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It’s Chaos…

“We’d have these huge philosophical arguments where I was like- I don’t believe in an intelligent creator, per se, but I think there might be a latticework of logic and meaning to the universe that maybe we’re too small to see. And she was like, Sweetie, it’s all random, it’s all chaos. It’s chaos. Be kind. It’s chaos. Be kind.” -Patton Oswalt, Annihilation

I was invited by the wonderful Smelly Socks and Garden Peas to write a post about what we will do the first weekend after the end of quarantine/ lockdown.  It has been a challenge, with all the togetherness of late it’s a miracle when I can construct a complete thought without interruption, let alone an entire blog post.

As I thought about what I might want to write about I turned over several ideas, perhaps returning to simple pleasures like parks and pubs, maybe those historical sites I have been dying to get to (once a Tudor history nerd, always a Tudor history nerd) or maybe something about the overnight trips we want to plan?

But.

The above quote from Patton Oswalt’s Annihilation special on Netflix keeps running through my head and blocking out all of those other thoughts of a post-lockdown existence.  Father of Gingers and I have been big fans of Patton Oswalt’s stand up for years.  His slightly curmudgeon-y and misanthropic, sharp, nerdy, occasionally quirky take on the world speaks to us and our sense of humor.

However, Annihilation was hard for both of us to get through.  It was the first special after the death of Oswalt’s wife, Michelle McNamara.  A not-insignificant portion of the set is him talking about losing his wife, and worse, telling their elementary school- age daughter that her mother is gone and how they both dealt with it and are dealing with it.  It is the only comedy set I’ve ever watched where I had to repeatedly try to swallow around a huge lump in my throat and needed several breaks to wipe my eyes.  Through it all, he comes back to McNamara’s philosophy on life, “It’s chaos, be kind.”   She was speaking in a more metaphysical sense, but it has very practical applications right now.

The current situation in the world is best described as Chaos with chaos sauce, chaos sprinkles, and an angst cherry on top.

There’s not much left for us to do, but be kind.

There is so much information bombarding us from every corner.  Everyone has a slightly different priority order, the vast majority of which carry absolutely no malicious intent towards others.  The majority of people are making decisions using the best information they can to make best decisions they can in a time of best worst choices.

It’s chaos

Some of us are going to have to make decisions based on medical information. They may be too much at risk and they have to stay inside until this storm is further past.

It’s chaos

Some feel the lockdown has gone on too long, some feel it’s ending too early.

It’s chaos

Finances may be the driving factor in some family’s decisions on how they’re going to proceed. Mental health is a not-insignificant factor in the balance as well.

It’s chaos

Everyone is on on edge- these are life and death choices, not just for the threat of COVID-19, but also in terms of mental health and financial stability. There isn’t a one size fits all answer.

Be Kind.

The bottom line is there is no way around this chaos, the only option is to just get through it. It doesn’t have to be pretty- but how much better will it be if we are kind?

This is a very long winded way to say I don’t know yet what my first choice is for when our first weekend out of lockdown comes. We will be taking a slow approach for several reasons that make it the best fit for our family. I do know I’ll try my hardest to be kind.

There’s a very real chance I totally misunderstood the assignment… but at least this is off my chest.

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Run (Ins) with Cows…

Sure, they look peaceful…

If I’m being truthful it’s more of a runs from cows situation…

Yesterday, after we got through a semi- productive day of home learning, Father of Gingers came home from work, and offered me a chance to run for the hills get out for a walk to get some exercise, fresh air, and the chance to complete a thought without interruption.  It was, as they say, an offer I couldn’t refuse.

I got into my workout clothes, grabbed my earphones and phone and made my bid for freedom headed out the door.  Living in the English countryside means options when it comes to our allotted outdoors time right now, something I am very grateful for.  I decided to walk up to the next village, cut down behind the church, go down through the field where the cows are, take the footbridge over the river, walk by the sheep field towards the next town, then turn around and come back.  We’ve done this walk as a family several times, and I usually wind up wearing Little Ginger in the toddler backpack for at least part of the trip, so I thought it would be nice to do on my own, and maybe even throw some running into the mix…

I headed off, listened to a Marco Polo from a friend, and then attempted to record my reply while walking.  There are people who are coordinated enough to exercise and send messages at the same time.

Unsurprisingly, I am not one of them.

