Let me preface this by saying I am ardent supporter of mask-wearing.

Now let me also say that these masks are uncomfortable. Sometimes they are too tight. Sometimes they are too loose. Sometimes they ride up. Or down. They pull on my ears. And don’t get me started on how much I sweat underneath them. It’s like a constant rainforest from my upper lip to my chin. (Which actually makes wearing the mask convenient because it then doubles as a little hanky I end up using to wipe off the sweat). When I am wearing a mask, I feel like a can’t talk, breathe, or hear what anyone is saying.

A couple of weeks ago I was due for my yearly eye exam. In case you have never read one of my blogs before, you should know I have terrible eyesight. I have had glasses since I was 8 and then switched to contacts at 13. I am nearsighted and haven’t been able to see far away up until about two or three years ago when suddenly I couldn’t see close-up either. You would think that this phenomenon would cause my eyesight to even out and eventually my eyes would be back to 20/20, but no. It just means that now I can’t see close up OR far away.

Since the eye doctor that I had been seeing for years just retired, I seized the opportunity to move to a clinic closer to home. I did not think this would be an issue since I have had the same prescription for years and have been wearing the same brand and type of contacts forever. The new doctor would merely give me a routine checkup and hand over my standard prescription.

Side note: This seems like a good time to tell you that if you are thinking about getting your eyes checked, stop and ask yourself if you can suffer through with the same glasses or contacts for the next six months or year or however long this pandemic lasts. If the answer is yes, then wait. If the answer is no, wait anyway.

I walk up to the clinic and I am greeted at the door by a 15-year-old boy with a thermometer that I think must be the receptionist’s or doctor’s son who was bribed to be there for the summer or maybe he is getting paid minimum wage I don’t know. Before he lets me in, he checks my temperature with the little gadget that gets close to my forehead but not really. I mean, either we have come a LONG way with technology or this thing is just for show, because I don’t understand how something one inch from my body can tell my internal temperature when it seems like just yesterday I needed to stick a glass tube of mercury under my tongue. I mean, how have we gone from pushing something up our baby’s butts to a hovercraft on our forehead? How accurate can this method be? I’m 51 and pretty much always hot and plus it’s 95 degrees out but with the humidity feels more like 101 so how do I know that those factors aren’t affecting my internal temperature and by the way did I mention under my mask I have droplets of sweat running down my chin?

As Opie checks me, I worry I will register at 104 degrees and be sent directly to the hospital where they will discover it was a false alarm and that I in fact do not have Covid but instead diagnosis me with “post-menopausal-hot-flash” syndrome.

Luckily, I am approved to go inside. I check in with the receptionist who tells me to sign in. I take the pen from the “clean” container and sign in and place it in the “dirty” container. This gives me a false sense of confidence so I try not to think about the fact that I just opened the door using the handle everyone else did and also rested my hands on the counter everyone else did. The receptionist is wearing a mask and there is a Plexiglas divider between us so everything she says is muffled and I think she tells me to take a seat but as far as I know she could have said you are the 100th patient and you win a trip to Mexico but that’s a long shot so I sit down in the waiting area in a chair and wonder if I am in a “clean” chair or a “dirty” chair as it has no label.

Finally, it is time for the doctor to see me. We go through the usual pleasantries and information gathering and then it’s time to take the exam. At this point I realize with alarm that once the machine is pushed up to my eyes, because of the mask I am wearing, my breathing is causing the lens I am supposed to look through to immediately fog up.

Now let’s face it, the outcome of this exam is going to decide whether or not I graduate to old-lady bifocals, so I can’t risk any mistakes on my vision test today. And right now, my face is too close to the machine, my mask is too close to my face, and with each breath I take, the letters are getting more and more blurry.

“F-Z-D-P…” I read the next line down. I squint even more. One more line down. I stumble through it. There is only one line left and things are really hazy by now. At this point, it’s like I just opened the dishwasher after a steaming hot cycle while wearing my glasses. I hate to exaggerate and say I was in a full-blown panic, but I WAS IN A FULL-BLOWN PANIC.

