could I miss however many days of school? I don't even know how I would plan for that. And those are the little things. What if we inadvertently spread it to someone more vulnerable? 

It's a lot to think about. A lot of worry.

It's exhausting. 

But I refuse to give in to the fear. We will not cancel our lives again if we don't need to. We will be careful. I will try not to worry too much, and we'll keep living our lives, hoping that the barriers hold for just a while longer.

Learning to Surf

     I am fifty years old, and for the past three weeks ninth grade has been kicking my butt. The high school is huge. The classes are harder, friendships are changing and getting more complicated, lunch is terrifying, everyone is suddenly focused on who's dating who, life is more competitive, and social media is suddenly the center of everything. It's just a lot.

                                                       And I'm not even in high school.

    I am the parent of two first-year high school students. I consider myself lucky because they still talk to me. They share their daily ups and downs, and at the moment there are a lot of both. Every day is either the worst day ever or the best day ever, and as a sensitive person, I often feel like I am actually living through it myself. 

    Last week a funny thing happened. One child had just had the worst day ever. It was epically bad. It involved copious, loud tears that rivaled the worst toddler tantrum I had ever experienced.  There were exclamations about unfairness, how bad EVERYTHING is and (of course) how I would never understand. I absorbed every bit of it. 

    It was awful. I barely slept. I went to work the following morning distracted and worried. I spent the day picturing different aspects of what might be happening in her day. I vented to a few friends, and I waited anxiously for the evening, when I could hear how bad it was and help her work through it. But when I texted her at the end of the day to see how she was,  I received a one-word answer.

 "Fine."

    Later I discovered that the day had, in fact, been better than fine. Life was good. Things were working out. In fact, it was "a GREAT day." I was relieved, and I felt a weight lifted. As we were talking that evening and laughing about how much better life was, I told her about how a friend had helped me through my stress that morning. What she said next shocked me.

    "That's great, Mom. What were you stressed about?"

    I think my mouth may have literally hung open. Really? Hadn't we just survived the worst day ever? And then it hit me. We hadn't. She had. 

Mind. Blown.

    It struck me at that moment. I am here as an observer, a driver, a confidant, and a supporter, but this journey isn't mine. It was a sad realization, and yet also a relief. I have already had my high school experience. I survived it once and came out in one piece. And I don't have to do that again.

    And yet, the waves keep hitting me. I am the one in the car when the breakdowns happen, or sitting on the edge of the bed listening to every detail of the worst day ever or the best day ever. The highs and the lows all come my way, and I love it, but it is hard.

    So, I have decided that I need to learn to surf. I need to face the waves of their lives with the knowledge and life experience that tells me that behind every low is another high, and another, and so on and so on. I need to remember that the hardest parts of my own life probably taught me the most and had the biggest effect on the person I became. While my girls are in the raging waters of teen joy and angst and can't see the big picture, I need to stay on the surface - for them and for my own self-preservation. I need to keep perspective. So, my personal mantra, and what I'll be attempting to do for at least the next four years is simply...

                                                     Surfing the waves.

 

My Classroom Haven

The world feels tough right now. 

Covid, Afghanistan, racism, the loss of women's rights, voter suppression, gerrymandering, hurricanes, fires, climate change. The list just seems to go on. For the first time in a long time, I am choosing to be ignorant of the news. I know,  It's terrible, but sometimes it's just too much. It all feels so overwhelming and sad - sometimes hopeless, and definitely helpless. So lately I've been turning off the news, choosing podcasts, books, and music over NPR, turning my gaze away from the negativity that fills my social media feed - preserving my own mental health, guiltily aware that I'm privileged to even be able to do that.

Last week school started. For a lot of people that might just be one more stress added to the list. For me, it's almost exactly the opposite. Part of that is because I work with people who are  kind and supportive, and part of it is that I just love what I do. Teaching makes me happy. But this morning, as I forced myself to read the news, I realized that it's more than that. 

My classroom is my haven. In a world where I sometimes feel like I can't control anything, I can control this - a society in miniature. In my classroom what I do matters. It is a world in which I get to set the tone. I get to decide that right will be right, and truth will be told, fair will be fair, and that kindness will always win. I work to make sure that no matter what is happening in the world, for 6 hours a day, the members of my community feel safe and secure. Little did I know that by creating something for my students I was also giving it to myself.