I managed to send off a message in which I only forgot to answer 80% of the questions I had been asked and not fall in a hedge, so that was a win, and I continued down the road.  I did a bit of jogging and was feeling pretty good by the time I reached the church and the field behind the church.  I had big plans to run through the field to the foot bridge.  I stopped to take another video for the Marco Polo message of the scenery.  Said scenery is so quintessentially  British countryside that one expects to see Mr. Darcy (played by Colin Firth, preferably) striding over a hill at any moment to offer a mildly withering comment. To be honest, if you factor in my workout outfit, we’re probably looking at a level ten withering comment.

The view for reference (without Mr. Darcy)

As I stopped to do this, I realized that the small herd of cows that occupy the field were not on the far side of the field but laying down right right on the side of the path I usually take down the hill to the bridge. This gave me pause, given my less than stellar track record with wild life. I decided to ignore the little voice in my head that was frantically reminding me that cows are freaking ginormous and that I always forget this fact until I’m up close and personal with a member of the bovine community.

I started to go down the footpath at a very cautious jog/ walk, keeping an eye on the potential killers cows. Then I realized there was at least one baby cow in the entourage. My first thought was, “oh how sweet” rather than, “hey, most animals are super protective of their babies.” This is why I wouldn’t last long in the wild.

Then two cows stood up very quickly. One, a rather sizey brown cow, turned to face me head on, and started to stare me down while standing right in my path. She was looking at me like she just knew my favorite bag is made of leather.

I don’t think she was waiting for me to ask her, “How now, brown cow?”

At this point my brain was causally shrieking asking me, “I can’t remember, is it a fact that cows kill more people than sharks, or is it lightening, or maybe plane crashes? Anywho, maybe, just maybe, it’s time for us to skedaddle, shall we?”

Taking the cows-as-harbingers-of-doom statistics into consideration- I started to rethink my plan. I then factored in the fact that Father of Gingers has repeatedly stated he is not prepared to be a single parent and I started to turn around. Yet another cow stood up to provide backup to her sisters in being surprisingly menacing for animals that feature prominently in such classics as “Old MacDonald” and are frequently portrayed as wise and gentle in a number of children’s movies.

At that point I decided that running back up the hill was the best choice as having she was trampled to death by cows in a pandemic written about me felt a little bit excessive and definitely not how I would want to be remembered.

On the upside- I knocked some serious time off my mile time average. I continued on to a cow-free route and finished up my outside time. Then I realized- I’m totally like Ernest Hemingway…

Kinda…

He ran with bulls, I ran with away from cows- practically the same thing, right?

Sorta…

I’ve never driven an ambulance in wartime, though.

Not really…

I’m honestly not a fan – this really wasn’t the best comparison…

I wonder if Jane Austen had any close cow calls?

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Trying Not To Sound Like Doogie Howser, MD

You can tell yourself these people started out as exceptional.  You can tell yourself they had influence before they started.  You can tell yourself the conditions under which they achieved were different from yours. 

Or you can be like a woman I knew who sat at her kitchen window year after year and watched everyone else do it and then said to herself, “It’s my turn.”

I was  37 years old at the time— Erma Bombeck

So, I’m a year behind Erma, but starting a blog or two is something that has been on my mind for quite a while.  I’ve always been afraid it would wind up sounding like the final scenes of a Doogie Howser, MD, episode where we’d see the lesson learned appear letter by white letter on the blue  computer screen.  To be completely honest, the inspirational nineties music is blaring in my head right now…

As I said, I’m a year behind Erma, and forty is coming at me fast.  I’m in a different place than I imagined, not worse by any means, just different.  I’ve started this to chronicle me getting my ish together, as the kids say (I think they still say that? Anyone??) and as motivation to try things I haven’t before.  My goal is to close out my thirties strong, and enter my forties having tried some things that I have put off until now.  Strap on a helmet, it’s bound to get interesting…

 

 

A Word for Teachers…

With.

For.

It’s amazing how seven letters in two different combinations can convey meanings that are worlds apart. These two words can have a massive impact in our mindset in the current situation, especially when it comes to education.

For example, fill in the blank in this sentence with each word and see how it changes:

My child’s teacher works ____________ me to educate and prepare him/her for the future.

Wow, right?

To me, the difference between these two little words is a not- insignificant factor in the current debates about the 2020-21 school year. When things started to go sideways back in March, I wrote about how teachers were doing their absolute best to make things work on the fly. The vast majority of educators are still doing their best to prepare to deliver meaningful, impactful lessons by whatever means are available.

