Hopeful Perspective for 2021

The last few nights I’ve been having dreams about two things...tap dancing: something I love, and a former job: something I loathe. Each morning I wake up and lay in bed thinking about what it could all mean. I am one of those people who believes that dreams are trying to tell me something, so I try to listen when they seem to be repeating themselves. As I sit here on the last day of 2020, the year that wasn’t, I honestly believe that my subconscious is really just trying to remind me to have some perspective. Maybe that’s what I take away from the year that has been called a dumpster fire - one of the nicest things people say about it. Perspective.

2020 began for me with a brand new job. A job that I had been waiting for, and one that has been a complete blessing for me - and I hate using that word. I hadn’t realized how much I had been affected by my former job until it was behind me. I mean, I knew it was hard, and I knew that I had some secondary trauma as a result of the work I was doing, but what I didn’t realize was how much I needed leadership in my professional life that was equitable. What I didn’t realize was how much I needed to be trusted to do my job without someone trying to hold my hand or telling me later that I’d done it the wrong way. That stuff will really mess you up and take away your confidence. This year has been a shitshow for education, and that is putting it lightly, but I honestly believe I would have left the field of education all together without the job change that happened in January. And while it has not been a walk in the park by any stretch of the imagination, I am so thankful for the team of people I work for and with, who always, always put children first. Who always trust that teachers are doing what is best for children, and who always put equity on the forefront of anything they do. For this I am hopeful. 

I was not quite 3 months into my new job when we began to hear about a virus in China. My children were the first to talk about it with me. I remember thinking, “that is crazy, and thank GOODNESS it’s in China and won’t be affecting us.” HA. The week before spring break, it became clear that this virus was going to affect this country and I watched on as people made decisions about what to do next. For me, it meant packing a little bag of my work things and heading home, thinking we’d have a few extra days or a week added on to spring break. From that day until now, I’ve been back to my office three times. I now have a desk in my living room and stupid boundaries around when I work here. I’m working on that. The kids went to a completely remote model of school to finish out their 7th and 9th grade years. It was weird to say the least. What we didn’t know in March was that we’d still be remote in January of 2021 without any real idea if either of them will see the inside of a classroom in their 8th and 10th grade years. Zoe began 8th grade at a new school, Lincoln Middle, and that has been a good experience, but also I am continually reminded that they have never met any of their teachers or classmates in person. What a world. 

I’ve always been in the camp that believes that school isn’t a brick building with four walls. Rather, school is where you make it. Children should be learning all the time - when they are at home helping us cook, when they are outside exploring their neighborhood or just walking the dog. There is a huge part of me that is loving watching education change for our children. I feel very fortunate that our school district has erred on the side of caution since the beginning of this pandemic. We don’t have children or teachers in classrooms, which has taken some pressure off of everyone to feel safe, and has allowed teachers to rethink what education should look like and what should be important. I hear almost daily that children will be behind when we come back into classrooms. Socially and emotionally, yes, I will agree with that. Especially for the little ones I work with - we are going to have a lot of work to do when it comes to giving social experiences to children in new and distanced ways. But otherwise? I hope that this pandemic will make people realize that the ways in which we measure intelligence in children in our schools is outdated and is irrelevant. For years, we have set a bar for children based on what adults think is important. More importantly, what WHITE adults think is important. I hope that this time in education will force us to rethink what we value in learning, and how we go about teaching those things. I am hopeful for the first time in a long time that some of these things will change for our children. 

We survived the most tumultuous year in politics and in social justice that I’ve ever knowingly experienced in my lifetime. From this incredibly flawed election, to the murders of George Floyd, Brianna Taylor and Ahmaud Arbery, this year has made me angry to the point of tears more than any other year I can recall. It’s also made me hopeful because for the first time ever, it feels like change is coming. It feels like white people are starting to understand our place in the systems that are so broken. It feels like people are coming together in ways I’ve never experienced to say we are done with people being murdered for the color of their skin. We are done with law enforcement systems that were created to enforce racism and Jim Crow laws that we say no longer exist, but certainly do. We are done with prisons disproportionately full of Black men who don’t deserve to be there. And I would like to say we are done with politics led by old rich white men, but this very week has told us otherwise and we still have so much work to be done here. I am hopeful that a new wave of politicians are ready to do the hard work of dismantling the systems that no longer serve anyone. It’s going to be long, painful work, but I am hopeful. 

