Commencing Quarantine

As my brain was bouncing and spinning from one thing to another this morning - all the new pressing quarantine quandaries - a mental picture of Dumbledore using his wand to siphon off an over-abundance of thought made me smile, and I said out-loud to myself, "I need a pensieve."

It occurred to me that writing, of course, would serve a similar purpose - would provide a discharge, of sorts, for my over-crammed mind during these days of COVID ups and downs.  

Last week's transition to online school was as consuming a work week as I can remember.  Stressful and exhausting in its worst moments, heartwarming and hopeful in its best.

(Wacky was a mild descriptor of that Earthquake + Pandemic + start of online school Wednesday.)

Throughout the week, I tried my best to keep loose tabs on my own kids, and they seemed to be surfing the new life scenario as well as anyone...i.e. plenty of fighting and impatience.

There were some good moments of teamwork, too, as I asked them often to pitch in with jobs and stay on top of their own work.  

And there was still some laughing.

I tried my best to keep them up to speed on the whys of the quarantine, and what to expect.  So when we straggled to the breakfast table on Friday morning and Lucy quietly mentioned that a friend of hers had emailed wanting to get together, I almost overreacted, like, "We've been over this and of course you can't!" But a lump of empathy filled my throat as I looked at her hopeful expression.  Flashbacks of my own ninth grade year and friends gave me pause and my voice broke when I finally said, "Honey, this must feel so hard for you." 

We cried together then, for a minute, for the first time since all the changes.  Closures had come just a heartbeat before opening night of her much anticipated school musical. My camera roll that had been filled with pictures of her rehearsals and homemade props was now filled with a series of her math assignments to submit online. Suddenly no more seminary. Suddenly no more laughing around lockers or eating lunch on the playground equipment. And bless her sweet heart, she doesn't even have her own phone for texting friends and cousins.  

So I owed her a moment of empathetic tears.  And when we were done, we could smile at each other while I said adamantly, "No, you absolutely can't get together with anyone."

And she understands.  And she's coping with cooking, and scrubbing the bathtub, and alternately enduring and enjoying her little brother.  They're singing Hamilton right now while assembling Metal Earth models, so I'm not permanently worried about anyone in this house.    

Ebb and Flow.  It's what I've said to myself again and again during these days, trying to led my breath come slowly in and out like rhythmic waves on the beach.  The hope, the disappointment, the peace, the stress, the unity, the grief.  In and out.  It's all real.  And right now the reality is Spencer suddenly slamming doors and stomping around the house in frustration over his tiny metal puzzle pieces.  

But I'm going to ignore him.

(Spring sunsets and hours of sidewalk chalk are amazingly restorative. And thank heavens for that!)

Weekend Snapshots

 Friday night

Late night pizza and karaoke with friends. 

Saturday morning

Me:
"Sis, time to get up for your flute lesson."

Her:

She knew that consolation for the Saturday lesson was no school or lessons on MLK day Monday.

After flute there were Saturday chores, interspersed generously with Studio C episodes.  

In the evening, Lucy chipped away at her geography report on Norway.  

Sunday morning

Me: 

"Lucy, will you paint a tree of life for my primary lesson on the back of this old alphabet poster?"

Her: 

Spencer is the quickest to get ready on Sunday mornings, so he defaulted to his usual waiting stance of nose inside an illustrated copy of Harry Potter.

After church, we drove to Bountiful and ate dinner with Dad and Brenda, and Lucy showed us Family Search's face matching game. The phone rang late into the night as more siblings and cousins tried it out and reported their results.  

Sunday night

Cozy fire in dad's basement.

(Love these boys working on the kindling while Lucy read the old newspapers about to be burned.)

Dad regularly records movies he thinks the kids will like and then saves them for when we visit.  This time was The Black Stallion (which book Spencer's class is currently reading, hence his continual commentary about differences from text.) 

We munched on the pretzels I had purchased last month for dad's Christmas stocking and forgotten to put out on Christmas morning.

Monday

Standard breakfast table at Grandpa's.

Puzzle of the USofA (which had us planning all kinds of hypothetical summer road trips).

For lunch, Brenda brought firehouse sub samples and we played with Navy before driving home to Payson in time for Lucy to have a movie night with a couple of her besties.

