Day 91- June 11, 2020

Day 91- June 11, 2020

I feel like at times, I've neglected my kids during quarantine.  Don't get me wrong, I'm spending a TON of time in the same room as them.  We are together constantly.  But a lot of that time recently feels like it's been spent with me working, and them trying to finish their homework on their computers.

A few years ago, things in our lives went financially crashing.  The business I'd thrown myself into for years was suddenly shuttered, and we found ourselves unable to afford our house.  We didn't want to sell, but at the same time, we couldn't stay.  So while trying to figure out the best alternative (rent?  sell?  Move into an RV on our buddy's property - a viable option we actually thought could be fun, considering how much we'd been watching "Tiny Home" shows that were all the rage), my stepdad Bryan jumped in and offered to let us move in with him and my mom.  My mom, after checking to make sure he was serious, and not suffering from a stroke, okayed the plan, and my two kids moved into my sister and my childhood bedrooms, while Jeff and I took up residence in the in-law suite off the kitchen, which had been created when my Granny moved in with my family around the time I turned 16.

The ironic part of this extreme downsize was how much it brought us together as a family.  We had moved from a large house with about 3000 sq. ft. of living space down to a bedroom/living room hybrid that clocks in closer to 300 sq. ft- that didn't have a lock on the door- and was off the kitchen we now shared with my mom and Bryan. Jeff was working as a bartender at an upscale restaurant from about 7 PM until close, I was teaching until noon, then working at the public library until 6, and my kids were in school until either Jeff or my mom picked them up.  Perhaps because of our insane schedules, those hours we spent together were extremely precious.  We made a point that if Jeff and I were both off on the same day, we had a family adventure.  We drove to the beach, took trips to Princeton to walk around, and Pennsylvania to hike.  There were days we went into New York to see the Museum of Natural History, walk around central park, or head north to the Bronx Zoo.   We made a point to have dinner together during our hour overlap even on the busiest of days.  And it was great.

The thing I've learned is that the things we do daily- those become so routine we take them for granted.  The people we see, the friends we spend a lot of time with, the little moments.  Yet when there's a rarity, or we miss out on these daily doses of the mundane. we yearn for them.  That's how it was with our family time- with it suddenly in short supply, we made a point to cherish each moment.

My VERY wet child after her run.

MyAnd now, with all of us cooped up together, it's almost something I started to take for granted.  Jeff has noticed it too, and he had make a conscious effort to do chess, swimming, and gardening time with R. and E., and finding other activities that appeal to each girl individually.  Today, for instance, he and E. went running (she's prepping for soccer, he's in the best shape he's been in since playing college lacrosse).  They got stuck in a sudden downpour, which E. thought was the greatest experience ever.  While she was showering post-run (since she was dripping wet anything, R. asked, for the third day in a row, if we could please bake cookies.

I acquiesced, and I put down my computer, she put down hers, and we spent some quality time going through her Children's Baking Book to find the oatmeal chocolate chip cookies she's been craving.  We had a minor mishap when we exploded some butter in our new microwave (oops), but otherwise, she was on task with mixing in the flour, oats, and cinnamon, and then adding in the eggs, melted (and cooled) butter, and sugar.  By the time we folded in the chocolate chips (which, of course, she had to sample to ensure they were yummy enough), she was grinning from ear to ear.  The finished product was delicious, and each girl was allowed one right away, because there are few things in the world better than cookies still warm from the oven, when the chocolate is still soft and gooey.

We took our Mommy- Rooskie (her nickname- a twist on "roo", which is what my best friend Ali and

You can never have too many BSC books

I have called dogs since we were kids)  time a step further, and worked a bit on the library she's making in her room.  I'm a librarian, and she's a "rule following" child who likes things to be done exactly, so finding her alphabetizing her collection of books last week didn't really seem out of the ordinary.  When I got in there, she'd already done a lot, including putting all the Babysitters Club books under "M" for Martin, and going a step further by putting them in order as well.

The only issue, though, is that as bright as she is, she gets distracted easily, and her biggest weakness is books.  Since she started reading at almost-four, if she has a book in her hands, forget it.  She has mentally checked out of our world, and is immersed in whatever is printed on the page.  So she needed a bit of help staying on task, and she wanted me to work with her on arranging her nonfiction texts by the Dewey Decimal System.  While I'm proud of her enthusiasm, I was more concerned with getting the books off the floor to remove the tripping hazard, so we compromised and put subjects (science, space, biographies) together, and alphabetized the fiction.  We can further divide the nonfiction some time in the future.

While we were working on the library, E. was reorganizing her diner once again.  She likes to freshen things up, swap out the animals in the "pet adoptions petting zoo" section (I know, having an alpaca and platypus next to the plastic food is probably some kind of health code violation), and add offerings at the diner.

This week, she's creating a menu, as that is part of her final "writing unit" for school.  The kids were given the option to do another slideshow, write poetry, craft a short story- or create an original restaurant menu.  I've got to hand it to her, the menu is adorable, with descriptions of the entrees, desserts, appetizers and drinks.  She even put in prices, complete with options to save money (appetizers are $2, but if you buy a dessert too- at $5 a dessert- you can do the appetizer for only $1).  She's got that entrepreneurial spirit that I have, and I'm impressed with her moxie at such a young age.  The only downside is that she likes creating so much, she loses track of bedtime, and has to be reminded 72,486 times to put down the ears of corn and cupcakes, and get into bed.