I’m going to write a few sentences about mental health during this pandemic. Please know I could write an entire book about it. I’m not saying anything here that anyone will find shocking. This year has challenged my mental health more than any other year in the last decade. And remember: also in the last decade I had two toddlers, finished my masters degree, and went through a divorce and started my life over again. Please let that sit with you for a moment. I think the biggest difference is that during the toddler time, the school work, and the divorce, I had the physical support of an incredible group of friends. To hug me, to lift me up with nights out, and small gatherings on weekend nights with my children while they played and the adults talked. Being in the company of other people during those times gave me the strength to get shit done. A night out with my girlfriends gave me opportunities to work through things and to watch my friends’ faces as they considered the things I was saying and sharing. A gathering of our families meant that I watched my children laugh and play and put on dance shows or skits. I saw the joy on their faces as they interacted with their friends. Sitting with my friends during the darkest times of my divorce when I literally thought I might lose my home or my children gave me the strength to just know I was not alone. Those things were taken away from us during this year. I still talk with my girlfriends and we text, and we’ve had exactly two gatherings in person, distanced on a patio. That’s right, since March of last year, I’ve seen my best friends in person only a handful of times. And it SUCKS.  Please don’t get me wrong. I have an amazing partner in Gregg, but no one in a partnership is meant to be someone’s ONLY person. And that’s what he’s been for me for much of this time. We have spent more time together this year than we have in the last five, and somehow we are still together. Somehow, I think we still make each other happy, and somehow we haven’t stopped laughing together. Perspective. 

I can’t leave out that there has also been a lot of joy this year. Being at home with my children all the time has given me new opportunities I wouldn’t have had otherwise to know them. We have cooked together, painted rooms, cleared decades worth of trash in my basement to create a new hangout area for them. We’ve watched movies, played games, attempted home haircuts, and learned a LOT about each other in the process. I wouldn’t trade this time for anything in that regard. My kids are 13 and 15 and will soon be out in this big world finding their own ways. This extra time that we’ve had has been something I will never take for granted. It helps that I truly like my girls. They are smart and funny. They are creative and curious. They are MESSY and frustrating at times, and we are a good team, the three of us. This has been the easiest part of quarantining...having them with me. Also, Gregg and I have explored nearly the entire state of Missouri and part of Kansas on the little road trips that we’ve taken just to get out of the house. We pick a direction most weekends when we don’t have kids and we just go. At first I just needed to see something besides the four walls of my living room. But then the seasons changed from spring to summer, and then the changing leaves of fall. We drove and we talked and we listened to music, and we watched the world change around us from the safety of our car. We don’t stop and explore the little towns like we used to do, but just getting away from home has been a highlight of this year. Perspective. 

This year has been incredibly difficult for so many people. My stories here pale compared to dear friends who have lost beloved family members to this horrific virus. My stories don’t come close to what so many of my friends have experienced working on the front lines. My stories can’t compare with the myriad friends I have who work in the service industry or who have lost their livelihoods because of the way our federal government has handled this pandemic. I can’t even begin to imagine those experiences, and I am so grateful to my friends and family who put their lives on the line each and every day. It’s not what they signed up to do - no one goes through medical school thinking they’ll one day work during a global pandemic that might kill them. But they are still doing it, and we all owe an incredible debt of gratitude for that. Perspective. 

Just last week, the girls’ dad and his wife had a medical scare with her youngest child. It’s not my story to tell, but in these last days of 2020 it has put things into perspective for me in a way I never considered. The child will be fine, thank goodness, and that is the most important piece of the story, but in the days where they weren’t sure what was going to happen, it forced me to think about the health of my own children. It forced me to think about the relationship that Steve and his wife and I have, which can be difficult or strained most days. It has made me think about how so much of those things go out the window when someone’s health is on the line. How in this little bubble of our two families, we have to set aside some of the other things we struggle with when things get challenging. It’s not some miraculous happy ending, it’s just good perspective for all of us right now. It’s good perspective to end 2020. Some things are bigger than you. Some things are bigger than this mess we are in. We all have almost zero control, in the end, over the things that challenge us from day to day. We are very small in the grand scheme of things. And? We have survived this much during this terrible year. I am not sad to usher 2020 out tonight, but I also am not fooled into thinking that tomorrow will change everything. I am, however, confident when I say that this terrible year has given me the perspective to keep going. Into whatever 2021 brings my way.