Summer work is not foreign to teachers; if you want to see someone laugh hysterically until tears stream down their face, tell a teacher it must be so nice to lay around and not do any work all summer. This year, most educators would most likely tell you they’ve worked harder and spent more time on school preparations than they have in any other summer of their professional lives.

If you’re going to use a four letter word when thinking about the start of the school year, let it be with.

Teachers are still lacking in all of the information and resources needed as the start of school in the US looms closer every day. School districts are getting conflicting guidance and being constantly threatened with penalties when they can’t achieve the impossible (there are only so many ways to arrange a classroom, and no one can magically poof thousands of extra square feet into existence). They just want every student in their charge to be successful and to do their jobs well.

They want everyone to be safe.

Teachers need to stay healthy, they need to feel safe to do their jobs effectively, and they need to feel like their families are as safe as possible in this bizarre and scary time.

Just like all of us.

A lot of the debates I see raging on Facebook parenting boards are a symptom of how our society has been viewing children and education for quite some time. I have a lot of thoughts about how the horrendous cost of childcare, and insanely insufficient parental leave results in some parents viewing school as a service that is bought and paid for. I also have very definite opinions on the fact that our society has become one where parents are dependent on school (especially elementary) to account for a significant portion, if not all, of their childcare due to lack of support. I’m not going to shout from that soapbox now, as I feel there’s so much to be said that can/has/will be said by others with much more expertise on the topic.

All parents are going to have to make really difficult choices in the coming weeks. Information will be considered, lists will be made, options will be weighed again- often in the middle of a sleepless night. We continue to find ourselves in the land of trying to settle on the best worst choice.

It is easier if we’re all in it together.

Will all of our decisions look the same?

Nope.

But. If we can just keep that one little word- with– in front of us as we go into the coming weeks, it might make the impossible a bit easier. Approaching this as partners, rather than expecting someone to do something for us will get us further.

Our schools and teachers are ready to work with us to figure out how we’re going to make this all happen. Even when governments aren’t working with them on basics such as funding to put new regulations in place. Seriously, think for a second about what happens when you tell your kid to take one pump of hand sanitizer. Now multiply it 20, then multiply that by 5 times a day. Even the economy size bottles aren’t going to last long, and it’s not cheap. That’s before factoring in bigger ticket items like plexiglass, extra personnel, transportation concerns,… the list just keeps going.

Let’s prepare to work with all school personnel to make whatever variation of school is going to start in the coming weeks work. It is going to be more stress in a time where stress has felt unrelenting.

Will it always be pretty? No. Are there going to be glitches and days where everyone wants to just wave the white flag? Almost certainly. Is the school year going to look like anyone’s first choice for the ideal way to educate children? Bahahahaha- of course not! It’s 2020, first choice hasn’t been part of our vocabulary for months now, silly rabbit.

If we work with our teachers, we will still get maintain our first priority- educating our children and preparing them for the future. We can minimize the impact of this insane time in their school career by approaching it as a partnership. By working with our schools and not expecting them to work for us, we stand a better chance of making this work the best way we can.

With. Just focus on with- four letters make all the difference in the mindset we approach this with.

If you need to scream some other four letter words in the closet, into your pillow, alone in the car while dealing with this, that’s okay. I’ll be there with you, a lot of educators will too- In fact, they could probably teach us some amazing new ones.

And please, wear a mask.

Before you post that meme…

This is something that has been rattling around in my head since April. I’ve written a bit about this before, and it’s not intended to call out anyone specifically.

Dear Friend,

Before you share that meme about weight gain in the pandemic,  I’m asking you to pause for a second.  Right now, if you open any social media account you are guaranteed to see at least one post, meme, or joke about gaining weight during quarantine.  There are jokes and memes about “gaining the Covid 19”, clothes not fitting, images altered to make the subject appear fatter than they are, and that’s just scratching the surface. At the core, under the seeming lightheartedness, they are all weight-shaming and more than a little fat-phobic.

On one level, I get it.

Weight may feel like the one thing we should or can control right now. I have to ask, though- is it really the most interesting thing that has happened to you or that you have thought about these last few months? Are scale numbers the most impactful numbers you’ve read?

Doubtful.

Before you hit post, I want you to consider a few things.

