A Covid Vacation

Growing up, my mom had a tense, high pressure job and she worked hard. She was generally in the office before 8:00 AM and home a little after 6:00. After dinner, bath time and bedtime rituals, she would open up a file and start working again.

While she was always my mom first, her professionalism had an always on status. And we grew up being part of her team. We were taught hard work, contribution, collaboration ... get As in school, do your chores, love one another, and if not, ship out.

There were times though, when I feel like the working mom status wore her down, when she felt like she had to her guard down and wear a personality that was both surprising and cherished. It was goofy, childlike, and absolutely joyous. You would experience it as my shopping partner on Walnut Street, as a fan on the sidelines of one of our sporting events, as a rider on the Thunderbolt or a floater on Sandcastle's Lazy River, and most notably, as a vacationer on any one of our family trips, particularly those untied to work conferences.

There is one vacation visual that perfectly summarizes her in these moments: my Mom mini-golfing. lt was always her suggestion that we play. And she didn't just love it, she was really good at it - typically the winner of our five-some. I can still see her marking up the score card with her distinct penmanship, a sly smirk on her face, leading us to believe that one of us had a chance when all along she topped the standings. Growing up, she wasn't one to play board games with us. That duty was delegated to my Dad, while my Mom highlighted briefs and shouted answers from the sidelines. 'Mooooommm, stop!' we would all yell. But Mini-Golf - that was her thing - and it was so fun playing with her. So refreshing to see her unwind. 

***

Clearly, I learned a thing or two from my Mother. Hard work as one of them. And 2020 has been the pinnacle of it. For nearly five months, I've been working 12-14 hour days, with no end in site to the demand or pace.

While I love my job, the hours have been exhausting and I feel like my family has only seen or experienced me in one state. As an (over) working mom. 

I've had conversations with other moms about why I do what I do - why I made the choice to pursue a career - why I'm willing to put in the hours - and if I could imagine life the other way. If I was to summarize a meandering conversation over a glass of wine, my response would be, yes I could imagine an alternate life, but I don't think I would like it. I have a natural drive and competitive spirit that is best taken out on corporate America, not the PTA. I much prefer up time over down time. And finally, life is really expensive, especially if you want to add a vacation to your budget.  

And I love vacation. Similar to how my Mom approached them, vacations are dedicated, well-planned, highly anticipated blocks on my calendar to completely unwind. And as a tenured employee, I now have five weeks of them.

However, going into Fourth of July weekend this year, I had only taken one day. Oh, and I used that day to work on airplanes and airports en route to Sun Valley. 

It's not that my company hasn't encouraged its employee base to take vacation. If anything, they are pushing us to do it. They know everyone needs a well-deserved break. The problem is, there's no where to go. There's no escape. And without the feeling of distance, I might as well be working, right?

Or is that the wrong attitude? My somewhat recent revelation; yes, absolutely. 

Despite approaching a maternity leave, I needed a break this summer. In our original 2020 itinerary, where I had invested heavily in vacation, we were going to Martha's Vineyard for a week around the Fourth. There would be puzzles, beaches, boat rides, and a Mom, just being a Mom for a week. 

Covid and the late stage of my identical twin pregnancy changed our plans. Instead, we drove to South Bend, Indiana, where my parents have a town home, more typically used as a launch pad for tailgates in the fall. But this summer, it doubled as our five day vacation destination.

En route, we stopped at the Indiana Dunes, National Park Passbook in hand, immediate beach gratification just an admission fee away. Or rather ... a massive line of traffic to get to the gate away. The kids were so restless sitting in the crawling queue, that I made Bobby and Margaret get out and walk the rest of the way in the blaring 95-degree heat with me. 

The parking lot was near capacity, but I didn't let it phase me. It was at a beach. And it was a Wednesday. There would be plenty of room. 

Without a private place to change, I finagled my way into my too tight swim suit in the back of a hot car, squished in between the car seats and the front seats. It was the heftiest work out I had undertaken in months. I emerged sweaty, body parts likely out of place, ready to jump straight in the Lake. 

