A bit blurry. I know. But hilarious nonetheless and a good image for today’s writing,#HeresMyButt
Stay-at-home/shelter-in-place, day one, and I have already gone out to go feed my cat.
This is the week that KWeeks and I are together; on alternating weeks, he is with his daughter. I have abandoned my kitty to stay with Khristian but go home daily to feed him wet food, love on him, remind him I will be home soon.
There were still cars on the road, but not many. There were still people walking around, but not many, and usually alone or in groups of two, close together so you can know that they live in the same household.
What there was a lot of, unusually for Hampden, was police cars. I passed five in the mile-and-a-half drive to my house. It’s not tanks down the streets, but it feels close to that.
This seems fitting, this sense of lowering doom, as this will be the last week that Khristian and I spend together for who knows how long. The perils of joint custody, I suppose, with me as the casualty.
Woe is me, right? I wonder how many other people are struggling with this and not saying anything. Divorced people who share custody of children but cannot bring themselves to be kind enough to fully disclose what happens in their houses, placing the kids, the custodial parents, and their partners at risk.
It’s situations like this that make me believe that we will not, in fact, come out any better on the other side of this. Even when it comes to endangering another person’s life -whether you like them or not – there are still people so wrapped up in their own bullshit and power struggle that they cannot see what is best. They cannot rise above their ego to consider other people.
Here’s a thought: if you are normally a total selfish dick, maybe now is the time to step back and take a look at that behavior. Maybe now is a good time to let go of your vitriolic hatred. Maybe you could stop doing things that intentionally hurt others. Maybe you could soften just a little and recognize that things could be so much easier if you just let that shit go.
So. What are you learning to let go of? What are you still clinging to? And how is that working out for you?
Sicily and I sitting in the house she designed and we built together as her school project. School doesn’t need to look like “school.”Links in this caption tell the story behind the picture.
The school was a lot like homeschooling in the sense that The Child and I padded down the hall to the living room four days a week and welcomed paying students into our house to work on designing and building projects that ranged from a go-cart to a tiny house (above) to a hydroponic greenhouse to a chicken coop (with a DIY-incubator that hatched exactly one rooster – but it worked).
So here’s today’s message, aimed squarely at those who suddenly find themselves at home with grade-school kid(s) who are confronted with the sudden “freedom” that doesn’t feel free and a caregiver who is nothing like their regular teacher and not normally the academic boss of them:
DO NOT TRY TO RE-CREATE SCHOOL AT HOME.
This is crucial for several reasons. First, you have no idea what you are doing. It’s ok. Teaching is an art and a skill and requires training to do for 30 kids in a classroom. That’s how the majority of us experienced school, and so we would naturally think that our kids need this at home also, but they totally don’t and will resist. They may find it fun or mildly amusing for a bit, but we are in this for the rest of the school year (at least), so you might as well just throw that particular bathwater out right now.
So what the hell are you supposed to do, especially if you are also working at home for the first time, and you already want to strangle your miserable children?
Breathe. That’s the first step.
Next, if your kids are old enough, sit down with them and see if you can come up with a loose schedule of sorts. Think about what your non-negotiables are (e.g., set conference calls or meetings that require your full attention and silence), ask them for theirs, and see what you come up with. Maybe they negotiate some daily screen time that can occur at this time, or perhaps you have readers who can use this as set, daily reading.
Your schedule does not have to look like anyone else’s. Maybe you have kids who like to stay up late and sleep in. Why would you try to wake them at their normal school time? Give yourself permission to abandon that daily struggle. You can use this time to do work that requires peace and quiet. Learn your family’s rhythm, and follow it.
And what should you teach?
In my personal opinion, probably 80% of what your kid’s teachers sent home is garbage. That’s not the teachers’ fault. It’s just that you cannot replace such a connected practice as teaching with a worksheet or online course. The only subject I would say to follow if at all possible is math. This is also negotiable, and math is everywhere.
Take this time as an opportunity for your kids to really explore something they are interested in. Have a conversation about what they love and let them go full HAM. How many times have you had to pry your kid away from something (other than a screen) so you could leave the house? Maybe it’s drawing, building with LEGO, music, juggling a soccer ball. Whatever it is, DIVE DEEP. Let them explore, and then let them tell you what they know.