Your body holds your wonderful heart, which has ached with disappointments both small and large during this time. It holds your brain which has been swimming with more concerns and worries that would have seemed possible at the start of the year.  Figuring out home schooling and how to keep children entertained has probably consumed a not-insignificant amount of your time.  You’ve held children in your arms who are crushed, anxious, bored, frustrated, and just plain out of sorts.  Do those children care about the number you see on the scale when you’re comforting them or helping them stay busy?

No.

You are working through a time where the way many holidays are celebrated has changed drastically. Not to mention Mother’s Day, an emotional mine field for so many.  Normal rituals and activities that provide a comfort or a distraction from grief aren’t available.  If you have eaten more of your favorite foods than normal, does that make you a bad person, less worthy of love and respect?

Absolutely not.

Maybe you’re an essential worker.  You have worked harder and most likely cried more in the last several months than you ever have in your professional life.  It has been unrelenting. Amongst all of this, groceries still need to be bought, childcare issues need to be sorted, education figured out, and there are family members  you are especially  worried about. You are doing everything in your power to make sure your family isn’t put in harm’s way due to your exposure and hoping as hard as you can you stay healthy.   In short, you have been coping with an unimaginable load on top of worrying about all the things everyone else is worried about.  Is now the time to add feeling ashamed for not tracking every morsel that you put in your mouth?

I can’t believe I have to say this, HELL NO!

Perhaps you are married to essential worker, you probably haven’t seen much of your spouse since March.  You may not have seen them at all. You most likely are juggling all of your children’s needs and the bulk of the household chores on your own.  Maybe you are desperately trying to work as well in the midst of this chaos.  You are definitely constantly worried about your spouse, praying they stay healthy and that the rest of your family does as well. Should you be beating yourself up if you haven’t crushed several workouts this week- especially if working out is something that feels like added pressure on your to-do list, instead of a relief?

No, you shouldn’t

You might be among the countless people who are awake at night trying to figure out how to make finances work while being furloughed.  Or laid off.  You might be a small business owner wondering if you will be able to open your doors again.  You may be wondering if you will still have a place to live and food in the kitchen in the coming months.  Should you be made to feel like you are less than if the number on the scale is more than you are used to seeing?

No, you really shouldn’t.

Or maybe you are someone who is overweight.  You are dealing with all of the stresses everyone else is facing.  But, there is also one stressor not everyone will understand. You’re seeing time and time again, from all sides, that having a body that looks more like yours after lockdown is over is the absolute worst thing that could happen.

During a pandemic. 

When people are under horrible financial strain.  At a time when people are experiencing grief and psychological distress. 

While people are dying.

These memes and jokes imply that even with all of this awfulness going on, the most awful thing is still being or becoming fat.  You are being told your body is worse than all of the horrible things  going on right now, combined.  That is the message you are getting from every post, joke,  and meme about the horror that is pandemic weight gain.  Is it going to make you feel diminished, ashamed, and like your only worth is measured by the size of your body?

Almost definitely.

So, wonderful friend, please think about what you’re saying before you hit post. You probably aren’t aware of how hurtful it is, or you are trying to be in on the joke instead of the butt of the joke. I know you, and I am certain would never tell me these things, and you would be horrified if I told you someone had said something derogatory about my size to me directly.  It isn’t you, it is part of our mindset.  It is a very telling sign of our culture and how much we value thinness over physical and mental health. It is a sad commentary on how we are trained to hate our bodies from a young age.

We can continue this by sharing those jokes, and passing on those memes.  Or we can choose not to post and make steps towards change.

Love,

Your friend who doesn’t think her body is the worst possible outcome

 

Where Have I Been Lately?

In the literal sense, I’ve been home with Father of Gingers, Big Ginger, and Little Ginger, like everyone else in the world. (The at home part, not the with FoG, and Gingers big and little)

For the last 30 some odd days.

I honestly won’t be surprised if Hal and Mavis start talking to me soon, like the gargoyles in Disney’s Hunchback of Notre Dame.

If they do, it’ll probably be during a home learning session. Most likely during a heartfelt debate over whether the numerator or denominator represents how many equal pieces the whole has been split into.