Finally, I admit to the doctor that the lens is just too foggy because of the mask. “That happens,” she says, “I can wipe it off if you need.” I need. She wipes the lenses. But every time I breathe out it happens again.

“Which looks better, one, or two?”

“Wipe please.”

“One or Two?:

“Wipe please.”

“One or Two?”

“Wipe please.”

Dear Lord, I can’t ask her to wipe it after every time she rotates that lens. I know this drill all too well. We are going to be doing this lens switcheroo another 8 or 9 times.

By now I am having an out-of-body experience, so I make the ridiculous decision to just hold my breath for the rest of the exam. I mean, why not limit even MORE oxygen to my brain? Which would have been a good idea if not for the fact that it’s nearly impossible to hold your breath and talk at the same time. And so when the next question comes, I croak out “ONE?” while in complete ophthalmological hysteria.

At this point I am positive I am giving all the wrong answers and also I might pass out from not breathing and l am pretty sure my prescription is going to come back wrong and I will get my contacts and I won’t be able to see out of them and in the meantime “One or Two?” is done but now I need to look for the hot air balloon and everything is a blurry mess and what do you mean YOU WANT TO DILATE MY EYES TOO?

Finally, it is over.

“Your prescription stayed the same,” she says and smiles. “Did you know they make bifocal contacts?”

 

So it seems that summer break is over.  Did anyone notice?  Did anyone realize back when summer officially began?  Does anyone else feel like we are living in some sort of time warp?  Like time is going by so slowly but also quickly?  Even though I have all the time in the world the days fly by and I find I’ve gotten nothing done. I have had a photo album project sprawled across my dining room table for weeks. At any other time, I would relish an extra week to work on this.  Yet I’ve had days, weeks, months even, and I can’t seem to be motivated to work on it.   Time seems to be slipping away but nothing is changing. And instead of things getting easier as I adjust more to this new normal, they seem to be getting harder.  I am having such a difficult time focusing, staying on task, and getting things done.  Proof of this is the fact that I haven’t written a blog in over two months.

When the virus hit, it was technically still winter.  We had at least one snowfall while on lockdown.  And then spring and then summer and now we are in August and school is starting and it feels like we didn’t even have a summer but also like all we have been doing is summer.  And it’s really hard to enjoy “downtime” when that’s all you have.  I haven’t done any of the things I planned do and was so motivated to do back in March.  And I’m worried that I should be using this time for learning and growing but instead I’m just wasting it.  

What I have learned, however, is that the less you have to do, the less you get done.  I have also learned you can run every day and walk the dog every day and still mysteriously gain weight.  I have learned that the only thing worse than a muffin top is when there is also a muffin middle and a muffin bottom.   I have learned that when you are with your family all day every day when you finally go on vacation it doesn’t exactly feel like a vacation.  You are still with the same people, doing the same things, having the same arguments, except now you are doing it in a nicer house on a lake.  I have learned that my extroverted self is becoming more and more introverted and that I have no desire to go anywhere or do anything anymore.  I have learned that my husband would rather have a sandwich on anything but bread. Hamburger buns, pitas, bagels. I mean, he literally will not eat bread.   I have learned that my kids only use their drinking glasses for one glass of water and then get a new one for their next glass of water.  The good news is: I now know they are each getting their required 8 glasses of water a day.  I have learned that when your kids eat lunch at home every day each morning starts with “Can we go to Chik-fil-A?” like it’s a normal request.  I have learned that, yes, kids can stare at a 5 x 2-inch phone screen for 7 hours a day 6 inches from their face and still want more.   I have learned that Arrested Development is just as funny this time around and that Jason Bateman has aged incredibly well.  I have learned that if you teach a dog to press a button to get a treat she will press that button 57 times a day until you finally hide the button.  In fact, I have learned enough these past five months to live a lifetime and am quite frankly done with the learning and the self-reflecting and the analysis of why Ted would rather stuff a piece of ham inside a hot dog bun instead of two slices of wheat bread. 