Day 37- April 18, 2020

Day 37- April 18, 2020

The guest room pre-cleanup

Today was a cleaning day- sort of.  I say sort of because without hawk-like supervision, my daughters are not the best at putting things away.  The younger one inevitably begins to take the things that need to be put away, and instead develops an elaborate storyline for them, complete with placing them in new places (granted, more orderly places, but we now have a pet shop on her desk with all her Beanie Boos).  The older one finds a book that she's half finished with, flips it open, sprawls out, and an hour later, whines "I got dis-TRACT-ed!" when I find her oblivious to the pile of stuff she's snow-angeled into the space around her.

But I at least got the downstairs relatively clean.  Homework from the last week has been placed in or on the piano bench in the corner, area rug has been vacuumed, shelves are dusted, and the living room looks like a place I want to hang out again.  The girls eventually picked up the majority of the Legos, and I was able to vacuum the guest room and put it back together so I can clean out the closet and go through our linens tomorrow (I need to get rid of the excess so we can have space for what we actually need).

I'm glad I cleared stuff out, because one of our grocery delivery services, www.gratefulproducebox.com (who I ordered from YESTERDAY and said it would likely take up to 4 business days to arrive) showed up this morning.  I commenced with wiping down everything plastic with Lysol, submerging all fruits and veggies into water to decontaminate them, and organizing the produce into new containers.  It was mixing bowls for the pears and apples, a tray for some of the biggest mushrooms I've ever seen, and some glass Tupperware for the blueberries and blackberries.  I also started planning dinner in my head: sautéed asparagus, giant salad, leftover pizza for me, and Annie's Mac and Cheese for the kids.

One of my favorite parts of having fresh produce is that I've been buying a few things we don't normally have, like celery, since there are minimum amounts you have to spend, and there's only so much lettuce one can eat before it starts to go bad.  The celery makes me especially happy, because when I was younger, we would go to Martha's Vineyard and stay at my Aunt Dot's house, and the salads there were always a motley crew of lettuce, tomato, cucumber, carrots, and celery as the "different" ingredient.  It adds a crunchy texture and an earthy taste, and every time I have it, I flash back to those family meals on the splintering, weathered deck looking out over the bay.

The rest of the day was relatively lazy.  It was cold (again), and drizzly (also again), and we discovered Dessert Games with Duff on the Food Network Go app.  The girls may have watched more Sonny With a Chance (I think they only have an episode or two left of the series at this point), and my friend Heather came over to grab the birthday supplies for her son's birthday tomorrow.  He's turning 11, and I'm thrilled that the helium tank, balloons, and sign are being used again to make another kid happy during the lockdown.  It was also good to see one of my best friends in person (even if it was from about thirty feet apart) and talk about "normal" things like our children, and getting them to read more, and how to keep them occupied and happy.  We lost track of time until her husband texted me looking for her (she'd left the phone in the car) and questioning if I could ask her if he should start dinner.

It was good to see her.  I'm looking forward to days spent with her and her kids in one of our yards while we sit on the porch watching them.  It's the little things like that that I am missing right now.  Someday soon, this will all be a memory, and we'll go back to living like we used to.  But I do hope that the desire for closeness to the people who matter to us remains strong, and that we remember to appreciate each other a bit more.

Waffle Mornings With My Daughter

I hope you remember this...

Standing on a Sunday morning on a wooden chair in the kitchen, your bare feet pumping up and down as you excitedly go up on tip toe.  Your eager high pitched voice, saying "Mommy, we're making waffles!" as I carefully avoid knocking over the dozens of individually packaged apple sauces from their storing place as I pull down the red Aunt Jemima box from the cabinet above our heads.

"What do we do first?" I ask, sure you will know the answer.

"Wash our hands!" you recite, happily reaching for the faucet as I guide your chair to a more manageable distance from the sink (several instances of cleaning a wet floor have led me to this decision)

"Very good," I say, pumping the silver soap dispenser, and placing the shiny clear gel into your hands.

"Rub rub rub," we say in unison, as we work the soap through our fingers.  The sun is starting to peek through the clouds, and pour in through the window, hitting the bamboo plant and the orchidless orchid on its way to highlight the bubbles we're forming.

"Now rinse," I instruct, as you reach your hands- which can barely stretch to the pouring water- into the the stream.

I grab for the paper towels as I count down, knowing that if you leave your hands under the water for too long, you'll become fixated on keeping them in there, and it will be a battle to get you to separate from it.  You have a stubborn streak and then some.  "3...2...(towel in hand)...1- Off!"

On "off" you reach with all your might, your little feet straining to push yourself to reach the silver handle and turn it straight up.