Otherwise? Read. Read out loud, to each other, and talk about what you’ve read. Read comic books, novels, non-fiction, magazines, the back of cereal boxes. Read plays out loud, as they are meant to be read, or let your kids write their own and read those out loud.
Kids can’t read yet? Let them illustrate a story, dictate it to you, and then you read it to them.
Don’t worry about sight words, phonics, worksheets, spelling tests.
Throw out comprehension worksheets and ask them questions about what they have read that you actually want to know the answer to. Have them point out what made them think their thoughts about the reading. Let them write alternative endings, fan fiction.
Have your kids write letters to family members currently in quarantine or just far away. Let them start a journal or design a blog, or both. Consider adding morning pages to your routine (modify the suggested number of pages as needed, of course).
As much as possible, involve your kids in your daily activities. Teach them how to cook and bake (baking is real chemistry, BTW), or learn with them if you are clueless in the kitchen.
If you have projects around the house, let your kids help. Who cares if it takes longer? Where are you going? NOWHERE, friends. You are going NOWHERE.
So slow down, live into where you are RIGHT NOW.
Finally, don’t ignore your health. We may be getting close to a time where we find ourselves actually confined to our houses (or maybe you are already there). There are a variety of practices that can keep you connected to your body and ease your mind during this time.
Shameless plug: the studio where I teach yoga (Yoga Tree in Baltimore) is offering classes online, at an introductory price of $39 for two weeks. Sure, you could get yoga free online, but if you want to support a small business and practice with me online, check it out. My first class is tomorrow night – Sunday the 22nd – from 5:30 – 6:45.
Bottom line: your kids don’t need you to be their teacher.
They need you to be connected, present, and healthy.
You can do it. If you take the time to slow down and figure out first what makes sense for your family instead of forcing something that just doesn’t work, you will be surprised by what everyone learns.
If you are a parent, what has helped in these early stages of our new normal? Please comment below or on Instagram @charmcityedibles.
Back of the tooth: “Flossing isn’t just for gangstas.”
This morning my favorite (youngest/only) daughter got her driver’s license.
I remember getting mine as if I was the one behind the wheel a few hours ago. I took my test in a red Ford Escort with a manual transmission, back in the day when you still had to parallel park to earn that plastic. I had plans that weekend, plans that relied on me passing that test.
I remember the front wheel kissing the curb as I straightened up after parking, and my heart sank. If I was directed right after I pulled out of the parking space, that meant I had passed. A left meant disappointed friends and another boring weekend, trapped at the whim of parents who were sick of driving me around. I pulled the car out of the space and brought the front bumper parallel to the stop sign, expectantly looking at the test administrator. With a bit of a sigh, he pointed right.
I couldn’t watch The Kid as she began her test today. Mr. Tyrone walked the perimeter of the car, asking her to turn on various lights, and I couldn’t remember if she actually knew where the hazard lights were (or how to turn them on). She was spacey as we drove to her appointment, and I was just worried in general.
It’s no small thing, this putting your kid in the world and hoping for the best. It’s not just the lack of control over what they do; it’s the lack of control over what everybody else does. No one can be forced to treat your kid well.
No one gives a rat’s ass if you think they are amazing or if you did your best.
Mostly, from birth until you stop posting family selfies and ridiculous updates all over your social media, most people in the world are simply humoring you and your obsession with your child.
#TrueStory
It’s okay. We are built to be the center of our own universe. We can’t expect everyone to feel the same way about the things we care most about.
The one person who would have cared at least as much as me, beyond just a regular, garden-variety well-wishing, is sitting on the top shelf of my closet in a little wooden box.
When Dane died, Luke Bryan released “Drink A Beer,” a song that nearly killed me at that point in my grief. It was a country song, but we were in Georgia, and if I am being honest, Dane was more than a little bit country. Nevermind the “good lord” references; that’s beside the point.
Listen.