Thankfully school started this week.  I know that because my son is in front of a screen in the basement now instead of in front of a screen in his bedroom.  He comes up every now and then to ask what’s for dinner and to get another glass of water.  I feel bad he is missing soccer this fall and can’t go to school, but he is resilient and after seeing all the PPE he would have had to wear maybe it’s better this way.  

Franny starts next week.  Honestly, it’s five days away and we have no schedule, no books and no idea what’s happening.  For her, I am just praying her new contacts come in because she has been wearing her sports goggles for three weeks now and that’s no way to start middle school.

You could say I’m losing it.  In fact, if I write the blog I want to write or feel like writing, someone is going to send over a wellness check for me because this quarantine is getting to me. Remember my blog back in June when I said I was enjoying this?  That was (relatively) mentally stable Samantha.  This is I-need-to-get-out-of-this-house-and-have-some-space-of-my-own-and-everyone-get-the-heck-away-from-me-and-stop-using-17-glasses-a-day-and-just-put-your-turkey-on-a-regular-piece-of-bread Samantha. 

But that’s for another blog. Or maybe just my personal diary. 🙂

 

For days I have been counting down the time until June 23rd. And though I am not one to dwell on death dates, this year has been different. Maybe it’s the feeling of loneliness and isolation during this quarantine. Maybe it’s the fact I haven’t seen my family in a really long time. Maybe it’s just because I am getting older. But I have been tracking the days more than normal, made especially difficult by the fact that tracking days these past few months seems pointless.

But as I sit here and write and the hour turns to midnight, I realize that today, June 12th, has snuck up on me.  Facebook’s “memories” has reminded me that it is the 21st anniversary of my dad’s death.  All along I’ve been dreading the upcoming date of my sister’s passing, only to find I was looking too far ahead.

And maybe my spirit and my soul have known all week. Because I have been off. Feeling a little lost and sad for no reason in particular. Or maybe it’s no more complicated than the fact that I miss my dad.

I’ve said it before but it’s worth saying again. When you lose someone, it’s not necessarily the significant days you think about. Most of the time it’s the everyday moments you long for. I wish my dad were here so I could ask him if we should lease our next car or buy it. I wish he were here so I could tell him how mad I am that Franny lost her Air Pods so he could tell me, “It’s just stuff, Sal, don’t worry.” I wish I could see his pride while watching her play catcher (also his position) on an all-boys team. I wish I could tell him that one time I was “Customer of the Month” at Starbucks so I could hear him say, “Jesus Christ, Samantha, is that all you have to do all day?” I wish I could tell him that I’m worried that I’m sucking at motherhood and that I’m completely messing up my kids. I wish I could tell him how smart Teddy is and wants to be an engineer like him. I wish I could ask him a million things about work and life and parenting and what he liked to do when he was little and if he played pranks on his siblings and which one of his parents did he get his sense of humor from and a million other things I didn’t think to ask him when he was alive.

Twenty-one years is a long time. In some ways, it seems like yesterday.  In other ways, it seems like a lifetime ago. And what started out being a blog about Chris has turned into something else, which I am finding out more and more can happen when you write.  Sometimes what you want to say is not always what you need to say.

Above: My dad and Chris, Christmas 1965.

And I feel fine.

I have a confession to make:  I get a little bit sad thinking about the fact that this quarantine is going to end.

Don’t get me wrong.  I want to go out and see my friends.  I want to go to Starbucks ALONE and sit INSIDE by myself.  I miss going to church and seeing my family.   I am dying to snuggle and smoosh all the little babies I haven’t seen in ages. I want to relax at the pool.  I want my kids to be able to go to camp and play soccer and go back to school in the fall.  For gosh’s sake, I NEED TO GET MY EYEBROWS DONE!!  But I am also falling into this domestic life of doing nothing.