Some Thoughts on Voting

I’ve been thinking a lot about this over the last few days, and I guess I just needed to write this down. Yesterday a friend sent me a message about a family member of mine who has recently been outspoken about their political views. My friend was shocked at this development. I was not. Yes, I very much hope they and anyone else who feels that way are reading this right now. I began to think about this divide we have in our country, and apparently as well in our family, and how, for me, it’s just not something that I am ok with swallowing and accepting as the norm anymore.  

When I was a kid, my Grandpa Bloom was an outspoken Republican. It was sort of a joke in our family that he and my dad would trade political punches during our visits to upstate New York. It was always in good humor. Always. I learned a lot from my Grandpa about what his party stood for (in the early 1980s, his Republicanism was very close in ideology to what most centrist Democrats think now) and I learned a lot from watching my dad and grandpa talk politics with both kindness and respect for each other. My grandfather would roll in his grave at this presidency, and at the heated climate of this presidential election. Rightfully so. I think he would be sick to his stomach at the idea that people are willing to trade basic human rights for a stable retirement fund and economic “growth” - if that’s even a thing. 

When I told my kids about this family member yesterday, my eldest daughter’s first response was, “I feel sorry for their mother.” Empathy. Her first response was empathy. Rather than the eye rolling, name calling anger that I felt when I think about what divides us, Lucy said, “It must be hard for her to know she raised someone who can hate other people like that.” And I agree. It must be hard. What’s easy for many people in this political season is to sink into their privilege and stay there in the imagined safety of that place. It’s easy to vote from a perspective that the issues at stake here don’t or won’t affect you or your loved ones. 

If that’s the case, let me remind you how lucky you are to not have to think about your children being taken from you and put in cages because you have chosen to seek a better life in a country that once prided itself on “bring me your weary…” You don’t have to think about driving (or walking, or shopping, or jogging) while Black. You don’t have to worry that you are 32% more likely to be shot by a law enforcement officer. Because of the color of your skin. You probably also don’t need to worry that the resources that support your family’s survival and success are being cut: Housing and Urban Development and SNAP to name a few. You probably have a great sense of superiority based on the color of your skin and your socioeconomic status. Your supremacy has been validated in these last four years. Why would you consider that systemic racism is an issue if it doesn’t affect you personally?

I wonder if you’ve ever considered that the children you are raising have ovaries and a right to have control over the decisions made about their bodies. I wonder if you’ve thought about the protections for women that have been rolled back by this administration? Protections for victims of sexual assault and discrimination? Title IX rules that make it harder for victims of sexual assault to press charges (hilarious, considering the president you defend has been accused TWENTY SIX TIMES of sexual assault). Have you considered that the gender pay gap during the Trump administration has tripled? 

I wonder if you’ve ever considered what it would be like to raise a child who is gay or trans? As a parent, all you ever want in this world is for your child to be happy and healthy. What is it like to weigh health and happiness over the safety of your child’s life as their LGBTQ rights continue to be on the line. I wonder if you’ve ever thought about what it would be like to watch your transgender child suffer a medical emergency with no healthcare because they’re no longer covered under the Affordable Care Act? I wonder if you’ve considered your daughter having a pregnancy that could potentially kill her. What if she needed an abortion to save her own life? 

I wonder if you’ve thought about your child having the right to love and marry whomever they want, regardless of their gender. I wonder how you even know what real love is if you can so easily tell someone with your vote that their love doesn’t matter. I wonder if you know that when I’m talking about this, I’m talking about my own children who will forever wonder how it was so easy for you to use your vote to take away their rights. It’s something I hope they’ll sit down and ask you someday. I wonder if you’ve considered that your vote affects family members who are retired, those who work in education, those who would like to put an end to senseless gun violence,  and those who believe that our environment is worth saving for our children and our children’s children. 

I know I can’t change anyone. If I’ve learned anything in my life it’s that. That’s not the point of writing this. The point is that I can ask questions. I can wonder. I can tell you that when you vote for Donald Trump in this election because he’s done something good for your financial bottom line? It looks to me that you’re choosing to ignore the basic human rights of people in your family. People you say that you love. Frankly, I’m just done defending that stuff anymore. It’s gross. It’s racist. It’s incredibly selfish. And I won’t make my children share a holiday table with people who would vote to hurt them. I just won’t. More people should think and move about this life with the kind of empathy my fifteen year old has. That kind of empathy is what is going to save this country, regardless of what happens on Tuesday. 