But the beach. Was. An. Absolute. Zoo. I could sense Coronavirus wafting from the heat waves. All types: young, old, fat, thin, those with bums hanging out of their Brazilian bikinis, those with full body swimsuits, every nationality under the sun, had descended for a Wednesday afternoon at the Dunes, as lifeguards yelled on the loud speaker to maintain a social distance. 

Right. We spent perhaps 30 minutes there and left. 

That evening, we walked around campus and had Rocco's pizza for dinner. The rest of our vacation was spent doing things in and around South Bend. We found a more private beach in New Buffalo, which was wonderful. We packed picnics, sand toys, and let the kids play their hearts out. We went on a bike ride through a state park. We walked around campus, lit candles at the Grotto, put 1,000 pieces of puzzle together, read, watched movies, took the kids Go Cart driving and yes, played Mini Golf.  

It was a destination that was close and familiar, but my state of mind finally felt far away from what I'd been experiencing. I put my computer away and played with my kids in the dedicated way they crave. I was goofy, childlike and filled with absolute joy. 

Lo. 

Best Laid Plans

Early this year, after the holidays had come and gone, after we were all back at work, lamenting the road ahead in 2020, back when 2020 was just another year and not a crisis, I stopped by my friend Betsy's desk to say hello. Betsy has worked for the company for as long, if not longer than I have, and is frequently my go to for counsel, a comforting word, or a quick cursing of the current chaos.

On this particular winter day, when we all wished we were still on break, the topic was family. We talked about our kids and two blissful, disconnected weeks spent focusing on them. If only it could stay this way.

I lamented that my two year old was growing up too quickly. She was no longer a baby. And crazy as it might sound, I wanted another one.

Betsy, a mother of two beautiful girls, said she had been through similar emotions. However, she coached me to pay attention to the special, wonderful moments that you get with your kids as they grow, learn, and mature. Being present was the most important thing.

I loved that. I went into my next meeting and home that evening, celebrating the precious ages of each of my children. No longer babies, but in an equally special stage of life. I felt like I had moved on. We had moved on. Our family was complete.

A couple weeks later, I fell asleep on the train ride home. I woke up at the stop before my own, my heart racing with the horror of being one of those people that is nudged awake by the conductor at the end of the line. I may have closed my eyes on the train before, but I've never actually fallen asleep.

Groggy, I got up and made my way to the exit and biked home to get ready for Bobby's birthday weekend. My parents were coming into town. There were kids coming over the next day. There were groceries to buy, a cake to bake, presents to wrap. But something was weird. And generally when I feel a little funny, I default to taking a pregnancy test. I randomly had one, so I took it. And ...

+

No way. Can't be.

I ran to Walgreens and got another one ...

+

Oh my God.

I told Peter who was equally incredulous. I took a deep breath.

And another ... deep ... breath ... and then got on with the festivities.

Week after week went by and sleepiness turned to the worst first trimester symptoms I have ever experienced. Debilitating nausea. Fatigue. Headaches. More nausea.

Around the nine week point, I had my first doctor appointment and ultrasound. The technician, a Pittsburgh native who had done them for me in the past, laughed that I was back again, as I complained about vomit on the tip of my tongue.

I joked that the Bump.com says if symptoms are worse, it's likely multiples ... but hey, they don't run in our family, so I'm not worried about that.

As she pulled up the image of my uterus, she told me that I had called it.
'Called what?' I said.
'It's twins!'
'What? ... No way.'
'Yes ... it is ... look ... there they are.'

I started hyperventilating. Tears came to my eyes. I could handle four. I had prepared myself for four. But five? A career mom of FIVE? How was this going to work? How was I going to afford it? The vacations I want to take, plus a new car, an addition onto our house, college tuition for five. I thought I was going to pass out.

Her steel town spirit told me just what I needed to hear. 'I know you are overwhelmed, but it's a blessing.' 

I repeated what she said, 'it's a blessing.'

Yes, it is.

I drove home thinking about the conversation I had with Betsy. It had been hard cherishing the sweet moments with the kids recently. I could feel what she had expressed to me.