Both Sides Now

 

We watched the movie CODA this week. It was a powerful movie with some wonderful music, including a beautiful rendition of Joni Mitchell's Both Sides Now. Since watching the movie, I have listened to that song many times, sung by many different artists. Each brings a different tone and a different feeling to the song. (Emelia Jones' rendition from the movie is my favorite). 

What is it about, really? Is it about point of view? Loss of innocence? Growing up? Growing old? Or is it that as we grow and change and even become jaded, part of us still sees the fantasy? Even as we learn that love and life can be hard, part of us wants to remember and feel the magic, and maybe we can. It reminds me of a poem that I read when I was much younger. I don't remember the whole thing, but it was from the point of view of an old woman, who says something along the lines of, "I'm still the young girl who loves horses and flowers." We carry all of our past selves with us. 

So why am I feeling such a connection to this song and this idea now?  Listening to it on repeat like a lovesick teenager, I feel at once happy, wistful, and sad. I think back to my childhood and my kids' childhood, surrounded by the rose-colored light of nostalgia. Am I having some sort of 50 year-old midlife crisis? Maybe. Or maybe the combination of the girls growing up, trying to work my way back into my career, and living in a troubled, complicated world in the middle of a global pandemic are working together to create their own crisis. Either way, it feels like who I am in the world is changing again, and it has left me feeling sensitive. 

As the song says, "...something's lost and something's gained by living every day." We learn, we change, we grow, and that's ok. In the words of Glennon Melton, "Life is Brutiful" It's brutal and beautiful all at once. And in the end, we still won't have figured it all out. Maybe the key is to keep a hold of the magic. 

Both Sides Now

By Joni Mitchell

Rows and flows of angel hair
And ice cream castles in the air
And feather canyons everywhere
Looked at clouds that way

But now they only block the sun
They rain and they snow on everyone
So many things I would have done
But clouds got in my way

I've looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down and still somehow
It's cloud illusions I recall
I really don't know clouds at all

Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels
The dizzy dancing way that you feel
As every fairy tale comes real
I've looked at love that way

But now it's just another show
And you leave 'em laughing when you go
And if you care, don't let them know
Don't give yourself away

I've looked at love from both sides now
From give and take and still somehow
It's love's illusions that I recall
I really don't know love 
Really don't know love at all

Tears and fears and feeling proud
To say, "I love you" right out loud
Dreams and schemes and circus crowds
I've looked at life that way

Oh, but now old friends they're acting strange
And they shake their heads and they tell me that I've changed
Well something's lost, but something's gained
In living every day

I've looked at life from both sides now
From win and lose and still somehow
It's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all

It's life's illusions that I recall
I really don't know life
I really don't know life at all

Vermont Day 1

Yesterday we drove to Vermont. We had planned to fly to Florida this week, but with the Delta Variant surging, and Florida looking like the Hot Zone, we decided to cancel that trip. Vermont was my consolation prize. Helpful to me, because instead of dwelling on what we wouldn't be doing (beach, pool, parents, Pina coladas) I got to start planning for this mini adventure. With the girls both having just returned from camp and with fall schedules looming, I decided to keep the trip to just 3 nights. To avoid Covid, we decided to stay in a house instead of a hotel like we would usually do.

Since we cancelled Florida, there have been several signs that we did the right thing. First, their covid numbers are out of control. There are also a few named tropical storm type events brewing, so flying home would have been frustrating and scary. And finally, the one thing I didn't plan for was the fact that both girls came home from camp with terrible colds. Maggie's had just about ended by the time Katy came home and started sneezing all over the place (Not Covid - at Katy's camp they tested anyone who got the "camp cold". A local pediatrician said it was the result of taking a hundred kids who hadn't been around germs in 18 months and putting them together). Then Mike got it. So, thank goodness we were not getting on a plane! I can't imagine how stressful it would have been to be worried about catching germs and also fielding dirty looks every time one of my family members coughed or sneezed! 

So, yesterday we packed up the car with much too much stuff, and headed to Vermont. The drive was nice and uneventful. The sullen/sick grumblings stopped almost as soon as we were in the car. We were in road trip mode - something that our family does well. At first the girls were lost to their headphones, but soon Katy asked to play the alphabet game (quite a challenge on Vermont country roads). We chatted, joked, and were happy to be in vacation mode.