Ok, “doing nothing” isn’t exactly accurate. In fact, there are days when I feel busier than I was before the pandemic. Sometimes I feel that all I do is cook and clean and organize and let the dog in and out.  Then there are all the home projects I have felt compelled to take on.  We are nine weeks in and the garage is clean, the basement is purged of boxes, the photo albums are reorganized, the videos are labeled, and the baby toys have been given away.  We even hired a junk man to come and clear away all the debris that has been sitting by the side of the garage for 10 years.

But even with all this busyness, there is a sense of peace and calm that I haven’t felt in a long time.

You see, the thing is, I really don’t HAVE to do anything.  There is no running from guitar lessons to soccer practice.  No picking up kids for carpool and dropping them off only to rush back and pick another kid up so I can be back home by 7:30pm to start a late dinner.  No eating in different shifts, going to bed exhausted, and waking up cranky.  No birthday parties or school parties or committee meetings. No late workdays and long commutes for Ted. No late nights for kids who didn’t have time to do homework because of sports practices.  In fact, there is no rush to be anywhere or get anything done.  Our biggest decision is where we will get our take-out from Saturday nights.

We wake up when we want and go to bed when we want.  We finish chores and projects on our own time.  Honestly, even schoolwork doesn’t REALLY have a deadline. But the biggest change is that each night we eat dinner together.  We sit at the table and rotate who picks the board game we are going to play.  Sometimes after dinner, we take a family walk with the dog. Occasionally we watch a movie as a family.  (Ted and I have introduced the kids to West Side Story and Field of Dreams. I’ll let you guess which parent chose which😊.)

We are in a comfortable groove of being together.

The best outcome has been that my kids have started to look to each other as their “go-to.”  They play Xbox, bake cookies, shoot baskets, bike ride, and practice soccer together. They not only enjoy being together, they actually seek each other out.  I don’t think this would have happened if we were experiencing a typical summer.  I am grateful that they have fulfilled this need for friendship and camaraderie with each other.  It’s real.  And it’s working.

I have not forgotten the seriousness of why we are following a stay-at-home order. I have not forgotten that people are sick and dying and this is for the safety of our country.  And the fact that I rarely have time to myself anymore is often a struggle.  (It has taken me DAYS to write this short little blog.)  But I know I am going to look back on this time with bittersweet longing.  And for right now, for a little bit longer, I don’t mind staying in my quarantine bubble.

 

In a cruel twist of fate this year, “Spring Break” came and went without anyone really noticing.  What I have realized is that keeping track of the days while blogging is pointless as they seem to drag on like Groundhog Day.  Plus, maybe we are in the new normal and “quarantine blogging” isn’t novel anymore.  It just “blogging.”

The one good thing that has come out of this is my kids are playing together a lot and have not had one argument.  They have been doing puzzles, building with Lego, doing soccer skills, playing ping pong, air hockey, basketball, and baking cookies together. On week two they mastered the Rubik’s cube and this week are playing chess.  Yippee!    This makes it almost worth the five weeks together. Almost, but not quite.

Like many families, we have also been playing a lot of board games.  We have always been a board game playing family, ever since the Candyland days.  However, with sports practices almost every night, the past few years have been hit or miss.  It has been nice to get back to it.  Since the quarantine began, we have rotated through every board game we own, and we own A LOT of board games.

Side Note: We are also working on 1000-piece puzzles.  We have been finishing about one a week.  The first was popcorn, the second was candy, and shockingly, when we got to puzzle number three, a gorgeous view of the skyline of Santorini, our excitement fizzled out.  This one has been on our table for three weeks and I can’t help wondering if it’s because it’s not food-related.

Here’s the thing: Even though we play the same games over and over, each time we bring out the evening choice we have to re-explain the rules to Ted.  Now I’m not sure if this is just a ruse, but none of us can understand why someone who can quote the entire script of The Hunt for Red October cannot remember how to play Scrabble.

