Say Zoom One More Time

I dare you.  Go ahead.  Whisper it or shout. Weave it into conversation.  See what happens.

I can't be held responsible for the reflexive, bitter stream of vitriol that might come your way.  You have been warned.

Don't get me wrong.  I've zoomed my way through a few delightful happy hours with friends. My office HR department hosted a lovely little virtual water cooler gathering that warmed my heart.  My fiddle teacher's band live-streamed a concert in place of one they had to cancel, and it made me happy.  And there's no question that I am able to work from home productively thanks in no small part to the wonders of teleconferencing.

And yet.  My household participated in at least ten zoom meetings today, and we didn't make it to all of them.  With three "distance learners" and two "distance workers" -- none of whom have nearly enough distance from each other -- the bloom has officially faded from the rose of virtual meetings.  (We also have one grocery store employee who is still heading out that door to work each day: he's our very own superhero.)

Day seven, and I don't feel so much connected to the world by Zoom as bludgeoned over the head with it.

The virtual requests keep coming: all three girls' soccer teams are or will be holding online sessions; Rick will be hosting online sessions for the two teams he coaches, in addition to the coaches' meetings he's already doing.  Tomorrow I have four separate online meetings for work.  My fiddle lessons are now virtual.  Here at Casa de Alatorre, we're Zooming.  We're Google Hanging-Out.  We're FaceTiming.  We're FB Living. We're doin' it all and we might just be losing something in the process.

Every external activity we engage in, for work, health or recreation, has moved online.  It seems that the entire world is offering to zoom on into our home to provide connection! exercise! wellness!  interaction! community! self-improvement! fulfillment! nirvana!

Ok, maybe no one is offering nirvana-via-zoom.

The new Zoom-infused reality we are living in has got some kinks to work out.  The onslaught comes from a truly well-meaning place: people need connection, kids still need to be part of their soccer teams, work still needs to get done.  But the virtual frenzy needs to calm the f*** down.  We need to take a minute. a real, non-virtual minute, to process what's happening and how we can and should respond.  I'd calgon myself away from this madness, but chances are, someone's in the bathroom with a laptop or phone, and that's not the kind of livestream I think anyone needs right now.

Maybe, just maybe, we all need to take a breather.  Shelter in place is hard.  But maybe the answer isn't frantically figuring out how to deliver every possible experience via the internet.  I, personally, need some time to prioritize and think and consider what virtual experiences are actually going to help me and my family in this monumentally challenging time.

As varied and mystifying as family time can be, as hard as it is to be sheltered together by necessity, the situation does present a family with a unique opportunity to spend time differently.  Virtual gatherings of all kinds are not necessarily helping, and may instead be making it harder for us to come together and weather this storm.  When the world can come inside the house at all hours of the day and night, it feels like we have less control as a family over how our family is, simply with each other.

This is not a new observation for me: I've long despised the long tentacles of marketing that are able to reach my kids through their phones, robbing them of precious quietness of mind.

But this feels like next-level infiltration, dressed up in good intentions, and it's currently colliding with the intense experience of six people trying to navigate COVID19 without losing our minds.  There is a reason we come home and relax, finally through the work and school and practice day: home is where we escape the grind.  Now, it feels like the grind is zooming into where it does not belong.   I want to say ENOUGH, but I don't yet know what we can say no to and what we can't -- and everything is happening so fast.

Zoom and all the other platforms out there are good tools that will help us through Shelter In Place -- but they are not the answer and they might be obscuring the question.  What are our families not figuring out, as we turn to online platform after online platform?  I don't know: I want the time and space to wrestle with this question.

Still not gonna miss my 8am virtual pilates with Starr, and bless her for zooming that particular activity into my home.  :)

#FamilyInPlace

Family In Place: Reality Check

With Shelter-In-Place in effect, I have rushed to fill my social media with fun posts and photos about my family's response to this new reality.  The incredible responses I've seen from around the country and the world -- Italy's citizens singing to each other at their windows, friends hosting Yoga via Zoom, the endless hilarious memes that make us laugh -- have inspired me to be creative with my family and to focus on staying positive and motivated in the face of this daunting challenge.  This makes sense: we all need inspiration and motivation.

But last night, my 17-year-old daughter said: "Mom, your social media posts are making it look like we are having fun with all of this."