But then I went to something someone else had told me a long time ago: don't plan for the family you can handle right now, plan for the family you want around the Thanksgiving table twenty years from now. I embraced that and the two little blueberries growing inside me and called Peter to tell him the news.

***

2020 has been a year of changed plans. And honestly, one that I entered feeling like I had planned better than ever. There have been jobs I couldn't have predicted, cancelled and postponed vacations, anticipated events that didn't happen, and of course, the unexpected baby bump. But if there is one thing that the pandemic has taught me, it's to stay focused on the things that matter most: faith and family, humility and hard work, care and compassion. 

I'm twenty six weeks pregnant with identical twin girls today. And yes, there is still a lot to figure out. It will take a village and a lot of prayers. But I'm no longer worried. I know things will work out the way they are supposed to.

Inspired by my parents new patio table, I just ordered a new one too. One that will seat a couple more kids, looking ahead to when it might be filled with even more.   

Lo.

The Flood

I think I was five, maybe six. We were flying into Chicago, en route to visit my grandparents, and my Aunt Joyce was traveling with us. I had the window seat and was frequently checking it to map our status.

As we made our descent into the city, I saw something that wasn't right. Water. Everywhere. There was a flood. And I yelled it for all the plane to hear.

"OH MY GOD ... THERE'S A FLOOD!"

Passengers clambered to look out their nearest window and a swell of panic erupted.

I knew about the Johnstown Flood - I knew all this water was bad news - and I did everything I could to contribute to the pandemonium: my heart raced, I cried and cried, my Aunt Joyce who had graciously accepted the seat next to me, looked at my parents for guidance on what to do with their crazed child.

We landed in driving rain, taxied to the gate, and through the power of my dad's angry face, got the last room at the hotel adjacent to the airport. I remember watching Crocodile Dundee as an inappropriate distraction to our leaky windows and the raging storms outside. I finally fell asleep that evening, cramped in our little Hilton hideaway, feeling safe because my parents always knew what to do.

***

Last Sunday, it poured. All day. It had been raining on and off for a week straight and rumor was we were at a breaking point.

Around 4:00, I decided to do a forest status check with Margaret and Bobby - always a good gauge of rainfall. Salt Creek was totally, absolutely flooded - the highest I'd ever seen it. Soggy, the kids and I rushed back to the car and then back home.

Around dinner time, the sky opened up to reveal a scene best described as a monsoon. The water continued to collect in our yard and on the street as we sat around the table filled with gratitude that we were in this house, at the high end of the street, with a basement that was historically dry. We were such winners in that moment.

I was clearing the table and encouraging the kids to get their baths, when I heard Peter shout, 'OH NO! ... OH NO!' It was a panicked, un-Peter like tone, so I knew something must really be wrong.

What? ... What is it?

He didn't answer, but I followed his voice to the basement where I saw it. Water. Everywhere. There was a flood. Just like the one I feared as a five year old. I rushed into the muddy water like I was Rose, coming to save Jack, who was in the bathroom trying to suppress the water, billowing from the toilet, with a plunger. I was panicking. Breathing heavily. Oh no. Oh no. Ohnononononono.

I was then assigned Peter's position as we yelled to the kids to stay upstairs and look for another plunger. Bobby threw a toilet bowl cleaner into the rushing water. Close enough.

The task of plugging the toilet was not easy as the water pressure was unbelievably intense. I started by using my thigh as a bracket for the plunger. Then the other thigh. I could see three little poops, likely Margaret's proud moments from right before dinner, swirling around at the top of the lid. I wondered how much other shit was mixed into our new water feature. I then switched back to the first thigh. Bruising and expired, I called to Peter that I couldn't do it anymore.

Hello?
Hello?
Peter?
I cannot do this anymore!

He was apparently in the pouring rain, in the middle of the street, trying to clear the sewer. He finally came down, and gave me new instructions: Here's a pillow, just sit on the plunger.

So I sat, water continuing to rise around my feet and ankles, little poops somewhere beneath me.

At some point, the water seemed to slow and then stop. Something happened. Dare I stand up?

Peter came in, plunged the toilet and things started moving in the right direction. The floor drains were working. The sewers started flowing. Huge sigh of relief.