This song has been reverberating in my head since I handed Sicily her own key on a tooth-shaped key chain. As I type this and listen to various versions of it, I miss him. I miss Sicily’s father. I miss him because of her, and I miss him because of me. He would have been so proud today, and he would have cried as she drove away to spread these new wings of hers.
Neither of us are/were the praying kind, but I would be dishonest if I didn’t admit to sending something into the universe about protecting my heart as she drives to her next adventure/heartbreak/triumph/devastation.
After we spent a little more time in the company of the delightful folks at the MVA, Sicily drove us down to Jimmy’s in Fell’s Point for breakfast. I spent many drunk and hungover mornings with my friend Luke at the old Formica counter in Jimmy’s, drinking draft Budweiser so cold that it had thin sheets of ice floating at the top.
It doesn’t even shock me that I didn’t realize the Luke Bair (my friend)/Luke Bryan (that singer) connection until that last sentence came out of my fingers, or that I just randomly suggested breakfast at Jimmy’s to celebrate.
I didn’t get a beer because a beer at 9:30 might send the wrong message to my newly-licensed driver, but if any day warrants a drink, today is it.
Perhaps it should be a little forlorn, today’s drink, but grief takes it out of me so that I can’t even muster the strength to be forlorn. I made up this little cocktail over the summer but didn’t set it down until yesterday. #Foreshadowing
I know there is a drink with the same name, but this is not that, and I am certainly open to alternative suggestions.
Raising a glass tonight to myself, my sweet new driver, and my beloved husband who would have been so proud and is still very missed.
The Angry Mule
Make your own. The store-bought crap is no good.
Jalapeño-Infused Vodka
4 cups vodka
5 or 6 jalapeños
The Rest
Ginger beer (I like Gosling’s. Anything but ginger ale. #Heresy)
Pineapple juice
Method
PLAN AHEAD. Make your vodka by chopping up the jalapeños and placing them in a clean quart jar. Cover with vodka. Include the seeds. Let sit in a cool, dark place until you can’t wait anymore. A couple days, a week. Or just give it a taste. You may find it’s too spicy and want to add more vodka (see below).
Strain into a clean jar.
Fill a pint glass with ice. Add two ounces of vodka, then ginger beer almost to the top. Splash of pineapple juice, a little stir, and you’re in business.
Recipe Notes
The batch of jalapeño vodka I currently have working is actually bright green. This is a very, very good thing. This means that I can cut this batch with even more vodka and have even more jalapeño-infused vodka. #HellYes
My sweet baby. Jazz hands and potato chips at two years old. Not much has changed.
Four years and four months after his death in a car accident, I am beginning to only remember the bad things about Dane.
The stages of grief are not stagnant and are generally understood to be fluid and back-and-forth; you don’t reach one stage and then never backslide. I seem to be moving back and forth between anger, depression, and acceptance, settling in mostly to the easiest emotion for me to deal with.
Anger. Which often hides its evil bitch of a twin, depression. So there’s that also.
I think we most of us are very comfortable with anger. Every time I open The Facebook or listen to the news, there’s something else to be angry about. I feel it when I get behind the wheel of my car (this is infrequent lately) and spend most of my time driving talking myself down and taking deep breaths.
The hardest thing these days is moving towards love.
I believe deeply in love and compassion and kindness. This is at war with my general dislike and distrust of strangers, but it dovetails nicely with my deep-seated and long-held belief that love truly is all that matters. Real, deep, abiding love. It’s the one thing that is free and available to anyone. You don’t even have to have a target for that love. Love, in general, can be spread all around, like butter on a hot bagel (and just as delicious).
I think that love is healing and softening and strengthening and is, ultimately, the thing that every single person on this planet actually wants and needs to survive.
But shit, man. Sometimes people are deeply painful and difficult to love. This is our 5th Father’s Day without Dane. Every year Sicily and I mark the day by doing something that Dane might have liked to do, but this year I find myself increasingly angry when I see and hear all these tributes to great dads. I can only see the negatives, chief among them the fact that he did not take care of himself and has left his daughter father-less, for this Father’s Day and an infinite number of other days that will find his child with teary eyes because her father isn’t there.