Exhibit A: Quirkle:  Simple game:  You have to match either the color or the shape.  Sometimes it gets tricky and you have to match BOTH.  It’s really just a matter of knowing your shapes and colors which is early level learning.  Maybe he is color blind?  Despite questionable wardrobe choices, no, he is not colorblind.  For example, an orange circle does not match with a purple X.  Or as we call this shape when we play, “Jumpy guy.”  (Yes, I did stop several games over the past few weeks to take pictures.  I explained that I was doing “research.”)

Clue:  This is a fun one.  Ted is usually the one who suggests this game although I don’t think he has ever won it.  Maybe he thinks because of his background and experience as an investigator he will be the first person in the history of Clue to be able to guess the killer on round three?  How can you possibly make an educated guess when you’ve only been in the bathroom, the kitchen, and the billiards room?  Maybe he is just done playing and wants to go upstairs and have time to himself. I don’t blame him.

Exhibit B: Saboteur: This is an amazing card game we love.  At the start of the game you get one of these two cards telling you whether or not you are the “Saboteur” for the game:

I can’t tell you how many times when we first played this game he would receive his card and ask “How do I know if I’m the Saboteur?”  To which we would all groan and collect the cards to reshuffle, saying to him, “If you have to ask, you are NOT the Saboteur!!” When he IS the Saboteur, we all know it because he starts accusing everyone else.  He has a terrible poker face.

Monopoly is boring and everyone knows that and maybe that is why Ted tries to trade property cards almost immediately after starting the game.  He will offer bad trades to everyone. “I’ll give you Baltic Avenue for Park Place.”  Umm, no.  “I’ll give you Indiana Ave even though you have no other red properties for Atlantic Ave which will complete my yellow monopoly.” It’s so incessant that eventually, we all turn against him and make a pact to not trade with him for the rest of the game.

Pente and Otrio are both games that require some teamwork.  You need to work defense and offense and sometimes TWO players have to work together to block one player.  Not with Ted.  He is strictly offense.  This means the two people who go AFTER him end up being all-time defense and the third person wins. These two games usually turn into chaos with everyone shouting at him “Block her! Block him!”  Because of the rule of clockwise play, I have learned that sitting to the right of Ted is the money spot for Pente and Otrio.

Exhibit C: Ticket to Ride: This particular recent game of Ticket to Ride might have been the impetus for this blog. It’s not a hard game to play and we play it all the time.  In order to lay down track, you need a set of matching colored cards.  Below you will see Ted’s first play. He was a good sport for letting me stop the game to take a picture.  I don’t know.  Maybe he IS colorblind.

Exhibit D: Scrabble: Scrabble is the best game for pure entertainment.  There are always words people try to slip in as legitimate every now and again.  Whether it is slang or a proper noun, once in a while you might get challenged.   Today, I will only focus on my two favorite stories.  The first was when he insisted that “Tronch” was a word and was so invested he accepted a challenge and (not surprisingly) lost.  Even spellcheck has been reminding me that it isn’t a word while I have been writing this post.***Ted’s amendment after reading this blog: Tranche IS a word meaning “portion,” most recently used in 2018 during the Greek bailout where Greece received a “tranche” of a loan from the European Union.”***

But the best Scrabble mishap has to be shown below, where to our utter astonishment, Ted laid down these tiles. His explanation?  Faux.  Not only is it spelled wrong, but it’s placed going upwards.  I really don’t know what else to say.

In all honesty, playing games with the family has always been a fun bonding experience for us.  And as much as I make fun of Ted, we do need one person in this family who isn’t so serious about winning.  He (and Franny, quite honestly) have provided a nice balance and some levity to my Teddy’s competitive streak.  In fact, many years ago, when Teddy was in preschool, we had to start a routine whenever we ended a game.  The loser was required to say, “Congratulations on being a good winner.” And the winner had to say, “Congratulations on being a good sport.” All while shaking hands. It was the only way to keep Teddy from throwing an absolute temper tantrum when he lost.

And for those of you thinking, “Why wouldn’t she just let a three-year-old win the game?” Ummm, have we met?