Farewell, Miss Betty

When I was a child, Betty Tillotson’s Kansas City Tap and Musical Comedy Dance Company (say that three times fast) was nestled in the back of a strip mall, with a Chinese restaurant directly in front of it, and a tire shop down the row. I can still to this day hear the pull of the door to the studio when it opened, as it tended to stick a bit. We danced on concrete floors covered in vinyl tiles, something for which my knees are still not forgiving. Most days I would come home smelling like sweat and fried foods. Betty Tillotson was my dance teacher, but she was so much more than that.

My big sister took tap dance classes at Betty’s when she was little, and my mom would haul me with her to the studio each week. I wanted so badly to dance and to take classes, but I was still in diapers. I’ve always been told that taking tap dancing classes with Miss Betty was what sped up my potty training. I don’t know if that’s the true story, but it’s always made me laugh. I danced with Betty from the age of two and a half until I was 18, and then my children danced with her. Not only was she a huge part of my upbringing, my girls have the most fond memories of spending their time in her studio and on the big stage at the Folly Theater in Kansas City. Betty passed away yesterday. She had to be nearing 100 years old.

I think the thing that strikes me about Betty when I think back on the years and years and hours and minutes that I spent in her studio was how far ahead of her time she was. A single, never married woman opened a dance studio in the 1950s. By herself. She maintained this business, which was not only thriving, but a pillar for others in the Waldo community, for decades. Let me repeat that – she did all of this by herself. At a time when other women were staying home and having children, Betty created a tiny dance empire in this city. By herself. I don’t think I really thought about how ahead of her time she was until now.

Betty expected grace. She didn’t expect that you’d be the most amazing dancer in the room, but she expected that you’d have the stage presence and the smile to hide your flaws. It was always an unspoken rule that you were polite and courteous around Betty, and though she loved a good joke, you had to pick your timing. I know this might come as a shock, but I’ve always been a little loud, and I love to laugh and sometimes I would say things at the wrong time that would make Betty say, “weeeelllllll, Kate!!” in only the way she could. If you knew Betty, you’re hearing this in your head. I learned to stand up tall from Betty. To keep my chin up and my shoulders back. I learned the value of a well-placed variation kick line. I danced competitively for years, and I traveled all over the country – and even across the world to Seville, Spain with Betty. I learned from her to be gracious when you don’t win, and to keep smiling and keep dancing even when your hat falls off, or you fall flat on your face. Both of which happened to me on more than one occasion. Honestly that’s probably a good metaphor for how to do life.

Betty was an enormous part of my upbringing. She taught me as much about how to be a kind and gracious human as she did about doing a double time step or a pull back. Betty introduced me to Broadway musicals, to vaudeville, and to the amazing Arthur Duncan, who was a dear friend of hers. Arthur taught many a class at Betty’s studio and just last week I was sharing video of him from Lawrence Welk with my girls. Betty had an affinity for a simpler time. She chose music for us from the 1940s and 50s even though we were dancing in the 1980s and 90s. We thought it was sometimes a little strange. She didn’t like costumes that were too showy, or music that was too loud. I think we taught Betty some about things she wasn’t comfortable with, too.

When I think about Betty and the legacy she leaves in Kansas City, I can’t help but to think about the hundreds if not thousands of little girls who passed through her studio over the last several decades. If you danced in this city, even if you didn’t take classes from her, you knew Betty. The amount of people she connected with along her journey is incredible, and such a tribute to who she was. Who can ask for more than a very long life full of smiles and dance? I’m certain that Betty arrived in heaven yesterday to be greeted by her parents and her best friend (also Betty). I hope that she drank a Manhattan, and then strapped on her high heeled tap shoes and began to teach time steps to a new group of friends.

Quarantine Quinceanera

Dear Lucy,

I had no idea when I wrote your sister’s birthday letter just over a month ago, that we’d still be hunkered down here at home in late May. I had no idea that you wouldn’t get to finish your freshman year with your friends, and that we would be celebrating yet another “quaranteen” birthday at home. In a lot of ways, this time together has been good for us. You have slept more than you ever would have if school was in session and you were leaving the house at 6:45am! We’ve watched movies, you helped me with clearing out the basement and painting it. Well…you helped a little with that stuff! You’ve had time to work on school stuff and have not been on a strict schedule. You’ve played video games, worked on wigs for HOURS at a time, and even had Zoom calls with your friends. Isn’t it weird to think that we’d barely even heard of Zoom a few months ago? Does it suck to not be able to see your friends and hang out, and do regular end-of-school stuff? Of course. But you, my dear, not surprisingly, have taken this all in stride. 

