I'm just spitballin' here

When we were in New Hampshire this past weekend, I was on driving duty. We had a bitchin' Chrysler minivan because the rental car company was out of SUVs. 

The lady at the counter said, "are you OK with a van?" 

Initially, we all thought she meant a utility van, like a big Ford Econoline or something like that. 

I was like, "umm, I guess?" 

I mean, I can drive a big van, but didn't exactly relish the thought of schlepping everyone around in one all weekend. 

Then I thought to ask, "do you mean a van like a plumber might drive, or a minivan?" 

"Oh, a minivan," she laughed.

I was relieved. 

Anyway. 

On Sunday my mom and I took a bunch of kiddos (mine, Josh's, their friends) to Exeter to walk around, go to the bookstore, get some ice cream, that sort of thing. Before heading back to Josh's house, I need to stop at Walgreens. 

As we were driving, I heard giggling from the back seat. 

"Mom! MOM! Look at the mirror!"

I looked in the rear-view and saw a spit-ball. Then another. And yet another. 

Earlier in the day, we had been telling funny family stories, and I told the kids about how Josh and I used to goof off in the car when we took road trips. Even after Sam was born, Josh and I were the perpetrators because Sam wasn't allowed to sit with us in the back seat.

This made him irate. "Why?" he wailed to our parents, who had him between them in the bench seat in the front. (This was in the early 80s, before people cared if their seat-belt-less children were launched through the windshield in the event of a crash.)

"Why do I have sit up here with you when Josh and Wendy get to be in the back seat having fun?"

"Because you always end up fighting with anyone you're sitting with," she replied.

When we were living in Israel, we were in the US during the summer of 1982 on home leave. I was 12, Josh was 10, and Sam was 5. We were heading to Cape Cod to spend time at the beach with family friends. To keep the peace, Josh and I were in the back, Sam was in the front. 

After we had a pit stop at a McDonald's, we took a stash of napkins and those big fat straws that McDonald's carries - perfect for launching spitballs. Soon they were flying around the car. Josh and I were laughing our asses off. My parents chucked. Sam complained because we were having fun in the back seat and he wasn't. 

After we tired of that, we had the bright idea to make ourselves sneeze by sticking the ends of our shoelaces in our nostrils. 

"Ah-CHOO!"

"God bless you!" my mother would exclaim.

"Ah-CHOO! Ah-CHOO!!" 

"Gesundheit! Bless you!"

Tittering from the back seat.

This went on for a while.

"Ah-CHOO!"

"Oh my goodness! Barry, I think the kids are sick! Should we take them to see a doctor?"

At this point we started laughing until we were crying. When she turned around to look, we showed her what we were doing. She rolled her eyes but seemed amused. Sam fumed that he wasn't in on the action.

My kids found this story to be delightful.

So when I saw the spitball on the mirror (and discovered more on the windshield and the dash), I cracked up.

Beforehand, the kids had apparently been talking to my mom and asking her how she thought I would react. 

"Kids, your mom is the best, and she has a great sense of humor. She'll think it's hysterical."

And she was right. 

Here comes the sun

The philosophy of Colfax Avenue

When the COVID craziness started over a year ago, it felt weird and somewhat scary and a little bit like an adventure. We'll create an in-home movie theater, complete with tickets and concessions! We'll bake things! We'll do zoom calls all the time! Whee!

And temporary. When the closures started, it was communicated that we would reopen in two or three weeks. We just needed some time to "flatten the curve."

In hindsight, it sounds adorable. 

Some people said that we would be living in lock-down for at least a year or more, which struck me as horrifying. I felt like I couldn't live like that for a year or more. I would rather die.

Which is obviously ridiculous. It was a year or more. And I didn't die.

But the novelty definitely wore off. I got tired of baking. I got tired of doing mountains of dishes all the fucking time. I discovered that doing a Passover seder via Zoom was the most depressing thing ever.

I worked from home and the kids did school from home and we muddled along as best we could. Much of it sucked, but knowing how hard the pandemic hit so many people, I'm very fortunate. None of my close friends or loved ones died. I suffered no financial hardship (except the lightening of my wallet because I staved off boredom by shopping online like my life depended on it). 

Some of it didn't suck. I had an amazing ski season, which went a long way toward keeping me feeling happy. Being active and outside feeds my soul. 

Towards the end it felt like such a slog.  

But now it's summer. We're vaccinated. We're ready to go.

My kids have been out of school for two weeks. Two weeks of not having to fight with them to get up in the morning. Two weeks of not saying to Zeke (who continued to do school remotely because he couldn't be bothered to get up, and I let him because notwithstanding all of his school-related fuckery, he made the honor roll), "let's have one day when I don't get a 3:30 p.m. tardy call, OK? Just one?" 

The end of the school year also lightened my load considerably, both in terms of stress and actual work. Much of what I do involves student-specific and school administration issues. When school isn't in session, the phone calls and emails drop off immediately and significantly. 

The weather is beautiful. I've been doing some mountain biking and hiking. Restaurants are open. We take the SUP to the reservoir. We see friends and are out and about.

In a week, I'm going to Iceland with a man-friend (I don't date boys). After going in 2015 (when it was winter and freezing), I've wanted to go in the summer. We'll be there for the summer solstice, which is celebrated with a big party in Iceland. We're doing a road trip around the entire island - it looks fabulous and I can't wait. 

Next month is the annual trip to the Outer Banks. While I'm there, I'll do a little jaunt to Richmond for a girls' weekend with my UVA buddies.

And tomorrow, the kids and I head to New Hampshire for the high school graduation party for one of Josh's kids. The whole mishpachah will be there. It will be the first time since Thanksgiving of 2019 that we will all be together. The thought of it makes me choke up with happiness. I love them and have missed them so much.

Y'all know how much I love reunions and family gatherings.  

The feeling I have reminds me of when Jason and I did our road trip across the country when we moved to Hawaii. We spent a number of days driving through the desert in New Mexico, Arizona, Utah, and Nevada, before descending from the Sierra Nevadas down into Sacramento. We had spent so much time in dry air looking out at brown desert landscapes that when we got to California. all of the warm air and green grass and flowers and trees were startling. Especially because I don't like deserts - give me humid air and lush vegetation any day.

We have wandered in the COVID desert for far more than 40 days and 40 nights. Science is now delivering us to the promised land.

(How's that for a tortured metaphor?)

 It feels amazing.