
Hanging out in Owen’s room.


Watching an episode of Little House on the Prairie…

The kids got invited to a friend’s pool (technically the neighbor’s parent’s pool) so they had a grand time while we were unpacking the house and all that fun stuff.
I might have gotten a little bit emotional because the same neighbors who invited the kids over today (so we could work on the house in peace) were the same neighbors who took the kids the first day we moved in three years so (so we could unpack in peace). Kind of bookending our time at that house. (In fact I’m even getting choked up a bit writing it now.)


During one of our endless trips to empty all the small leftover bits out of the rental, I handed Katie part of my makeup organizers to put in the car. This is what she did with it.

He’s fine but has a scratched cornea. Always wear safety goggles, kids.
After Anna dropped the kids off from their overnight stay, Owen started complaining that his eye was bothering him. I figured he had an eyelash or something in his eye so told him to let it water and flush itself out. Nope, still there. I looked, nothing. I then tried to rinse it out—a challenge considering everything was obviously packed and I couldn’t find my saline, squirt bottles, or eye drops. (I might not have been in the best frame of mind, either. After another long day with the movers, now I’m having to deal with this at 3pm.)
So then it became the challenge of him letting me actually get his eye rinsed out. First he wouldn’t even let me get near his eye. Then he kept shutting his eye. Then he couldn’t tip his head back. Good times. I finally got some water in and he said it really hurt. Hmmm, that’s not good. So then I had to decide whether to see if we could get in to his doctor, go to urgent care, the ER, or try his eye doctor. I picked eye doctor and of course they had no appointments locally (they are five minutes from us) but a sister office 30 minutes away had an opening…so off we went. One quick look with some eye drops and yep, two small scratches. We were in and out within about 15 minutes.
And you can believe we had a big conversation about preventing things like this because the simple act of not wearing goggles meant we had to pay $70 for the appointment, $15 for the meds, and then another $70 for the follow up appointment. I told him we’d obviously always take care of these things, but that money could have gone to…a whole year of Netflix. Or about six trips to Culver’s. Or half of an Xbox. You should have seen the look on his face when he learned that. So hopefully that sunk in.
So how did this happen? The boys were (apparently) sanding wood blocks with a block and sandpaper—no power tools involved because David had wisely put the kibosh on that. I asked why he didn’t wear goggles and he said there was only one pair and one of the boys was smashing something into pieces so he wore them. Owen said he would sand and tried to keep blowing the dust away from him…?!
Just two of Katie’s walls after her room was emptied. Unbelievable.

This was under EVERY section of couch.


This was the total haul.

There was even a school library book in there (that he lost and had to pay for way back when).



I finally got the kids to make pictures for the annual calendar contest…I loved both of them but unfortunately they didn’t get selected.



More Adventures in Moving, Dinner Edition:
So today we moved the refrigerators around. Our fridge from the house went to the new house garage. The rental fridge came back in from the garage. So this necessitated a bunch of coolers and rearranging of food and trying to decide what to keep here and what to take over to the new house. I have done this MANY times, but today…well.
So it comes time for dinner and I had found a package of what I thought was taco meat. I mean, I even tasted it and my tired brain thought it was taco meat. It was Italian sausage. So then I dug through the freezer and found enchilada mix–perfect for nachos! Except it turned out to be potato soup (I didn’t take off the last label).
Not to be deterred I went back to the freezer and found ANOTHER package of meat that looked like ground beef – but it wasn’t my writing but I couldn’t really make it out… Yeah, more Italian sausage.
I GIVE UP. So we were gonna have Italian sausage nachos.
Except guess what? I had NONE of my other ingredients! No green onions (missing), no mexican cheese (missing), no guacamole (missing), no salsa (missing). WHAAAAAAT?????? I knew I had all that stuff which is why I picked nachos to start with! But by this time we were all starving so it was just meat and cheddar cheese nachos.
And guess what? Miss Picky Eater herself said they were the best ever! WHAAAAAT?!
And then while we were eating…we were discussing all the missing foods and how I swear I didn’t unpack them at the other house…and we discovered there was one cooler that got pushed aside in the other room. So now we have a full fridge.
What shall tomorrow bring?
Up until this point I’ve been going back and forth about sending the kids to school this fall. I even answered YES to the district survey about wanting a partial return. But this. These two Facebook posts have pretty much changed my mind.