At fifteen, you are at once a complete grown up, and still my sweet little girl. I’m sure that’s likely embarrassing to hear, but there are times that I look at you and I can still see the curly haired, lisping child you once were. Some nights you still climb into my bed and we laugh and talk. I am so thankful for those moments. Maybe you don’t know how much that time helps my heart, but it does. On the other hand, sometimes I see you and I hardly recognize the woman you’ve become. You are nearly as tall as I am, and you have a poise and togetherness about you that I do not recall possessing at fifteen. I’m not even sure I possess it now, at almost 45. I have loved watching you navigate your freshman year at Lincoln. I know it’s not ending in the way you’d have liked, but it’s made me incredibly proud that you’re doing so well there and you seem to be learning the important things that only an education at Lincoln could teach you: equity, making friends with an incredible variety of people, and accepting people who don’t look like you or come from the same place you do. To me, all the academic stuff comes in a close second to the life lessons I’m watching you learn there.

This year has come with an abundance of change for you: new school, new house, new blended family, and that was all before this global pandemic came and put our lives to a screeching halt. I’m so proud of the ways that you’ve handled all of this. It’s not that it hasn’t come with it’s fair share of crap – it has. And I know that stuff isn’t always as easy as you make it look. But you’re willing to talk about it, and open up about it, and you’re willing to ask for help when you need it. I hope you can hold onto that as you get older. There is nothing at all wrong with asking for help or admitting when you’re overwhelmed. It took me a very long time to learn that, and I STILL have trouble asking for help. It’s not a weakness to ask. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.

This year has also maybe been the hardest for me in terms of parenting the two of you girls. You’re both teenagers now, and there’s a funny dance that I’ve found myself doing with the two of you – and more often with you, because you’re just that much older. It’s the little two step of sharing my opinions with you, but also shutting my mouth enough to let you form your own opinions. It is the constant pull of loving someone so much that you could literally eat them up, but also letting go enough so that you may grow into your own person. It’s biting my tongue and letting you figure things out on your own, and that is so hard for me sometimes. I want to give you the things that I didn’t have as a teen with my mom. I want us to have the kind of relationship where you can tell me anything at all, but also where you don’t NEED to tell me things, if that makes sense. I want to be the mom who you want to come talk to late at night, but I don’t want that to ever feel forced or not genuine. I want to have the kind of mother daughter relationship with you that continues into your adulthood – and doesn’t just stop when you’re 18 because you’re suddenly grown up, which is how mothering was done to me. I want to continue celebrating year after beautiful, hard, lovely year with you because I am just so very proud to be your mom. Happy birthday, little Lucy B. I sure do love you. 

Zoe is a Quaran-teen

Dear Zoe, 

You are having a birthday during the strangest time in your life thus far. It’s really the strangest time in anyone’s life, to be fair. There’s a pandemic happening in the world. A virus called Covid-19 that is incredibly contagious, and potentially deadly. As of right now (March 29^th) we’ve been stuck at home for almost two weeks, and we have at least another three weeks to go. Maybe more. Life, as we’ve all known it, has come to a complete stand still: no school for you, working at home for me, and so many things you were looking forward to this spring have been cancelled. It is going to be weird to have a birthday during this time. We’ve made plans for your day to be fun despite what’s happening all around us, and you have been amazingly flexible and easy going about it, which isn’t always in your nature – let’s be honest. I’ve joked that your love of video games, drawing, and not wanting to leave the house means that you’ve been in training for your whole life for this quarantine we are under. But honestly, you seem to be the one out of all of us who is rolling with the punches and taking all of this in stride. I’m so thankful for that. 

Zoe, you are not always a kid who rolls with punches. I don’t think it’s any surprise to anyone that I wrote that. You are stubborn and feisty, and you are not down to take anyone’s bullshit. Like, ever. The same qualities that drive me to tears some days are also the qualities in you that I envy. I could be holding a yellow flower, and you will tell me it’s red. You’ll insist I am wrong, roll your eyes, tell me again that I’m wrong, and then go slam a door to prove your point. Each time something like this happens, it leaves me wondering about my perspective. Which isn’t always a bad thing, really. Frustrating, but not a bad thing. When stuff like this happens, it always makes me wonder about who you’ll be in 10 years. I hope this fire within you stays. I hope that you’re able to funnel that into something that you feel passionately about, and that what seems to me sometimes as frustrating stubbornness will help you fight oppression or injustices.