I may still like this as much as an elderly dog likes a toy grocery cart, But we’re safe and everyone is staying healthy, so there’s a lot to be grateful for right now. This isn’t going to be a long post, I just wanted to give a little update. In the good news department, I’ve had three pieces picked up by sites as freelance articles. I’m really excited about this and hope there will be more to follow, and possibly a book one day once life is back to some kind of normal and I can complete a thought without a bunch of interruptions. For the meantime, here are the links to the other posts if anyone is interested. I know not everyone is on Facebook and the algorithm is weird, so even if you are you may not see posts. I hope everyone is staying safe and healthy!

At Her View From Home:

Mom Friends Are the Keepers of Babyhood

At Mock Mom:

A “Fun” Recipe Even the Busiest of Moms Couldn’t Screw Up

At Sammiches and Psych Meds:

On the Eve of Eight Years Old

The Grocery Shopping Cart…

Hello from social distancing day I don’t even know any more…

I was looking across the kitchen this morning, saw the toy shopping cart and started to laugh.

A result of cracking due to the lockdown? That would be an entirely reasonable assumption at this point. It has been a strange and challenging experience for all of us. In this case I was cracking because the grocery cart gave me the perfect metaphor for this scary and bizarre point in time if you throw an elderly Turkish street dog into the metaphor mix.

I really promise I haven’t lost it.

A bit of background…

When Big Ginger had just turned two and was really starting to fully come into his nickname, Ginger Fury, we moved from Germany back to Virginia. We were living temporarily with my parents while we waited for our household goods to arrive and to be able to get into our new house.

A wonderful friend with amazing foresight got Big Ginger the toy grocery cart for his birthday AND held onto it until we got to my parents house. It was wonderful to have a new toy to distract a two year old who was not thrilled about the drastic changes to his life. He loved his “grocery shoppin’ cart” with a fierce passion and would demonstrate that love by careening around the kitchen and family room madly. He looked like the worlds tiniest “Supermarket Sweep” contestant ever. This SNL clip of Melissa McCarthy is an eerily accurate representation of that time in our lives:

Now we get to the Turkish street dog. She had signed on with the organization when I was twenty and I affectionately referred to her as my fur sister. She had always been very sassy and rather set in her ways. In her opinion, her golden years should be spent being pampered, lounging on the dog bed, bossing all of us around, and the occasional constitutional in the yard when it suited her. The “grocery shoppin’ cart” (and the tiny human at the helm) in no way, shape, or form featured in her ideal (or even barely adequate) retirement plan. This created some real problems. She hated that grocery cart with the burning fury of a thousand suns and wasn’t shy about throwing shady looks to let us know it.

We did our best to keep the grocery shoppin’ cart loving camp clear of the hating it camp and were moderately successful. I was the regular recipient of doggy snorts, eyerolls, and dramatic flopping into bed but I thought it was manageable. Then I came down one morning and saw her final word on the situation.

She had pooped.

On the floor.

In a perfect circle around the grocery shoppin cart.

To this day, it remains the most impressive and weirdly eloquent expression of displeasure I have ever seen. There was something slightly awe-inspiring in the attention to detail and commitment to a project.

This lockdown is becoming my “grocery shoppin’ cart.” However, I won’t be choosing that expression of displeasure for several reasons:

  1. I’m very grateful to be safe with my family and we have what we need
  2. I know this is the best choice to keep everyone safe
  3. There are still toilet paper and paper towel shortages

All in all, better not to chance it.

Epilogue:

The grocery cart was moved to a safe location until we were able to move into our house, it continues to be driven at breakneck speeds to this day. My fur sister went on to enjoy her golden years in the manner she expected- free of any annoyance from wheeled toys. She lived to be about eighteen years old and provided unsolicited editorials to the end.

Remember- Teachers are dealing with the alligator closest to the boat right now.

*This was originally slated to run on another site and I was just notified it was dropped from their schedule today. When I wrote it on Monday, very few teachers had been able to reach out to their students, and as we all know the week has been rapidly changing.

When my husband and I are working through a crisis, we usually remind each other to focus on the alligators closest to the boat. That is- worry about and address the most immediate/ threatening problem first before trying to move on to the next. It has served us well over the years and I keep coming back to this maxim when I think about the teachers trying to navigate this current crisis.

Full disclosure- I am a teacher who is currently a SAHM and working to realize some writing aspirations. That is why I have time to write this, if I were teaching right now, I would be focused on more pressing needs. If I’m being honest, seeing some of the comments about school closures and how work will be provided to students makes me hesitant to ever return to the classroom. I’ve been greatly disheartened by how many complaints I’ve seen from parents feeling like their children aren’t getting digital assignments fast enough, that teachers are probably just taking this time as a vacation, and so on.