This is long but totally worth the read. Especially if you are someone that wants/needs schools to open regardless of the risk and lack of logistical details provided to families and staff.
From Joe Morice, daughters in 8th & 10th grade in our Centreville Pyramid:
To our fellow FCPS families, this is it gang, 5 days until the 2 days in school vs. 100% virtual decision. Let’s talk it out, in my traditional mammoth TL/DR form.
Like all of you, I’ve seen my feed become a flood of anxiety and faux expertise. You’ll get no presumption of expertise here. This is how I am looking at and considering this issue and the positions people have taken in my feed and in the hundred or so FCPS discussion groups that have popped up. The lead comments in quotes are taken directly from my feed and those boards. Sometimes I try to rationalize them. Sometimes I’m just punching back at the void.
Full disclosure, we initially chose the 2 days option and are now having serious reservations. As I consider the positions and arguments I see in my feed, these are where my mind goes. Of note, when I started working on this piece at 12:19 PM today the COVID death tally in the United States stood at 133,420.
“My kids want to go back to school.”
I challenge that position. I believe what the kids desire is more abstract. I believe what they want is a return to normalcy. They want their idea of yesterday. And yesterday isn’t on the menu.
“I want my child in school so they can socialize.”
This was the principle reason for our 2 days decision. As I think more on it though, what do we think ‘social’ will look like? There aren’t going to be any lunch table groups, any lockers, any recess games, any study halls, any sitting next to friends, any talking to people in the hallway, any dances. All of that is off the menu. So, when we say that we want the kids to benefit from the social experience, what are we deluding ourselves into thinking in-building socialization will actually look like in the Fall?
“My kid is going to be left behind.”
Left behind who? The entire country is grappling with the same issue, leaving all children in the same quagmire. Who exactly would they be behind? I believe the rhetorical answer to that is “They’ll be behind where they should be,” to which I’ll counter that “where they should be” is a fictional goal post that we as a society have taken as gospel because it maps to standardized tests which are used to grade schools and counties as they chase funding.
“Classrooms are safe.”
At the current distancing guidelines from FCPS middle and high schools would have no more than 12 people (teachers + students) in a classroom (I acknowledge this number may change as FCPS considers the Commonwealth’s 3 ft with a mask vs. 6 ft position, noting that FCPS is all mask regardless of the distance). For the purpose of this discussion we’ll say classes run 45 minutes.
I posed the following question to 40 people today, representing professional and management roles in corporations, government agencies, and military commands: “Would your company or command have a 12 person, 45 minute meeting in a conference room?”
100% of them said no, they would not. These are some of their answers:
“No. Until further notice we are on Zoom.”
“(Our company) doesn’t allow us in (company space).”
“Oh hell no.”
“No absolutely not.”
“Is there a percentage lower than zero?”
“Something of that size would be virtual.”
We do not even consider putting our office employees into the same situation we are contemplating putting our children into. And let’s drive this point home: there are instances here when commanding officers will not put soldiers, ACTUAL SOLDIERS, into the kind of indoor environment we’re contemplating for our children. For me this is as close to a ‘kill shot’ argument as there is in this entire debate. How do we work from home because buildings with recycled air are not safe, because we don’t trust other people to not spread the virus, and then with the same breath send our children into buildings?
“Children only die .0016 of the time.”
First, conceding we’re an increasingly morally bankrupt society, but when did we start talking about children’s lives, or anyone’s lives, like this? This how the villain in movies talks about mortality, usually 10-15 minutes before the good guy kills him.
If you’re in this camp, and I acknowledge that many, many people are, I’m asking you to consider that number from a slightly different angle.
FCPS has 189,000 children. .0016 of that is 302. 302 dead children are the Calvary Hill you’re erecting your argument on. So, let’s agree to do this: stop presenting this as a data point. If this is your argument, I challenge you to have courage equal to your conviction. Go ahead, plant a flag on the internet and say, “Only 302 children will die.” No one will. That’s the kind action on social media that gets you fired from your job. And I trust our social media enclave isn’t so careless and irresponsible with life that it would even, for even a millisecond, enter any of your minds to make such an argument.
Considered another way: You’re presented with a bag with 189,000 $1 bills. You’re told that in the bag are 302 random bills, they look and feel just like all the others, but each one of those bills will kill you. Do you take the money out of the bag?
Same argument, applied to the 12,487 teachers in FCPS (per Wikipedia), using the ‘children’s multiplier’ of .0016 (all of us understanding the adult mortality rate is higher). That’s 20 teachers. That’s the number you’re talking about. It’s very easy to sit behind a keyboard and diminish and dismiss the risk you’re advocating other people assume. Take a breath and think about that.