Good point.  It has not been fun.  There have been bright moments, and I'm proud of my kids for how they have managed things so far, but it has not been fun.  Here are some real moments from AIRY5 in the past few days:

One kid, screaming at another: "STOP LOOKING AT ME OR I WILL KILL YOU."  This was not said in jest.  It was not playful.  It came from a deep and primal place, familiar to siblings around the world.  The scream reverberated throughout the house and hung in the air for a good long time.  Speaking for myself only, it definitely depressed me, while simultaneously causing me to question my parenting and worry about the future of my childrens' relationships.  Temporarily, anyway.

I added a blank list of 5 or 6 lines to our family mural, with the heading: DAY 2: HOW WILL WE SURVIVE?  Then I texted everyone and asked them to help fill it in.  My oldest wanted to put "Eat the little one" on the list.  I didn't let him.  The list went unfilled, except for one suggestion: "Rob a bank."  No one was feeling like coming up with hopeful and creative ways to help each other through Day 2, apparently.

Despite the art mural on our dining room table, despite the basketball hoop my son made out of a Sierra Nevada six-pack container, despite the kickback Rick constructed yesterday for the kids, the most common sight in this household is still teenagers with bad posture, staring at their phones.  Rick and I have talked about the need to institute "tech-free time" each day, and we will do that, but we haven't yet.  What can I say: we are weak.

Yesterday afternoon, I took to my bed, overwhelmed and sad. I'm overwhelmed by the sheer number of articles and resources coming my way, sent by family and friends and posted all over social media.  I'm saddened by what is happening around the world and how many people are suffering.  I'm horrified by how our president is talking about the crisis.  I'm scared because it feels like this country is not doing what needs to be done.  I'm sad for my daughter, who is a senior this year, as she faces the possibility of not having any of the senior-year milestones and moments she and we have been looking forward to.  Did I, without realizing it, watch her play her last soccer game a few weeks ago?  I stayed in bed for two hours, before forcing myself to get up and take the dog out.

THIS.  IS.  HARD.

I told my kids that our family's Shelter In Place experience will be filled with all kinds of moments: good, bad, ugly, and strikingly beautiful.  I believe this is true.  And we should acknowledge all of it, and let it be.

Hang in there, community.  Share what makes you happy, but also feel free to share what makes you feel sad or scared or mad, if you want.  You are not alone.

#MyCorona

cute dog pic cuz she's my
favorite baby right now

Well, THIS is going to be interesting.

And by "interesting," I mean excruciating.

People, Rick and I are now trapped in a small house with three teenagers and a 21-year old male.  So essentially, four teenagers.  The fifth boy child is still away at college: his university is closed down, but he lives in a house, not a dorm, so for now, he's staying where he is. He is safer there than here in the Bay Area, where cases of coronavirus are growing.

It is true that when we heard the news today that as of midnight tonight we would be sheltering in place for the next three weeks -- along with 6.7 million other Bay Area residents -- my teenagers looked at me with equal parts horror and fury.  It took me about five seconds to recognize the look in their eyes, eyes pointed AT ME.  I knew what that look meant: it meant they were pissed AT ME for the shelter in place.

A tense silence hung in the air until I said: "Just remember, I personally did not decree this shelter in place, despite how you might be feeling or tempted to react."

One of my daughters pointed right at me and said: "I WILL BREAK YOU! I will NOT stay here for three weeks.  I WILL WEAR YOU DOWN AND I WILL LEAVE THIS HOUSE!"

Me: "So, this is starting off well."

• • • 

Today was tough.  One college kid home and pissed off that he can't go anywhere...one 7th grader bumping through the process of figuring out how to do "distance learning" on the computer...one senior in high school confronting the possibility of no prom, no graduation ceremony, no final spring soccer season, no life...one child sick and, yes, feverish, and one doctor-by-phone-appointment to determine that she likely has a sinus infection...one proposal deadline for the job I'm still responsible for...and one shelter-in-place order throwing a giant curveball over all of it.

Rick went to the closest grocery store shortly after the shelter-in-place was announced, and spent 30 minutes shopping and almost two hours standing in line waiting to get to the cashier.  Never fear though, he brought home 9 bags of chips and a whole lotta beer: I'd marry him all over again today. (In his defense, the store was completely out of everything that was actually on our list: EVERYTHING.)

I went to pick up a prescription for the sinus infection, and the scene at our local Kaiser hospital was surreal: a triage center out in front, people pulling up to the curb looking very very sick, everyone in masks, lots of health care workers shouting directions to everyone.

It's almost time for bed here, and Rick just said to me: "Well, we made it through one day!"  I had to remind him that yes, we did make it through one day, but the three-week process actually starts tomorrow, so...