Spencer is often welcomed to join in with the girls, but I tried to keep him at bay for a little while with a banana split and a round or two of memory.

   Which game he enjoys winning very much.  

And I'll probably keep letting him for a while longer ;)

Sunday Snapshots

The words are repeated once again
this sacred Sabbath time;
words I can trace through the week,
but this time unique,
spoken,
quietly,
in youthful intonation
and the nourishment
is proffered me
by a boy's hand
in exchange for my changing.
-Ann Madsen

Spencer helped to pass the sacrament today.
We've been reading in the New Testament and discussing what that ordinance is about at its heart.

An opportunity to remember the Savior with the loyalty and love with which he remembers us.

Reverently and meekly now
let thy head most humbly bow
Think of me thou ransomed one
Think what I for thee have done

There were tears a plenty on my part as we sang and prayed and waited a little extra time for the bread and water to be passed by the sweet, careful hands of new deacons doing their best to "watch over the church" and ensure opportunity for all choosing to partake and remember.

At home we opted out of real lunch in favor of an "eat whatever you can find" free for all.  When Spencer followed his first course of soup and rolls up with cereal and nachos and hot chocolate, I said, "we should have just made dinner."  But he shook his head and said with a mouthful, "No, this is my favorite!"

Lucy helped him set up a Family Search account to print off names for a temple visit later in the week.

Those two played in the snow much of the afternoon and then Lucy asked to help make dinner.  We visited, and watch the robins outside the window, and sang along to The Music Man soundtrack.

At the youth fireside tonight,

John Bythway made us laugh, and President B referenced an Andy Griffith episode we'd never seen, so of course...

...had to remedy that. 

Sunday Snapshots

First Sunday of the new year (but I still listened to Christmas music while working on dinner prep early in the morning). Went to church and taught my new primary class of five year olds.  I love five year olds.  

In the afternoon, Dad drove down with Brenda and Parker.  

Spencer was ordained a deacon.

How I love him. And my dad, and Grant Leavitt, and our bishopric - all there encircling Spencer and welcoming him into a brotherhood of men and boys dedicated to serving God, listening to the promptings of the Spirit, ministering to others.   

How I love the priesthood.  A power that has blessed my life continually since I was a child and has been present and sustaining to me through the difficulties of losing Wes and rearing our children without him.  

I'm grateful for the increased conversation and discussion about the priesthood happening since President Nelson's invitation to study the topic in greater deapth.  It's so good for all of us - men and women, boys and girls - to understand God's power and our related roles - better and better.

A few weeks ago, a kind person heard of Spencer's upcoming ordination and said to me excitedly, "You'll have the priesthood in your home!"

I smiled and said, "We've never been without it," but wished there had been time to explain.  Time to share Elder Anderson's words: "we can live every hour 'blessed by the strength of priesthood power,' whatever our circumstance."

Been re-reading Little Women since seeing the movie last week (💗).  Love Mother's words to Jo:

"I have a better friend, even than father, to comfort and sustain me.  My child, the troubles and temptations of your life are beginning, and may be many; but you can overcome and outlive them all, if you learn to feel the strength and tenderness of your Heavenly Father as you do your earthly one.  The more you love and trust him, the nearer you will feel to Him, and the less you will depend on human power and wisdom.  His love and care never tire or change, can never be taken from you, but may become the source of lifelong peace, happiness, and strength."

Time to go sit on the bed of a new little deacon who still has trouble falling asleep on his own.  (But he doesn't need any help building marble machines.)

Just That Nice Kind of Quiet

We've had rain storms on repeat for weeks now.

June usually feels like full summer, but this year, spring is making a statement.  

I've loved it so much.

Tonight as I mowed the lawn, the bright slant of evening light illuminated everything so beautifully and made me reflective enough to want to write something down.

A few weeks ago, Lucy turned fourteen.  We went to see Matilda the Musical.  It seemed like a fitting choice for our little bookworm.  

I was totally unfamiliar with the music and couldn't help crying over a few refrains, given the context of the evening.

"This little girl...

"...this miracle."

I drove her to the stake center at 6:00am this morning.  She was clad in apron, skirt, and bloomers, all ready for a three day pioneer trek.  We cued up with the other vehicles and I scrolled through iTunes to find National Tribute Band's "Crack of a Whip" song, thinking it would be an appropriate choice while we waited.  