As we crossed the border I was flooded with memories of summer weeks that I spent Vermont during high school. GMTI  (Green Mountain Teenage Institute) was a defining part of my teens. The first summer, the we were at a huge retreat center on an idyllic hillside overlooking fields and mountains. The next it was on a college campus, and in between there were trips to Bennington and Burlington, and friends from all over the state. To say that I loved Vermont was an understatement. In my eyes it was a magical place filled with friends, mountains, and Ben and Jerry's ice cream. I LOVED it.Now I'm excited to share that magic with my family.

We arrived at the Airbnb in the evening. It's a large ski house on Killington Mountain. There are a number of beds and rooms to choose from, and a hot tub on the wraparound deck. Being a ski house, it's a bit musty, but comfortable. We ordered dinner and ate on the deck (because of the coughing husband and teen) then spent an hour in the hot tub. Once we came in, I think there was a little bit of a feeling of underwhelm among everyone. As Mike said, "I'm just mad that the world is in a state where this is what we HAD to choose"  instead of being in a hotel or resort -  somewhere more exciting. I don't know. I think we can make this into a real vacation. 

This morning the sun came out. Mike headed out on a short hike up the mountain, then later we'll go and explore Queechee Gorge and Woodstock. I have high hopes. Come on, Vermont! Work your magic!

Picking Blueberries

My husband, an engineer, could have been very happy as a farmer. He loves to be outside, to plant, and to make our yard beautiful. This benefits me in many ways, mainly because I get to enjoy the beautiful yard. I love to watch the hummingbirds (that he feeds), smell the flowers (that he plants), and use the herbs (that he weeds). Sometimes our yard provides a special treat. He has planted apple trees, plum trees, peach trees (I think), strawberries, raspberries, and blueberries. Usually the local deer and rabbits eat almost all of the fruit before we (and by that I mean he) can pick them. 

I am not a yard working person. I have tried. When we first started living together I made what I think was a valiant effort, but I really don't like gardening. It's just not... comfortable. You have to get your body into odd positions to reach, and it's itchy, and prickly, and dirty. Often it's hot... or sometimes cold. It's just not my thing. I'm always a little jealous of people who love gardening and find it relaxing. 

Yesterday as I was walking down to get the mail, I noticed the blueberry bushes on the hill. For some reason, the birds have completely ignored three or four bushes this summer, and they are covered with blueberries, some small and green, but mostly fat purple ones. I was surprised to see them so full, and I thought that someone should pick them. But someone was at work. I ignored them, feeling a little guilty.

Today they were still there, sitting in the sun, looking even plumper and juicier, waiting to be picked. The weather was nice, not too hot and not too cold, and the bushes seemed to be at an easily reachable level (no kneeling in the dirt required), so I grabbed a colander and headed out into the wilds of the front yard. While I picked, I had time to think. A lot of time to think, it turns out. Here's a sample of my inner blueberry picking monologue:

Wow! Look at me! I'm picking blueberries!

Am I really, actually proud of myself for picking blueberries? That's kind of sad.

Holy cow, there are a lot of blueberries here!

Was that a bug on my foot? I think it was a bug.

78, 79, 80... Why am I counting? When did I start counting? Did I even start at zero?

Ugh. That one was sticky. 

At least blueberries don't have thorns. 

I hope blueberry bushes don't have ticks. Ticks just live in the grass, right?

I'll have to do a tick check when I get in.

Man, there are a lot of berries here!

What in the world will we do with all of these berries?

Maybe I should bake something.

Ooh! Scones! I love blueberry scones!

Katy won't be home until Saturday. Nobody else likes scones.

Muffins? 

Muffins are a pain.

That was definitely a bug. 

As long as it's not a tick. 

I really have to do a tick check later.

I don't think I've ever heard of anyone getting ticks blueberry picking, have I?

Maybe I'll make blueberry coffee cake or blueberry buckle?

What the heck is blueberry buckle anyway?

Blueberry buckle, blueberry buckle. 

Would it be weird to bake something just because it's fun to say?

32, 33, 34... I'm counting again! Why am I counting?

This should be zen. Maybe I could get really calm just picking.

Nope. I'm bored. 

There is NO WAY that I am going to pick all these berries!

I should probably leave some for the birds, right?