No It All

We really had the most peaceful and joyful Christmas this year.  It was cozy.  Our holiday candle smelled so good.  We enjoyed the most perfectly cooked prime rib with Grandma Suzy’s Smashed Potatoes and a festive pomegranate salad.  The pine needles on our tree only shot off like porcupine quills if you made direct eye contact.  I’m joking, that was a trick metaphor– you know porcupines don’t shoot their quills.

On Christmas morning Jacob wakes Nate up at eight-something.  It’s highly possible he would have slept until nine.  This year Jake was enthralled with the idea of building his own PC, which is only marginally more expensive than one of those top shelf Star Wars Lego kits.  Nate was adamant he didn’t want anything.  Right up until maybe three days before Christmas.  Then he wanted a computer mouse with a hundred buttons and rainbow lights.  Despite not wanting anything, he seemed to float on air when he opened a new iPad.  Having been the recipient of hand-me-down electronics that can only support one game no matter how many things you delete, it seemed the humane gift choice for a fourth grade pandemic prince.

Both boys had a magical Christmas– not even one little smidge of disappointment.  James seemed pretty happy with his new barn kitchen and a weekend in Yosemite.  I scored big with a pie server and a dutch oven I’ve been wanting for maybe the sum total of my children’s lifespans.

Now I must admit, I was having a tough time getting into the Christmas spirit this pandemic.  I didn’t feel like offline shopping or online shopping or wrapping presents.  Maybe because it was so hot and sunny.  Or because I’m sick of looking at things in my house.  I don’t know.  But I bucked-up and made it happen over the course of several weekends hiding in the barn with a lifetime’s collection of ribbons and a roll of wrapping paper.  I find watching UK home improvement shows on Amazon Prime really increases elf efficiency.

On Christmas Eve night the boys are tucked in their beds and it’s time to haul the laundry hamper of presents across the yard for the big Christmas morning reveal.  Obviously Santa brings his own presents later in the evening.  Before I head outside in my flip flops I notice a folded letter next to the plate for Santa that has a few days-old gluten free brownie and some peppermint bark with the glass of milk. For the record, this chocolate chip cookie project was Dad’s idea and was then “bestowed upon me” as he sped out the driveway to man the shop for holiday browsers.  It’s a letter from Jacob, and it speaks for itself.  One minute detail in his favor is that he did wake up on Christmas morning, possibly with a change of heart, and tried to hide the letter in the recycling.  And of course I fished it out.

The night of Christmas Eve, after reading this letter I may have felt tired and teary as I hefted the laundry basket across the cold, dark yard in my pajamas, brimming with hours of thoughtfully curated and lovingly wrapped delights.  The mommy in me felt unappreciated and hurt.

But Santa was smiling.

Dear, Santa

we thought that you would be tired of cookies so we gave you a brownie.  I hope that you don’t mind (but to be totally honest the reason that we are giving you a Brownie is that my mom was to lazy to make some cookies).

From, Jacob

<“Failed Christmas tree” (turned into a picture of a present)>

And now… my Christmas batteries story.

I’ll never forget the very first time James took me home for Christmas.  Everyone called him Jamey back then.  They were never talking to me.  Twenty-some years later and they’re still only occasionally talking to me.  In any case, there were a lot of people and a lot of cousins and a lot of portagee beans.

So, I’m surrounded by all the hubbub of a large family and Grandma Terra is passing out presents to every kid present.  Despite being in college, I found out we still qualified and was happily handed a small but weighty little wrapped package with my name on it.  To my surprise, it was a pack of AA batteries.  I was speechless.  Nineteen-year-old me couldn’t think of a single suitable thing to say.  Batteries??  This is so weird.  Why would I want batteries?  Why would someone give me batteries?  Am I sure the tag had my name on it?  Umm, thank you.  So sweet.

Fast forward to now and my hand sweeps across the horizon–  The.  Gift.  Of.  Batteries!  I really owe Grandma Terra a secondary thank you note and an apology.  Shockingly expensive.  Always in short supply.  A rising star on the latest 2020 No It All Gift Guide for Boys.

P.S. Nate and Jake both got a package of rechargeable batteries in their stockings this year.  Nate was so excited he immediately ripped them open and plugged in the charger.  Genius, Grandma Terra.  Genius.

Last weekend I decided it was time to round-up all of our old timey electronics and cords and take them off to the nearest e-cycling site.  This has been something I’ve been meaning to get around to for awhile.  Based on what we put into a large moving box, by awhile I mean… my entire adult life.  We found my second generation Palm pilot, a little green iPod, two laptops from a previous employer, an iPad with risqué content created by two little boys I know, a Kindle, a digital alarm clock, maybe 50 bad headphones, and 400 unidentifiable cords, plugs, and miscellaneous black doodads.  Apparently the fear of identity theft and having once spent $80 for a cord at Best Buy has made us afraid to ever get rid of anything.  Ever.

Today Jacob and I took the round trip out to Cold Canyon Landfill where we left our box inside a shipping container with an orange sign that said “electronics.” I’m afraid they’ll either be shipped back to their Chinese birthplace for burial, or the next guy in a truck will swing by, load it up, and attempt to steal our identities from 2001.  On the bright side, I decided mandatory face masks will become a permanent part of my landfill repertoire.  If only it matched my fluorescent yellow dump vest.