I did love Dane, deeply. He was funny and clever (see also “Wormaggedon” to describe the surfeit of dead worms in our driveway after a gully-washer). He could fix pretty much anything, and if you wanted to have fun, he was your go-to. He was generous to a fault and took everyone at face value (a trait his daughter has deliberately and conscientiously cultivated in herself). He loved his child, and he loved me – it was obvious in the way he wanted to be with us all the time. No one was happier than he was, puttering around the house and hanging with his girls.
But he sabotaged himself at every turn, his death just another example of that. He was careless with his time and money and he often avoided responsibility, making me the bad cop (but also the person who kept our ship afloat and mopped up his messes). The aftermath of his sudden death is another example of that, and I have been the target of some spectacular grief outbursts from our child. I have parented very poorly at times these past years (well beyond minor poor parenting. Have you ever told your kid to shut the fuck up? I have. For the record, even though she really, really needed to shut the fuck up, I deeply regret telling her to do so.#ForReal), and I have, at times, found myself thinking about just how long I have to actually keep myself alive, respectably and so that our daughter is stable and set.
These have been rough days of late. No one tells you that grief lasts so long, not the wailing and teeth-gnashing part but the part where you have to figure out actually what the fuck and how to move forward.
Not surprisingly, I am craving comfort food. Chocolate comfort food, specifically. I guess I don’t actually know many people who crave a heaping bowl of kale when they stress eat, but I am also past the days when a simple piece of chocolate will do. If I have my say, my comfort food is cake of some kind, with plenty of frosting.
Just like love, these cupcakes are not just a straightforward chocolate smack in the face. They are complex and have deeply flavored layers of cinnamon and spice. They are warm and comforting – just like love – and spicy and easy to overdo – just like anger.
Chocolate Cupcakes With Mole Ganache And Cinnamon Buttercream
2 heaping tablespoons (or to taste) prepared mole negro (see Recipe Notes)
1 cup chocolate chips
1/2 cup + 2 teaspoons heavy cream
Cinnamon Buttercream
2 sticks butter, softened
3 – 4 cups powdered sugar, sifted
2 teaspoon cinnamon (sifted with the powdered sugar)
3 teaspoons vanilla extract
4 (ish) tablespoons heavy cream or whole milk
Method
Preheat oven to 350 degrees and place cupcake liners in a muffin tin. Set aside.
For the cupcakes: In the bowl of a stand mixer (or in a large bowl), mix together both sugars, flour, sifted cocoa flour, baking soda, baking powder, and salt.
In a medium bowl, combine eggs, sour cream, milk, vegetable oil, and vanilla extract and mix well to combine.
Add wet ingredients to dry and mix until just wet. Add hot coffee and mix until thoroughly combined, about one minute.
Fill cupcake liners 2/3 of the way full and bake for 15 – 17 minutes. Remove from oven and cool completely before filling and frosting.
For the ganache: Place mole, chocolate chips, and heavy cream in a heavy-bottomed saucepan over low heat and stir constantly until chocolate and mole are completely melted and mixture is smooth. Let cool slightly, then place in refrigerator.
For the frosting: Place softened butter in a large bowl and sift in powdered sugar and cinnamon. Add vanilla and one table of heavy cream to start. Use a hand mixer to beat until creamy and smooth and the consistency of frosting. If it is too thick, add more heavy cream; add more powdered sugar if it’s too thin.
Assembly: Use a demitasse spoon or sharp knife to remove a divot of chocolate cupcake (set that aside to freeze and then mix into ice cream). Scoop or pipe chocolate mole ganache into that divot, then pipe frosting in a swirl to cover (you can use a star tip and a pastry bag to make rosettes or a fancy swirl.
Eat a million of these. Recipe makes (annoyingly) 32 cupcakes.
Recipe Notes
I used mole negro from Guelaguetza, a specialty food company in California. Their mole is complex and spicy and earthy and delicious; I found it at the Emporiyum in Baltimore back in April. Previously, my go-to mole was Dona Maria’s, which had the bonus of coming in a lovely juice glass and is easily located in the Hispanic food section of most grocery stores. You can use whichever mole you wish.