Now my next task was to save stuff while Peter got the pumps working. He kept telling me to get anything valuable to a higher place. I didn't know what to get first. The clean laundry floating away in the basket. The kids toys. MY WINE! Yes, my wine. Save the Champagne!

Once the pumps had made significant progress, I was assigned broom duty - I swept the water, and mud, and certainly other things toward the drains, and between Peter's plumbing, two pumps, and my manual labor, we went from five inches of water throughout our entire basement to a wet, dirty floor with a whole lot of ruined stuff piling up in a matter of hours. We spent the next hours hauling away books, Christmas stockings, the couch, a hammock, toys, cardboard and more cardboard. And then we cleaned and cleaned and cleaned. Peter was up until 2:30 AM, making sure all the wet stuff was out, the floor was dry, and we didn't get mold.

I threw in the towel (literally) around 10:30 PM. I couldn't do anymore and committed to cleaning more in the morning. I went upstairs to find the kid sleeping soundly. I like to think that they felt the same kind of security I did as a kid. That their parents had everything under control, and all would be okay in the morning.

Well to be clear, their Dad had everything under control. Man am I thankful that I married a handyman.

Lo.

Normalcy

When Easter arrived, I was convinced to make the day as normal as possible:

The Easter bunny arrived, mask on, wellness checked.

The kids ran downstairs to eat chocolates out of their baskets with no expectation that they would leave the house throughout the day.

They complained about putting on their Easter attire and Mary convinced me that her shorts were nice enough.

We watched Mass in our living room and prayed that spiritual communion was enough.

I made my grandma's apricot nut cake and proceeded to eat just about the whole sheet pan of it myself.

We brunched by ourselves, the kids cutting the buffet line to serve themselves before the rest of the group sat down.

They ran around the yard finding Easter eggs and munched on the fruit lifesavers of their labors.

We hung out with family in a chat room, took a much needed nap, ate ham and scalloped potatoes for dinner, and celebrated all the hope present within this special day.

See, totally normal. It felt just like Easter. 

In general, I've tried to embrace a state of normalcy for the past two months. I go about my work day, so does Peter. The kids have a routine doing their school work, breaking for recess, and maintaining their extra curricular activities. We eat dinner as a family. Peter and I converse about and compare our work related Covid battle wounds as the kids get their baths. And we all crash hard.

Despite everyone's daily reminders that life isn't normal right now, I've convinced my family and myself not to dwell on it.

However, the other day, Mary stormed out of her classroom and into my office. She was frustrated. Visibly and audibly. She had done something wrong on her assignment and it meant she had to rewrite the whole thing. It would take another fifteen minutes and she just wanted to be done. She threw the iPad and said she hated online learning. She hated coronavirus. She hated all of it.

It was the first time someone in our house had cracked under the shelter in place pressure and the veil of normalcy was removed.

I gave her a hug and said we were taking a break. We were going to recess early today, and I would help her sort everything out after lunch.

While she played outside and I listened to stressed out people try to solve the restaurant industry crisis over the phone, I started to sleuth a bit. There was a video on my phone, where she confided that she had been stressed out recently. There was an entry in her Covid Time Capsule that echoed the same sentiment. And in a message to her teacher, she expressed how much she missed her and wanted to go back to school.

I felt bad that I had noticed or worse yet, hadn't asked.

After recess, after lunch, while Bobby and Margaret were sleeping, I helped Mary finish up her work, and she sat with me while I did mine for a while longer. I think she took comfort in me knowing how she felt, in the softer side I presented as I coached her how we would work through it together instead of working it out by ourselves.

Because through this time of isolation and regulation, getting to be together as a family, leaning on and learning from each other, is a true blessing and normalcy as its best. While work will surely remain a distraction and a stress point, I will now be letting Bobby bike along next to me while I walk and talk through the neighborhood, Margaret will likely make a cameo on a couple more leadership webcasts, and Mary will feel no reservation about coming to me for help and guidance, as she continues to digest how coronavirus disrupted her normal.

Lo.