 I often joke that you’re the coolest 13-year-old I know, but it’s true. You have an eclectic taste – in music, clothing and cosplay, and it’s so interesting to watch you love those things and seemingly not care what other people think. You are awesome at doing makeup, transforming yourself into amazing characters. I’m excited to see what you’ll do with that in the future. You are a video game champion, and while some people may scoff at that, I see you learning all kinds of useful skills through those games. You have a keen sense of equity. Sometimes I just mean in this house when you tell me that something you sister gets to do IS NOT FAIR, but I also see it in other parts of your life. You are a noticer. You watch situations at school, and in the media, and you are outraged when people are mistreated. I have never been silent about my thoughts on justice, or injustice – but you have your own thoughts about these things and it makes me incredibly proud to watch you navigate that.

These are weird times, kiddo. It’s hard for me right now to be the grown up in the house, and to have you look to me for answers when I don’t know any more than you do right now. Just yesterday, I read an article in which someone wrote, “We will need to become more like dogs, giddily hopping into the car when we have no idea where it's heading…” and I keep thinking about that, because that is just exactly what we have to do right now. I’m not sure what tomorrow will bring, or even whether you’ll be able to finish the 7^th grade with your friends. I don’t know when Alice Cooper might come back, since his tour that we were so looking forward to was cancelled. I’m not sure if Comic-Con can happen, even in August. Lordy, I hope it can. But I do know that tomorrow you’ll turn 13, and nothing can change that. We’ll celebrate in the ways we can – with our own little quarantined family, and we’ll be thankful for things like FaceTime so that you may see your friends. And you, like the giddy dog, will hop into thirteen and see where it takes you. I love you, sweet Zoe Margaret. I am so proud to be your mama.

Quarantine: Week 2

Today has been hard. The girls have been with their dad since last Wednesday, and it’s just been me and Gregg here at my house. It’s been a LOT of alone time for me. I love being alone, don’t get me wrong. I think I went about 8 years where I was never alone for a single minute, so I’ve learned over the last several years post-divorce to really savor my alone time. But. I’m not a fan of mandated alone time, and I think that’s the difference now. I thrive when I’m surrounded by people. I get ideas from other people, I am used to being in the middle of a huge group of little people, or a group of teachers. I’m used to having at least one night a week where I’m out with friends. We have a standing monthly meetup with friends that we call our Sunday Funday group. My point is that all of this alone time is really starting to wear on me. I am currently on a group text with 10 people that would typically make me lose my mind. TEN PEOPLE. Three weeks ago, a group text with ten people would make me stab someone. But those other 9 ladies have been like a lifeline for me this week, and I love the way we’ve managed to stay connected and invested in each other during this time. It has helped me more than I even realized before writing this. 

I spent much of the day in the basement for the first time since last Friday. Over the weekend, I decided to take a break from the cleaning for my mental health, but I'd also tweaked my back in some way so I really wanted to rest it. Today I was back at it, and it’s taking me way longer than I’d anticipated. There are about 40 Rubbermaid tubs in the basement. You’d think that would mean it's organized. Nope. I’ve had to go through every single one of them, because in the first three I dug through, I found really important family photos and memories that need to be saved. The other 99% of the tubs are garbage. Literal garbage. But since I now know there could be important things hiding, I’ve decide to go through each mother fucking tub. So yes, that has not only taken more time, it’s taken WAY more emotional space than I’d anticipated. Emotional space that should be held right now for being alone during a quarantine. Emotional space that might be used for wondering what the fuck is actually going on in the world and how we’ll all get through this. Suffice it to say, I’m spent. I’ve found great things. Photos. Letters. All of the little intricate puzzle pieces that make my story mine. And that, frankly, has been a lot to take on this week. I hadn't realized maybe how much until tonight.

