The Pieces They Will Carry

I can remember the 1989 Earthquake. We were in Half Moon Bay, a dreamy coastal town, visiting family friends. I was 4 and I felt the ground trembling under my feet as I watched books tumble to the ground. I know dishes broke, but I didn’t hear them. I can’t recall the look of fear on my mom’s face as she used her body to wrap my sister and me into the door frame. Afterwards we took a walk and saw a neighbor’s solarium, made entirely of glass, completely shattered. I remember his face as he swept up the pieces. It’s curious the pieces we carry with us from childhood. The parts we take and the parts we leave behind.

My friend and I have started running together, 6-feet apart. We shared back and forth events in our childhood that stood out, grappling with what our young children will remember from all the events of this year. She told me about the time when she was 10, learning the atomic bomb wasn’t just an idea, a man-made creation—but a weapon, that had been used. She ran into her room and ripped down a sign that read “Love Never Fails” and tore it into tiny pieces. Recounting to me, she laughed and called herself a “Drama Queen”. I disagree. This wasn’t dramatic, this was moment she fell off the cliff--the time the catcher in the rye couldn’t save her. Or rather, wasn’t meant to.

One of the many reasons we have yet to take a Disney vacation is because I don’t want to be poking my daughters in line for Pirates of the Caribbean saying, “Remember and appreciate this moment. Now give me a bite of your $22 churro”. Parenthood is a delicate balance between protection and exposure. Shelter under the doorway, but observe the destruction. Wear the masks, but limit talk of death. Explain about racism, but how to explain about Trump?

Yesterday I took a shot at normalcy and we went for frozen yogurt at our favorite place across from where we would participate in Farmers Market.

Absolutely nothing felt right.

No we can’t go inside.

No we can’t serve ourselves.

No we can’t play on the playground.

Don’t go near the other kids.

Farmer’s Market cannot exist like it once did.

When we were done, Charlotte found a baby praying mantis. We took it home in the Earth-destroying tiny plastic container their sprinkles had to come in. The girls watched its regal movements before setting it free, as I ducked away. I became so overwhelmed with sadness, I needed to find a space to cry alone over the breadcrumbs of a childhood I feared I was giving them. But this was from my own eyes, not theirs. I hope they recall sitting on the bench together as sisters, or the miraculously tiny insect. I know, however, I have about as much control over which memories they will take with them during this time, as I do over the atomic bomb itself.

My friend, a sensitive and compassionate woman, grew up to be a high school principal for a continuation high school that celebrates diverse non-traditional students. Today my oldest daughter told me, that even though she can’t see my mouth behind my mask, she knows I’m smiling because she can see it in my eyes. I can only hope that’s the piece she will carry.

A Mom’s Guide to the Stages of Quarantine Continued

Oh hey, it’s me again. Still home, following guidelines because I’m not an expert, a doctor, or a total lunatic (well that last one is debatable at this point).

Week 4-6: Ritual burnings and perpetual snacking

2020 calendars have been burned, along with schedules, summer plans and bathroom scales. Virtual everything sucks: school, happy hours, and meetings. Many have gotten creative with social distancing. Moms gather in trunks of minivans circled around Target parking lots, trying to find our center of gravity.

We limit our news, social media, and Twitter intake—like the price of toilet paper, it can be too absurd to fathom.  

Small discoveries are being made—eyebrows don’t really need to be plucked, global warming has been momentarily paused, and no one is actually saving money because online shopping still exists. Grocery bills account for 110% of paychecks, for those lucky enough to still have them, because our children ask for snacks every time someone in the household blinks.

Many extroverts have crawled out of their skin and introverts are happily volunteering to crochet the sheddings into face masks for everyone.  

Like sourdough starter kits, Zoom has lost its allure.

Week 7-8: You first, I insist

Somehow a public health emergency has been politicized. People seem to be confusing the economy with a giant wheel run by a single hamster, instead of actual human beings.

True colors are flying everywhere.

Some places are starting to dip their toe back into society. Don’t worry everyone, golf is back! Photographs emerge of certain states treating social distancing like a rave, only with less ecstasy and more mullets. In that vein, “The Tiger King” is getting his own clothing line.

People are starting to itch and twitch. We no longer post memes about nervous breakdowns—every day our homes look like an open casting call for “American Horror Story”.

Tik-Tok has taken hold of the internet and the only thing funnier than watching clips of ex-Bachelorette contestants “dancing” is trying to explain the premise of the app to our grandparent’s generation.

The Egyptians left hieroglyphics; we have Randy Rainbow.

Week 9-Current: Misdirected anger and puppies for all

Since we cannot direct rage towards an “infective agent that consists of a nucleic acid molecule in a protein coat”, many still in lockdown, have turned on anyone helping and attempting to save lives. Fury mimics a false sense of productivity.

Virtual learning is being proposed again for the Fall, with parents being the last to hear, since we all stopped opening emails and lesson plans from schools around week 4. Parents have opted to direct pent-up anger towards Common Core Math--a much more justifiable cause for frustration, than say, being asked to wear a mask in public.

Animal shelters are now empty, because every guinea pig, kitten, and 3-legged dog have been adopted. Moms are so shell-shocked, they have deceived themselves into believing a puppy is the answer to quarantine.

Scientists worry about repopulation because no household already containing children have attempted sex, for fear of procreation.

The Freshman 15 has nothing on the COVID 19.

Children now have fears of: other children, leaving the house, and their parents as their teachers. Luckily kids are known for their resiliency and our hope is they will look back fondly on all of the quality family togetherness—that one spring/summer they learned to play Scrabble and how to effectively use four letter words.

Hope for the future: Don’t forget the why

While so much has changed, the hope for our future remains the same. Let’s not forget the purpose behind those who sacrificed their lives and why we are being asked to remain at home. We are forming the grooves in the sand; the undercurrent that will forever be etched into our history. What remains, should be what matters most.

Small Miracles

Murphy’s Law of Parenthood states that when anything can go wrong, it will-- like when you run out of clean clothes and then go to open the dryer to find that your youngest thought this would be a fun place to store the wet play-doh. You will learn to appreciate the little miracles whenever and wherever they are presented to you by thanking God or the Tooth Fairy or whichever holy entity is responsible for nobody in my household contracting the stomach flu in over 6 months. Just in case your cup runneth over, and not in the good way, here is a list of small gifts you should remember to feel grateful for.

1). When you find shoes that all your kids can easily put on and take off themselves. Crocs are uglier than sin and look like two pieces of non-recycled plastic you know in your heart of hearts will one day be laid to rest in a landfill right next to your Keurig cups and organic pouches-- but they have given you back what will accumulate to years of your life.

2). When you get distracted in the grocery store and accidentally wander down the cookie aisle and somehow nobody notices and thus doesn’t start simultaneously tantruming while loading your cart full of junk food like an old episode of Super Market Sweep.

3). When both of your kids in the span of 3 days get stung by a bee and turns out nobody is allergic.

4). When you leave without a diaper bag or any of the $30,000 worth of crap it takes to simply exit your house while in the possession of your children and somehow nobody needs anything other than a song and a smile.

5). When you are out in a crowded space and your children instinctively reach out for each other.

Just the existence of grocery delivery services and free streaming episodes of Daniel Tiger are proof that small miracles are all around us. Sometimes you just have to wade through the boogers and laundry in order to spot them.