"I did it!" you say, as I hand you the towel and you dry yourself off.  I'm still in awe that you are growing up so fast, that the little person, who I used to balance on the counter/my hip while you squirmed away from the water (or reached and tried to douse yourself, depending on your mood) is now standing before, drying her hands like a little lady straight out of an Emily Post instructional.

"Yes you did!  Now, let's measure the mix." I pull your chair away from the sink now, positioning you in front of the open counter space, where the box, an egg, and the milk sit next to a measuring cup and a spoon.

You dutifully pick up the silver measuring cup, your hands both clasped around the black wooden handle, holding it at enough of an angle that I have to straighten it out with one hand, as I pour the powder with the other.  We spill a bit, dusting the speckled granite with white powder, before you dump the rest of the contents into the plastic tupperware bowl.

"Excellent job, my little chef" I smile, and you beam with pride.  "Now the milk," and again, you repeat holding the cup while I dispense the ingredient into it with careful precision, delighting in the milk-fall you create as you pour it into the bowl.

"Now the eggy!" you say, and I think of how cute it is, this toddler language of yours involving "eggys" and "ogum" (yogurt) and other such things.  I pick up the cage-free hen egg, and you ask, wonder in your voice, "Is it from Aunty Coley's farm?"

I answer honestly, "No, it's from a different chicken.  But we'll get eggies from Aunty Coley next time she comes to visit, how's that?"

You're not really phased by this, just nodding your head, yes, that's a good idea, and placing your hands over mine while I crack it on the side of the bowl.  Your hands are so tiny still, chubby with youth and perfectly formed, better filled out miniatures of my own.  I can feel you pulling on my knuckles as I separate the shell from the yolk and white, and they drop into the bowl with a plop!

"Mommy, I want to stir," you declare, picking up the spoon and sticking it directly into the egg yolk, so that the yellow spills out and begins to infiltrate the rest of the batter.

"Hit the road Jack, and don't you come back no more no more no more no more," you sing, echoing one of the songs your daddy's band was playing the day before at rehearsal.

"Hit the road, Jack, and don't you come back no more," I respond, picking up the oil and pouring two tablespoons full into the batter to ensure that it doesn't stick to the waffle iron.

You move the spoon in rhythm with the song, making rotations in the bowl as you merge dry with liquid until everything is coagulating into a lumpy mush.

"Mommy, I'm done," you state proudly, handing me the spoon, and then immediately setting about to make designs in the spilled powder still on the counter.  I briefly flash to finger painting, and wonder where I could put an easel for you, to encourage your artistic desire to use multi media (Pancake mix!  Paints!  Dog hair!) and think of the museums you could display your work in.


I turn back to our concoction, stirring it a couple of times for good measure (careful to do this so you can't see, lest you think I'm belittling your work), and open the steaming waffle iron to pour in the mix.  It emits a hiss as it hits the black grates, weaving its way over the edges like water spilling out of a canal.

I close the top, watching briefly as steam escapes out the sides, and begin the autopilot clean up of throwing out the egg shells and placing the cooking supplies in the dishwasher (along with last night's dinner dishes).

As I finish clearing the counter, you grow tired of your latest artistic endeavor, offering "You can lift me down now, please."

I oblige, placing you on the floor as you take off running for the train set in the other room.  I pick up a sponge, and wipe your expressionist batter work into the farmhouse sink (giving a quick thought of thanks to the previous owner of our house for having the foresight to install such a fantastic, undermount, easy to clean vessel into her kitchen).  I then commence wiping down the rest of the countertops, removing anything stuck on with swift circles of the grainy side of the sponge, and enjoying the relative quiet in the early morning.

The orange light turns off on the waffle iron, and I carefully remove the waffles with a fork, liberating them from the grate's grasp and immediately placing them on a plate for dissection.  I call out, "Riley, do you want me to cut your waffles?"

Your response is an emphatic "Into rectangles, please!", and I set about to do this with surgical precision.  I open the refrigerator door and place the freshly diced meal on the bottom shelf, knowing you don't like things too hot, and call you to the table.

You sprint in, sliding a bit on the floor, and pull yourself up onto the chair, literally, with your hands gripping it tightly as you use the decorative wooden pieces as footholds.

I retrieve your waffles, and my own, and pour the syrup onto your plate, careful to avoid touching the waffles, so that you can dip them as you wish.

Your smile as I place your in front of you, saying "Thank-you mommy!"  I watch your eyes light up as you pick up a rectangle with your fork, dip it delicately in syrup, and then move it to your mouth, dripping shiny brown droplets onto your red nightgown.  "Mmm... these are delicious," you manage through a mouth full of food.

"Yes, angel," I smile, picking up my own fork.  "You did an fabulous job of making them."

I hope you remember this- the morning spent, just you and me, cooking breakfast together before all the "to dos" on my to do list come crushing down on me, and I have to push some of them to the top of my priority list.  I hope you remember that I spend these mornings, like my mom did with me, making you giggle, and instilling pride in your and your abilities.  I hope this makes up for all the mornings when I'm at work and I can't help you make breakfast because I'm already in the middle of teaching someone else's children to be confident, and proud, and free-thinking.  I hope you grow up loving waffle mornings as much as I did, and knowing how much you are loved.