To that- I say please realize teachers are trying to get two families through this crisis, the one in their home and the family they spend at minimum every Monday through Friday with. I say at minimum because do the countless out of contract hours they spend with this second family and preparing to teach. When I was in the classroom, there were always students who kept me up nights as I worried about circumstances in their lives that were completely outside of my control. That was in the course of a normal school year- and this school year is no longer normal.

Honestly, if you are able to complain about not having digital resources yet for your child, the good news is your child is nowhere near being the alligator closest to your teachers boat. Teachers everywhere are trying to figure out a completely different style of teaching on the fly (especially those who teach the younger grades). While they’re doing this they’re also worried about some of their children being safe at home, having enough to eat, and if those students are going to even have a home while this crisis lasts.

Rest assured your child(ren)’s teacher(s) care about them, they have invested a lot of time into every student in their care. They want to see “their kids” succeed and are likely crushed that they will not be spending time with their classes in the coming weeks. Events like class plays, field trips, proms, and graduations are all cancelled or potentially cancelled. There are children who were just having concepts click, finally making gains in essential skills and now they are in a holding pattern. All of these examples represent countless work hours by both teachers and their students. Please know teachers everywhere are losing sleep worrying about children in their class and trying to figure out how to make sure their students get the best possible education in a completely unprecedented situation. Please give them time to deal with these alligators. They are dealing with all of these worries in addition to the ones we all currently share. I promise they will get to you. These are trying times and while you are worried about your children, understandably, just remember that the teacher you’re frustrated with is worrying about dozens.

Groceries with Gingers…

So, it’s been a while since I’ve written due to a combination of busyness, working on other writing projects, flu, visitors, and general life with the Gingers. I’m trying to get back in the routine.

A trip to the grocery store with Little Ginger the other day reminded me that shopping with small humans is always a gamble….

Groceries with Gingers is much like Tuesdays with Morrie in that lessons are learned and anecdotes are shared. Unlike “Tuesdays” there’s a much higher chance of mortification and possible unintentional swearing…

When Big Ginger was my Little (and only) Ginger, he had a deep love for the song “Uptown Funk.” We played it nonstop- I can’t hear any version of the phrase “I’m too hot” without feeling immediately compelled to add a “HOT DAMN!” regardless of circumstances.

It can get awkward, but not as awkward as Big. Ginger’s tragic mispronunciation of the word funk at age three. I’m sure you all can see where this is headed… We were at the grocery store, enjoying their music and a much needed break when we came across the group from a local retirement community, also out on their weekly shop. I’m fairly confident they had not listened to Uptown Funk on repeat on the ride over (but this totally reminds me I have a great story for next time). As we were in the aisle with all of these sweet old ladies who were waving to Big Ginger and telling him what a good boy he was to help me with the shopping, he chose that moment to look at me and say,

“Mommy, I don’t like this music! It’s time to sing the F$%# you up song! Let’s sing the F$%# you up song. You start Mommy- F$%#. YOU. UP!”

The kid had the clarity of diction you’d expect from an evening news anchor. There was no pretending he’d said something else, it would have been easier to convince people Walter Cronkite wasn’t really saying, “And that’s the way it is.”

There is never a hole to crawl into when you REALLY need one. So, we did the walk of shame down what was apparently the worlds longest cereal aisle and moved in with our day. We switched to listening to the “Hamilton” soundtrack shortly thereafter and he promptly misheard the lyrics to “Helpless” as “Topless”. It was marginally better and I’m big on celebrating the small wins. A preschooler singing “I’m TOPLESS” earns fewer glares in public – verified by my highly unscientific and embarrassing study.

I had actually managed to successfully repress forget about this until I had Little Ginger at the grocery store last week. A very sweet and proper elderly lady started talking to LG in the checkout line and told her she had pretty hair and she liked her coat. She went on to ask LG if she liked shopping with Mummy. Little Ginger took a deep breath, looked up at this lovely woman making pleasant conversation in the store and said, completely deadpan,

“Did you know that it’s REALLY important that blood stays inside your body?”

It’s nice to know that mortifying grocery story experiences know no national boundary. I smiled weakly at the rather shocked lady in line and mumbled something about learning/science/school. She gave me and (I’m sure she thought) my little potential serial killer plenty of space for the rest of the checkout experience.