One of the highlights of the last week and weekend has been a nightly Facebook live show from my favorite songwriter, Travis Meadows. If you’ve not heard him, please do yourself a favor and click on his name right back there – read about his story. Travis is doing a “Hope Cast” each night on social media, and while I’ve loved all of them, tonight it was exactly what I needed. His music really spoke to me and this place I’m in right now. This place we are all in right now. He sang Amazing Grace first. I don’t know that I’ve ever heard that song without having a full on ugly cry. It’s just so beautiful and brings back so many memories for me. And so, tonight I had an ugly cry. I think I needed it. Then, he sang Old Ghosts. I’m going to try to link the video for you below. So often I say, “I believe in things that I can’t see” about stuff that happens to me, and that is a line from this song. I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about the old ghosts I’ve been digging up this week in my basement. There is stuff that is ready to be thrown out, and there are old ghosts hiding in those tubs that have made me exactly who I am today. Tonight, Travis said, “While we are going through this fire, let it refine you – work on yourself.” I’m trying to do just that, and though the timing might be bad, or probably even just a little stupid in these first weeks of quarantine, I know I’ll be thankful in the end.

Later, he said, “Call your friend who’s an asshole. It was his fault, but he’s not gonna call you.” And those are some good words of advice, as well.

Heading into week two of quarantine. Week one of full on shelter in place in KCMO. I wish you well, my friends, and please know you’re not alone in this mess.

Quarantine. Week 1

My kids are still asleep. In my bed, no less, with the dog. This is the new normal, I guess. No school.  “Working” from home. We are now in complete pandemic mode. And I’ll be honest? If this virus doesn’t take me down, my anxiety about it will. I was told I should write about it, so here is my attempt at that. I’m fucking freaked out, y’all. I’m not so worried that I will contract the virus – though when Gregg was here last night and began talking about his allergies, I went full on crazy mode in my head thinking about WHAT IF IT’S NOT ALLERGIES?? I have to stop looking at the news.

I’m trying to take things in stride. Once I found out that I wasn’t going to have to use my new and not very plentiful PTO time to cover this mess, and I would still get paid, I could relax a little. When this stuff began happening – SO quickly – it was suggested to me that I’d have to take my leave to cover time off. I’ve been at my job for 9 weeks. I hardly even know what I’m doing there yet, and I certainly don’t have PTO build up. On the other hand, I’ve also finally gotten myself into a financial situation that doesn’t make me want to jump out of a window every month, and the news of this quarantine made me worry that that would also go out the window. I should be ok financially…if I turn off the one-click Amazon shopping.

I’m trying to teach the girls some new things while we are all here together. Lucy is learning to cross stitch, and Zoe wants to needlepoint. We’ve watched movies and had meals together. I feel like I work in a really small and not very good restaurant, I’m cooking so much. We’ll all probably gain a thousand pounds in the next weeks and months. I’m not worrying about school. It’s my livelihood, education, but I’m not someone who thinks the actual four walls of school is where the learning has to happen. You want to learn? Bake something. Learn a new craft. Write a story. Hell, play a video game. I said it. My kids have mastered the Nintendo and I believe that takes a lot of math, and spatial awareness, and also stamina. I think those are skills that will serve them well, despite the nerdery it took to build them.  

I had a dumpster delivered today. My timing is spectacular, of course. My friends have been offering to help me with a basement overhaul for YEARS, and I picked the one time they’re all at home and can’t help. I also picked perhaps the most emotionally charged activity to do during the most anxious time I’ve had in years. Smart. My basement is still full of Steve’s things. I’ve created paths around it for years and haven’t let myself look too closely at the tubs and boxes of shit because I knew how angry and resentful it would make me. It’s time to get over that and get rid of the stuff. I have ghosts living in this house and it’s beyond time to get them out of here. So, that’s what I’m doing while we are quarantined.

I am trying to see this as a time to put my life back together, not as the time when it all falls apart. There’s a fine line between the two, really. I’m trying not to look too far ahead. I’m lucky in that I have a job where I can work from home and I will continue to get paid. But I have an abundance of friends who either work in the service industry or own their own businesses. I can’t imagine the stress they are under right now. I feel selfish for writing about my anxiety, but I think it’s important to value everyone’s struggle right now. Mine isn’t not valid because someone else has it worse. It’s ok to not be ok, no matter what your situation is. I guess that’s the point of my writing this. I want to say I’m not ok right now. I will be fine, but right now I’m struggling. I think it’s important to be forthcoming in times like this. I hope there will be a financial bail out for my friends. I hope we won’t need to shut down more of our day to day lives. I hope so many things, but right now I’m focusing on what I can control about today. And today, I hope I get some of this mess cleaned. And maybe clearing my home will also help to clear my mind.