These are strange times.  We are all going through something monumental both together and alone.  One thing is certain: the next three weeks will be a fascinating study in family life, the good, the bad and the ugly.  Can a person be both subject and researcher at the same time?  

We shall find out!

• • •

She Makes Me Happy. And Tired.

Good Lord.  Yesterday nearly did me in.

Some of you may know we got a dog for Christmas, 2018.  Ever since losing our beloved black lab, Tule, on Mother's Day 2017, most of our family has been lobbying hard for another dog.  I was the lone holdout, so when I -- as the mom and all around boss (sorry, hon) -- decided we were ready, we were finally ready.

This was that special moment:

Zuzu is now a little over a year old, and she is adorable and awesome and so much fun and...problematic.

We take her for hour-long off-leash walks, where she frolics like a maniac with other dogs, as often as we can, and it's not enough.  She needs more.  When we got her, the people selling her told us she is part black lab, part Australian Shepard.  This may or may not be true, but she is 100% pure energy, plus another 35% neurosis.  She's a hot mess most of the time.  All that puppy energy, plus a couple of breeds with high activity quotients means we basically adopted a full-time job.

No worries, you're thinking: this family has five kids!  Plenty of help with a new dog!  Riiiiiiight.  Have you met my children?  I love them to the ends of being and ideal grace, but they're basically worthless when it comes to sharing any kind of workload.

Don't get me wrong, I went into the whole "let's get a new dog" thing with my eyes wide open.  I knew it would be Rick and me doing most of the work.  Luckily, I fell so hard in love with that little munchkin that I'm ready to sacrifice cooking for my human children to fulfill her needs.  I am repaid handsomely in love and devotion, so it all works out.

Anyway, I recently realized that our hour-long walks are not doing the trick, so yesterday I had a mission: Get. Zuzu. Tired.

I found a book the other day called Bay Area Hikes with Dogs, and found a lovely hike less than 20 miles from home that looked like it might take me a couple of hours and introduce me to some local nature trails new to me: Bort Meadow Trail, sort of near Lake Chabot. I loaded whacko little Zuzu in the car and off we went.  This is how she felt about the experience shortly after we arrived:

And this is how the rest of the experience went:

Turns out, Bay Area Hikes for Dogs is less than exact in its trail directions, and what I thought would be a two-hour hike turned into a 3.5-hour long epic, during which I asked myself several times "Am I lost?  I'm not lost, am I? I'm probably not lost."  And while texting my husband, I assured him I was not lost, while not exactly sure of that myself.  (True story, hon.)

The directions in the book, while less than clear, matched many of the things I saw.  The book said that at one point, it would seem like the trail ended, but that I should continue on the paved portion of road for .2 miles until picking it up again just past the water tower.  Well, long after having taken a wrong turn that I blame on the less than clear directions, I did in fact come upon a spot where it seemed like the trail ended and a paved path took over for about .2 miles.  I picked up the trail again and kept going, for a long while.  I passed a golf course; I passed Lake Chabot.  The book did not mention either of these rather significant sightings, and I started to get suspicious.

Finally, I came upon a trail map and consulted it, and could tell I was nowhere near where I was supposed to be.   So I started backtracking.  I drank all my water. I ate my apple.  I stopped seeing people.  It got cold and windy.  I started cursing all that nature.  I became a bitter, unhappy hiker. It was ENDLESS.

Did I mention the signs that warned that this area was home to coyotes?  That was fun.

Also fun was the part where I was finally less than half a mile from my car, and the only path back had a sign next to it saying: "Trail closed; this path will be reopened when it is safe for the public."   It took me about 5 seconds to decide to take my chances on the closed path rather than (a) backtrack for another two hours or (b) continue on the main path with no idea where it went or how it would get me back to my car.  The book said that this smaller trail -- Buckeye Trail -- was a lovely, very secluded path back to Bort Meadow.  Damn that “closed path” BS, I needed the shortest distance between me and my Prius. Blowing past the TRAIL CLOSED sign, I felt like such a little nature rebel.  But here I am, writing about it, so we know it all worked out.

At the end of the whole thing, I had walked 21,000 steps, I was dirty, dusty, grumpy and tired.

But LOOK WHAT I DID:

It's hard to take a photo of a black dog, but trust me: that pup was OUT.

Success! So basically, I need to quit my job and devote myself to making this dog tired 4 hours of every day.  We might not be able to feed the kids, pay college tuition, or keep our house, but Zuzu will be well cared for, so it's all good.

She makes me happy.