I guess there’s no real way to wrap this up beyond saying if anyone from a grocery delivery service is reading this and wants to sponsor me, it would probably be best for everyone.

Moments Dear and Not So

So, one of my favorite things I’ve ever seen on social media is this:

Profound, right?

Along with everyone else, I’m thinking about the last decade and the changes it brought. There’s a lot to be said about having a December birthday and having your personal milestones wrapped up with a big one celebrated by A LOT of people… and it’s been extensively covered by many others so I won’t rehash that here. I will say the weirdness seems to jump up a notch when you have a December birthday with a birth year ending in nine. It’s convenient because I always know what number needs to go in the ones column of my age -a hack I’m finding needing more useful as time marches on and I’m left occasionally unsure of the day of the week.

However, it also means that my personal decade meltdowns milestones coordinate with everyone’s and it can be a tad much at points. This one seems to have more gravitas than any of its predecessors. It think it’s because this is the first chunk of ten years where I’ve been (or at least pretended to be) and adulty adult the entire time. This was the decade of transatlantic moves (where I was one of the adults responsible for making it happen) and parenthood; it’s been terrifying, exhilarating, awe-striking, heart melting, and at times excruciatingly real.

Which brings me back to the quote above (If you’ve read my posts before you knew I’d get there eventually). Based on the above Broadway math, there are 600 not so dear moments in each year, so roughly 6,000 not so dear moments in a decade. That’s about 4 days and some change of not stellar moments. That’s not too bad for ten years, but in my more pessimistic moments reviewing the last decade, it seems unrealistically low.

For me, this decade has had some of the highest highs and lowest lows. I’ve had some amazing gains (please refer to- Ginger, Big and Little) and life experiences for which I am forever grateful. I’ve gained a better understanding of who I am and where I’m going. I can honestly say that when I’m reviewing the balance sheet of the decade, the dear moments make anything and everything else worth it.

On the other hand, it has also been the decade where the fact of loss has made itself more prominently known both in my life and in those close to me. I’ve also lost intangibles as my views on issues and others have shifted. The most impactful probably being my evolving body image and food. This is a welcome reminder that not all loss comes without gain.

I think a side effect of parenthood is you become more acutely aware of the passage of time through the bittersweet dichotomy of having to say goodbye to cherished stages while marveling at the ever-changing small human in front of you.

So, I’ve fully contradicted myself numerous times in a relatively short amount of writing and I’m now going to attempt to tie it all together. Stand back, this could get messy.

In times of loss, I’ve looked to the words of others to help me make sense of what has happened. Colin Murray Parkes, a British psychiatrist, has made a great impact.

The pain of grief is just as much part of life as the joy of love:it is perhaps the price we pay for love, the cost of commitment. To ignore this fact, or to pretend that it is not so, is to put on emotional blinkers which leave us unprepared for the losses that will inevitably occur in our own lives and unprepared to help others cope with losses in theirs.

-Dr. Colin Murray Parkes

(Incidentally, I’m not alone in this, Queen Elizabeth II has paraphrased this sentiment and the quote is often misattributed to her. All in all, not too shabby company to be in. )

Back to the task at hand, where I attempt to reconcile a hilarious Tumblr post with profound advice from an expert on loss. I’ve come to the conclusion that the not so dear moment math is probably correct. This is because the not so dear are probably best reserved for my woodland creature crises and other moments that are now hilarious. My moments of loss don’t count not so dear, because they are the product of having loved and been loved deeply and well. Those are truly moments so dear and worth every tear and heartache.

The times I’ve tripped and fallen in public, those I could happily lose, along with a fair amount of middle school…

Now I’ve sort of wrapped up a decade for me… I’ve been trying to do this for weeks now and can’t quite wrap it up the way I want to. I’ve learned a lot about myself in the last decade, I’ve learned where I draw boundaries, I’ve learned I’m stronger than I ever imagined. I’ve paid the price for loving and being loved and I’ll continue to pay it without complaint because I know how lucky I am to be here at forty and to have so much to look forward to. I’m grateful that I know myself so much better than I did ten years ago. I’m not just saying that because I finally found a shirt that describes me to a tee (see what I did there??)

Happy New Year everyone!

Hal, Mavis, and An Unnamed Peacock

So, when we left off last time; we’d arrived safely, started our marathon hotel stay, and needed to find a house… A few hours after arrival we hopped in the car to look at a possibility.