Life Partner

I think this is the longest I've gone without writing in the nearly eleven years that I've been keeping this blog. And it's not for a lack of content. A lot has happened. I could blame it on a general lack of time, but I'm thinking, it's mostly for a lack of heart.

I started one about Peter in February. It was about how we had both celebrated birthdays in between getting the norovirus. Remember when that was the thing to fear? It was about our partnership - one that extends from dishes and baths and I swear the longest bed time routines known to man - and into the moments where we clean up puke on the ground and on each other. When one parent stays up to help a kid throw up, while the other parent is throwing up herself, when a piece of toast never tasted so good, and when the simple act of getting you a glass of water means more than anything.

I could have written about my weekend in Sun Valley, before there were domestic travel advisories. How noble it was for my girlfriend to move out there, uproot and start a new kind of life that is just that - life. Full of it. I could have written about her hospitality, our hike, the spa, and so many good laughs.

I got a promotion sometime in between February and March. I was actually told right when I landed in Idaho. That was notable. But so much was going on, I hardly stopped to think about the achievement in it.

I should have written a birthday post for my sweet Mary. How she had counted down for a year till it was her birthday again. How she beamed coming down the stairs as a mature seven year old, wrapped in her new robe. How right before Illinois went into lock down, we squeezed in a sushi dinner, Shirley Temple on the side, manis and pedis, lunch with girlfriends and a family party with cousins chipping in to blow out all the candles. How three weeks ago! How proud I am of her and how lucky she was to get to have a birthday celebration in this era where car parades suffice.

I learned how to use dry shampoo and curl my hair. That was huge.

The sun shined and it felt like spring. The rain poured down. And then it snowed again.

It was the start of Holy Week on Sunday, and I watched Mass on the campus of Notre Dame, attempting to fully participate in the comfort, or rather isolation, of my living room.

With all that coming and going without words that could have elegantly celebrated and saluted life's precious moments, I'm forced to move onto the thing I don't want to cover, because I'm so tired of talking about it. But like I said, two months is too long, so I'll quickly reflect on how the crisis has impacted my life.

First, there are silver linings. Personally, there are some good things that have come from all of this.

- My nails look nice. For once, I'm not biting them for fear that there is coronavirus lurking there.
- My house is clean and so is the garage.
- We are saving money on nights out and associated babysitter fees.
- I don't have to hustle to and from the train every day.
- And I get to wear stretchy pants to my work from home office on my bed.
- I get to see my kids throughout the day. And for a working mom who spends too much time working, it's been a priceless experience.

But then there are things that worry me ...

- Plummeting stock prices and the uncertainty of a rebound.
- Being in crisis mode at work, 24/7 while managing a bigger, broader job than I've ever had before.
- My friend, expecting her baby any day now in New York City.
- The strain of our healthcare system.
- Going to the grocery store.
- The person walking toward me on the sidewalk who might just have covid-19.

And finally, there are things that just make me sad ...

- The groups of people missing milestone moments: their prom, a graduation, or a wedding. A birthday celebration or worse, a funeral. A vacation that was scrimped and saved for or just a Convention that afforded our family a trip to Disney World. It's a selfish lament, but I was so looking forward to it.
- The emptiness of New York City, which should be blossoming and booming in Spring.
- Waving to my family on Facetime, knowing I won't get to see them at Easter or any time in the near future.
- Watching Mass, week after week, not able to participate in the holy sacrament. Week to week, this actually sparks tears.
- And mostly, the people getting sick and dying without anyone at their side.

All of these fragments lead me back to the original entry I was going to write more than two months ago. Remember, it was about Peter. The title was going to be 'Life Partner' and the theme was an unbreakable partnership between us. From norovirus to coronavirus, there is no one I would rather be quarantined with. And I will say, this period has brought out some great things in our relationship - some candid conversations after dinner, more engagement and collaboration in the day to day lives of our kids, more focus on what matters most, and finally, a shared, immense sense of gratitude for our other life partner, Eva, who has truly held everything together over the past three weeks.

It's 75 degrees and sunny today and despite just hanging up on a contentious crisis management webcast, I have nothing but hope as we approach Easter Sunday.

Lo.