"Load up, captain of fifty

Tears fall down, drip drip

Goodbye, sweet Nauvoo

At the break of dawn 

And the crack of a whip"

I had to turn it off after three seconds.

"I can't do it!!"  I said, laughing and crying, both.

My mind's eye had turned the line of cars in front of us into covered wagons, and I was punched with the thought of real families leaving real homes on a real exodus.  Lucy laughed with me over the sudden rush of emotion, but it was a tender break-of-dawn moment to share before waving her off.

Then I rushed to get ready for the first day of teacher post service.  I thought a little more about pioneers as I drove to Draper, but spent the remainder of the day mired in Kindergarten data.  And the test scores are all important.  And the discussions are all needed.  But in my heart, the measure of a year's success looks more like this:

(I actually can't tell if that one note says, "I will never forget you" or "I will never forgive you" Ha!)

I do, in fact, love teaching those darling children.

And I do, in fact, love seeing my own children learn from beloved teachers.  

Spencer's carefully handwritten notebook page letter to Mr. Turco at the end of the year was front and back-sided, and replete with phrases like, "I really admire that about you," and "You are such a wonderful person."

Mr. Turco gave my boy an incredible 4th grade year.  

My eyes were not dry as Spence and his friends sang Taps to close their end of year program.

"Thanks and praise, for our days

'Neath the sun, 'neath the stars, 'neath the sky;

As we go, this we know, God is nigh."

Since I have teacher meetings, Spencer is spending his first week of summer with Grandpa Packer.  It's become a tradition, of sorts, over the past couple of years.  They go to tennis first thing in the morning, come home for reading and a little school work, and then the day is free for swimming, and parks, and playing with all the beloved neighbors on Grandpa's street.

When I called the boys tonight, they were eating salmon and pasta for dinner, and both of them sounded so sincerely happy.  The echo of Dad's cheerful voice saying, "Love you, honey," before hanging up lingered in my heart long after ending the call. 

Spencer will love when Lucy is home to share in all the summer fun too, but it's clear he's relishing his private vacation for the time being.  Dad and Spud will likely go to see Aladdin.  Lucy told them not to wait for her since she has plans to go next Saturday with some friends.

She's growing into that kind of teenage life.  She also had a wonderful school year, capstoned with lots of academic recognition and an epic game of capture the flag at the creek with some best friends.

It's wonderful to applaud the kids in all of their end of year successes and to enjoy their recitals and programs, their field days and friend gatherings, but combined with all the end-of-year teacher tasks, it all adds up to May being something of a hurricane.

A sinus infection for the last two weeks of school didn't help.

But tonight, after reading a few chapters of Isaiah in the Book of Mormon, after mowing the lawn and drinking in that 70 degree sunset,

"Everything is quiet.

Like silence, 

But not really silent.

Just that still sort of quiet.
Like the sound of a page being turned in a book.

Or a pause in a walk in the woods.

Quiet.

Just that nice kind of quiet.
Like the sound when you lie upside down in your bed.
Just the sound of your heart in your head.

And it is quiet.

And I am warm.

Like I've sailed into the eye of the storm."

-Matilda the Musical

Addendum (since I wrote, but never actually posted the above):

Lucy is back from trek.
She had a wonderful time, minus the mosquitoes.

And I'm done with teacher meetings.

And the temperature has remained mild.
And at home, we have floors to mop, and closets to clean out, and y a r d  w o r k.
But while the kids finish tennis this week, we're at Dad's.
And there has been time for dragonfly wings.

And for sidewalk chalk.

And for neighbors.

These four don't call or text to arrange playtime. They just dog-bark once or twice whenever they're in the backyard.  If there's an answering bark from across the fence, then soon, a face or two appears to go with it.

Sometimes there's just a few minutes of visiting over the fence.
Sometimes there is an exchange of goods - a mini loaf of banana bread or a lego creation.
Sometimes they all disappear to one side or the other, for swimming, or a movie, or fort building.

And it's all so ordinary.
And so beautiful.
And as I watch it, I feel so grateful for the ebb and flow of life.
For quiet after loud.
And for the love that makes music of both.