At that point in time Father of Gingers had started to look and the house hunt had not been going well. He’d seen a few that just weren’t going to work and was more hopeful that this one might be a match for our list. Bleary-eyed we headed off to the house.

It had some very good points – decent yard (garden), Harry Potter cupboard under the stairs, but also had a minor issue in the fact that a not-insignificant percentage of the interior was painted what can only be described as Pepto Bismal pink. If you’ve seen the wedding scene from Steel Magnolias, imagine that- but pinker. BG, who’s going through a “distaste of all things that could be considered girly phase” wasn’t sure he could live there. LG, on the other hand claims the unicorn as her spirit animal and was more like, “I live here now!” I seriously think she was contemplating moving in without us.

We decided to keep looking at listings and hope that house would be available as a fall back. At that point I’d been up for the better part of forty-eight hours and wasn’t sure what exactly was going on but I was pretty sure I would feel like I’d been slapped in the retinas every day with that paint scheme.

Motivated by the prospect of Pepto interiors, I hopped back on RightMove to see if any other listings had come up. There were two that looked like they could be winners. One was a farm house that had a snug (I’m still not one hundred percent sure what that is, but at the time, I felt passionately about it) and one that kind of looked like an old Tudor house. We got times to tour both scheduled and continued to obsessively check listings settled into wait.

The day of the first tour for the farm house arrived. I was woken by the gentle chirping of birds and the first rays of sunshine.

No, no, I wasn’t.

I was woken by LG gagging and crying as we heard the unmistakeable sounds of retching. She and I spent the morning taking turns changing outfits and hosing off with pauses to attempt to clean out the Pack and Play. I told BG to go wild on screen time and try not to breathe in any germs. Then the email came, the first people to come look at the farm house had snatched it up, and our viewing was canceled. I mopped up LG yet again, started a load of laundry and watched some Daniel Tiger. Sadly, Daniel doesn’t have a little jingle to deal with real estate disappointments.

LG recovered from her bug and we spent the weekend waiting to go look at the next house. We decided that short of a major haunting, we were going to take it and anything from moderate haunting down, we would happily live with. The house looked promising and I was REALLY trying not to get my hopes up as there was at least one showing before us.

The big day came- I got myself and the Gingers dressed in our best “we’re totally normal people who you’d love to have living in this house” outfits and away we went. We drove over and the front gate opened… (Yes, I said front gate, things are about to get a tad Downton Abbey). We walked to the front door and the family who was touring before us came out. I did my best not to stare them down. It was a challenge. We also were doing our best to not look completely over eager, but hotel living may have put a dent in that effort.

We walked through the front door and into the kitchen where I saw this:

And then this

They were promptly named Hal and Mavis (in my mind- I managed to have some self control) and I decided that I lived here now and was busy frantically trying to communicate this to FoG with only my eyes. He did not have the same instant attachment to Hal and Mavis and we did a walk through of the rest of the house to make sure we were set on things like bedrooms and bathrooms (this was probably a good thing). All the boxes were checked and we said we’d take it then and there. We were set, we’d just have to wait about a month and some change.

We went back to the hotel, the previously mentioned aggressively quaint Air BnB, then back to the hotel, and then to stay at a friend’s house. All the while I kept a Downton Abbey-esque vision in my head, fueled by the fact that a former “great house” was less than a quarter mile away and the area our house is in was the support village for the big house. I didn’t really see myself as a member of the family who lives in the big house, or the household staff. I’m more of the mind set of minor villager who makes an appearance at the yearly fair with an award- winning cake or something.

Move in day finally came! We headed over with our nine pieces of luggage, two Gingers, and assorted other paraphernalia. We pulled up to the gate and were greeted by this sight:

Yup- that is a full blown peacock. I promptly turned over the keys and he lives in the house now. I hope he’s happy.

Kidding. I’m kidding. However given my track record with nature and my fear of birds, I feel like it would’ve been understandable. My family didn’t agree so we pushed forward. I’m happy to report as of this writing there have not been any run ins with the unnamed peacock and I’ve only been stuck in the car once waiting out a pheasant who was taking his sweet time exploring the joint.

So we moved in- and all we had to do was wait for a week for all of our household goods, without internet, and one car. Piece of cake, sort of, kind of, well- I mean- we survived it.

I’ll write about that later.