Jacob and I then spent a joyful afternoon together shopping for a Christmas present for Nate.  On the downside, ironically I found myself at Best Buy twice today.

We’ve spent most of the pandemic playing pick-up soccer with our All Star buddies on Tuesday and Thursday evenings.  Since the Pacheco goals are being held hostage, we transitioned to the Cal Poly turf fields.  It’s quite the workout on full-sized fields.

Every week brings a new adventure.  It’s amazing what can happen to you out in the screen-free world.  The great unknown.

The first week, Eli-with-the-hat got knocked down by his mom and couldn’t get up.  Unfortunately, it turned out he broke his arm.  Fortunately, it was his own mom.  So you know– It’s taboo to take out someone else’s kid, but your own?  Totally fine!  Happens all the time.  So Eli-with-the-hat became Eli-with-the-cast.

The next week I was told there was a squirrel head covered in yellow jackets, in the middle of the field.  I did my best not to make eye contact.  The student “field monitor” removed it with his long-handled dust pan while also talking on his cell phone.  Impressive.

On our next visit, a mama deer came running in a panic, through the parked cars.  As we approached the field, a Bambi ran through the opening in the gate onto the big expanse of basketball courts.  She slammed into the fence and started circling the enclosure.  Nowhere to run.  As we neared, she finally started making her way back toward the opening where she’d come in.  The kids come running from the field and I have to call them off as they excitedly run toward a head-on Bambi Bambino collision.  The Bambi comes running directly at us, through the opening, and escapes into the parking lot.  Disaster averted.

What more could possibly happen?  On our next visit the kids find a giant dead tarantula behind the soccer goal.  It’s in several pieces.

This Thursday we had a great game under the lights.  It’s now just the kids, the dads, and me.  We call it “recess” and it really is the highlight of our week.  The sunsets.  The coaching.  The chitchatting.  The competition.

I was excited to see Eli had his cast off and exclaimed in recognition, “You got your cast off!”

Why does it feel like I just jinxed him?  Oh 2020.

Teeth have been falling out of Jacob’s head left and right, top and bottom.  I don’t really remember this being a big part of sixth grade?  He lost one of his lower teeth a few weeks ago, then the matching one on the other side fell out on the third.  His look became very gopher.  And then yesterday another upper tooth just fell right out with zero warning.  I’m confident the Tooth Fairy responsibly wears a teeny tiny little mask when she visits.

Today we’re driving home after an exceptionally perfect morning of warm lemon scones with honey butter and an outdoor table in the sunshine, when the subject of wisdom teeth comes up.  There were a lot of questions around why they’re called wisdom teeth and what they’re for and why you have to get them taken out.  Coincidentally, we have our first orthodontist consultation on Monday.  The boys were noticeably intrigued by the idea of missing school and subsisting on smoothies and mashed potatoes.

As I’m explaining how the surgery works I say something about how they knock you out.

And Nate asks, “With what, a stick?”

P.S.
According to Jake, we were all laughing so loudly that I missed the part where Nate said confused, “What?…  A rock?”

Saturday: It’s Halloween.  As usual, we need groceries.  I get into my car and head down to Trader Joe’s… la la la… right into a Trump Truck Train.  There are flags.  With guns.  Long beards.  Instead of our beautiful backroad, I’ve driven into the parking lot of a Monster Truck Rally.  I feel physically ill.  When I get home, I donate more money.

Monday: It’s a quiet work day of deep thought and strategic reflection.  Haven’t had a Zoom-free day in months… almost eight to be exact.

Tuesday: A blissful half day planned.  Incredibly grateful to have the day off to vote.  I’ve already turned in my mail-in ballot and didn’t get selected to work the polls so, wellness it is.  Workout.  Socially-distanced coffee with a friend.  A service at the spa.  Doing my best to spend my money locally with our distressed small business customers.

We have soccer that evening.  Six-year-old Xavi seems close to tears during most of the game.  Tears seem close to the surface for most of us.

We watch the news.  Nate notices so many things about the maps, the percentages, the numbers.  His engagement is heartening.  He falls asleep on the couch.

I toss and turn all night.  Tortured by images of maps and states.  Red and blue.  Percentages.  Counties.  Stripes.  Nebraska.

Wednesday: We wake-up.  I’m so tired.  More of the same.  I snap at the boys.  I knew it was going to take days, possibly longer– they’d prepared us for it.  No one can concentrate.  The workday drags.  People in the know are hopeful.  I’m nauseously optimistic.

Thursday: It’s a balmy evening at the expansive college turf fields.  Over the peaks, the sunset is stunning.  We run.  We play.  We soak up the only glimpse we have of our pre-pandemic life.

Friday: We’re still tired.  We refresh our phones for answers.  Nothing.  For lunch I eat leftover meatloaf with maple syrup ketchup sauce.  It’s a homey tribute to one of my most favorite states– Pennsylvania.

Saturday: I have a morning fitness class.  Of course, during the fifteen minutes I’m in the car, I miss it.  It’s done.  The relief and hope are overwhelming.  The end to four years of exhausting chaos.

I can’t wait to sleep soundly tonight.