We're living in an extraordinary moment in history. Everyone is saying it. And while history books will tell the story of 2020, I want to frame its impact & nuances in my own words, for my own family, as an effort to capture what our lives looked like -- the day in and day out of our life at home.
We were home for seventy something days. The world outside was sleeping and we had each other. And we found out it was enough. Beaches and parks were closed, weddings and baby showers were cancelled. But we made the most of it. And discovered so much not cancelled: going outside, family walks, supporting local coffee shops, making memories, pizza nights, pillow forts.
There were daily rides around the cul-de-sac in a little pink frozen motor car and nightly dinners around the kitchen table with some insane recipes. We cooked a lot. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Every. Day. `One night we made a charcuterie board for supper and the girls were big fans of helping themselves. We baked bread and muffins and pulled out old family recipes just for fun. Picnics in the front yard under our magnolia shade tree were common. Dinners on our back porch became the new going out to eat. Hotdogs became our girls' favorite food. We grilled them weekly (or more). All days were slow. And we forgot which day was what. Weekends became obsolete. We starting calling Saturday "day".
I don't want to remember social distancing, #stayhome hashtags, stimulus bills, cancelled plans, or even that anxious feeling in the air. I want to remember those walks around the neighborhood where a dad was teaching his son to ride a bike in the middle of a Tuesday. I want to remember sidewalk chalk and baby sign language, date nights with scrabble tournaments and take out on the couch. Sleeping in, staying up late. Polaroids and simple living. Chunky cheeks and dirty little feet. Fresh bread out of the oven and the songs that played while rolling pizza dough. Boardwalk strolls with coffee and our girls in matching bucket hats, avoiding the areas where "BEACH CLOSED" signs sprinkled the sand. Rolled up papers turning into treasure maps, so many days when the trampoline was our saving grace, DJ learning to use the instax camera, and Banks learning to walk.
So this is what I'll tell my girls someday about Quarantine 2020.
We were home for seventy something days. The world outside was sleeping and we had each other. And we found out it was enough. Beaches and parks were closed, weddings and baby showers were cancelled. But we made the most of it. And discovered so much not cancelled: going outside, family walks, supporting local coffee shops, making memories, pizza nights, pillow forts. Darcie came to the conclusion that playgrounds and Chick-fil-a were broken. And often told us "the people need to build it again." Banks crawled around the house and learned to walk and celebrated her first birthday with a small family garden party. It was so special: our baby becoming a toddler in those sacred days we didn't know we needed to just soak in her every wobble and word.
We rearranged furniture and watched the garbage truck every Tuesday for entertainment and cleaned out the garage and built a bunkbed. And we had that sinking feeling and lumps in our throats watching our 2 year-old slip into big girl-dom as she climbed up the ladder and we tucked her into a top bunk.
Sundays were slow. Spent curled up on the couch with homemade biscuits and coffee, soon upgrading to Ben's homemade quiche. The sound of singing filled our home as we watched church online. We missed our people, but we loved seeing the church stretch and innovate. And we loved being part of a moment in history as it rose up and leaned in and kept moving forward. God never stopped working. God never stopped showing up.
There were daily rides around the cul-de-sac in a little pink frozen motor car and nightly dinners around the kitchen table with some insane recipes. We cooked a lot. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Every. Day. `One night we made a charcuterie board for supper and the girls were big fans of helping themselves. We baked bread and muffins and pulled out old family recipes just for fun. Picnics in the front yard under our magnolia shade tree were common. Dinners on our back porch became the new going out to eat. Hotdogs became our girls' favorite food. We grilled them weekly (or more). All days were slow. And we forgot which day was what. Weekends became obsolete. We starting calling Saturday "day".My plant subscription sparked joy whenever a new one showed up on the doorstep. Darcie helped me water my "trees" and got very concerned when she felt they were looking "sad" (droopy). Ben was furloughed from the hotel because food & beverage services shut down. He hustled hard, though and got a little gig playing hymns in the courtyard of a retirement community to boost hope in a lonely place. Our other jobs continued and we kept getting paychecks. That wasn't the story for so many families and we mourned and checked on friends and volunteered for food banks when we could.
There were Star Wars marathons after the girls' bedtime and morning cuddles were a thing. Quaran-tunes in the living room with dad and his guitar, nights spent tediously painting kitchen cabinets, yard work and closet organization. Mirror selfies, chasing sunsets, simple wonder. Sunny days in our blow-up pool in the backyard. Outings to save our sanity to lavender farms and strawberry fields. Ben in an apron making fajitas in the kitchen, me on the floor playing blocks with the girls, the wind sweeping through the screen door, our feel-good playlist up loud, an eventual dance party with chopsticks as drums, tired parents and it’s only monday, tiny girls full of big emotions, a big love full of tiny moments. These were the moments.
Like us, families everywhere stayed home and watched spring unfold through nature walks and open windows or maybe we took note of every bloom and breeze because of less distraction or hurry or schedule. Darcie developed her love for "hanitizer" (hand sanitizer) and we lysoled everything and stocked up on toilet paper during the national shortage. Months later, I bought Ben a little toilet paper shaped ornament to commemorate 2020. Schools closed and parents gained a whole new respect for teachers. Essential workers kept going. Entire communities drove to hospitals and honked their horns to cheer on exhausted and overwhelmed healthcare heroes. FOMO was gone. Easter was at home, a brunch board with homemade waffles necessary to keep things fancy. Birthday parties were drive-by caravans. We witnessed one during a neighborhood walk. When the sweet 16-year-old girl laugh-cried as countless cars with paint and streamers beeped their horns and friends hung out of windows, we smiled and realized we were seeing the special, wondrous side of humanity. This would be what we remembered. And what we'd tell our kids.
There was more good news, too. Clothing companies started producing masks, along with sewers at home to do their part. Car manufacturers pivoted to make ventilators. Restaurants became pros at curb-side pickup. We supported our local favorites whenever we could. We'd put the girls to bed and order fajitas or burgers or wings. Neighbors spent mornings sitting in lawn chairs in cul-de-sacs 6 ft apart sharing conversation because what else was there to do? In fact, quiet neighborhood streets were often the liveliest of all. Everyone drawn to being outside. Leaving the house for a breath of fresh air, change of scenery, last ditch effort to preserve their sanity. It became customary to politely cross to the other side of the street to pass people, but also customary to offer a kind wave and smile when doing so. Kindness. So much kindness. Everyone was having a hard go of it. Managing as best they could. There was a collective, palpable feeling in the air. Like one big breath being held in, waiting for the exhale, for the end in sight.
I don't want to remember social distancing, #stayhome hashtags, stimulus bills, cancelled plans, or even that anxious feeling in the air. I want to remember those walks around the neighborhood where a dad was teaching his son to ride a bike in the middle of a Tuesday. I want to remember sidewalk chalk and baby sign language, date nights with scrabble tournaments and take out on the couch. Sleeping in, staying up late. Polaroids and simple living. Chunky cheeks and dirty little feet. Fresh bread out of the oven and the songs that played while rolling pizza dough. Boardwalk strolls with coffee and our girls in matching bucket hats, avoiding the areas where "BEACH CLOSED" signs sprinkled the sand. Rolled up papers turning into treasure maps, so many days when the trampoline was our saving grace, DJ learning to use the instax camera, and Banks learning to walk.
Oblivious babies to the outside world and optimistic parents that these days really are THE days.