If you want to advocate for 2 days a week, look, I’m looking for someone to convince me. But please, for the love of God, drop things like this from your argument. Because the people I know who’ve said things like this, I know they’re better people than this. They’re good people under incredible stress who let things slip out as their frustration boils over. So, please do the right thing and move on from this, because one potential outcome is that one day, you’re going to have to stand in front of St. Peter and answer for this, and that’s not going to be conversation you enjoy.
“Hardly any kids get COVID.”
(Deep sigh) Yes, that is statistically true as of this writing. But it is a cherry-picked argument because you’re leaving out an important piece.
One can reasonably argue that, due to the school closures in March, children have had the least EXPOSURE to COVID. In other words, closing schools was the one pandemic mitigation action we took that worked. There can be no discussion of the rate of diagnosis within children without also acknowledging they were among our fastest and most quarantined people. Put another way, you cannot cite the effect without acknowledging the cause.
“The flu kills more people every year.”
(Deep sigh). First of all, no, it doesn’t. Per the CDC, United States flu deaths average 20,000 annually. COVID, when I start writing here today, has killed 133,420 in six months.
And when you mention the flu, do you mean the disease that, if you’re suspected of having it, everyone, literally everyone in the country tells you stay the f- away from other people? You mean the one where parents are pretty sure their kids have it but send them to school anyway because they have a meeting that day, the one that every year causes massive f-ing outbreaks in schools because schools are petri dishes and it causes kids to miss weeks of school and leaves them out of sports and band for a month? That one? Because you’re right – the flu kills people every year. It does, but you’re ignoring the why. It’s because there are people who are a–holes who don’t care about infecting other people. In that regard it’s a perfect comparison to COVID.
“Almost everyone recovers.”
You’re confusing “release from the hospital” and “no longer infected” with “recovered.” I’m fortunate to only know two people who have had COVID. One my age and one my dad’s age. The one my age described it as “absolute hell” and although no longer infected cannot breathe right. The one my dad’s age was in the hospital for 13 weeks, had to have a trach ring put in because she could no longer be on a ventilator, and upon finally getting home and being faced with incalculable time in rehab told my mother, “I wish I had died.”
While I’m making every effort to reach objectivity, on this particular point, you don’t know what the f- you’re talking about.
“If people get sick, they get sick.”
First, you mistyped. What you intended to say was “If OTHER people get sick, they get sick.” And shame on you.
“I’m not going to live my life in fear.”
You already live your life in fear. For your health, your family’s health, your job, your retirement, terrorists, extremists, one political party or the other being in power, the new neighbors, an unexpected home repair, the next sunrise. What you meant to say was, “I’m not prepared to add ANOTHER fear,” and I’ve got news for you: that ship has sailed. It’s too late. There are two kinds of people, and only two: those that admit they’re afraid, and those that are lying to themselves about it.
As to the fear argument, fear is the reason you wait up when your kids stay out late, it’s the reason you tell your kids not to dive in the shallow water, to look both ways before crossing the road. Fear is the respect for the wide world that we teach our children. Except in this instance, for reasons no one has been able to explain to me yet.
“FCPS leadership sucks.”
I will summarize my view of the School Board thusly: if the 12 of you aren’t getting into a room together because it represents a risk, don’t tell me it’s OK for our kids. I understand your arguments, that we need the 2 days option for parents who can’t work from home, kids who don’t have internet or computer access, kids who needs meals from the school system, kids who need extra support to learn, and most tragically for kids who are at greater risk of abuse by being home. All very serious, all very real issues, all heartbreaking. No argument.
But you must first lead by example. Because you’re failing when it comes to optics. All your meetings are online. What our children see is all of you on a Zoom telling them it’s OK for them to be exactly where you aren’t. I understand you’re not PR people, but you really should think about hiring some.
“I talked it over with my kids.”
Let’s put aside for a moment the concept of adults effectively deferring this decision to children, the same children who will continue to stuff things into a full trash can rather than change it out. Yes, those hygienic children.
Listen, my 15 year old daughter wants a sport car, which she’s not getting next year because it would be dangerous to her and to others. Those kinds of decisions are our job. We step in and decide as parents, we don’t let them expose themselves to risks because their still developing and screen addicted brains narrow their understanding of cause and effect.
We as parents and adults serve to make difficult decisions. Sometimes those are in the form of lessons, where we try to steer kids towards the right answer and are willing to let them make a mistake in the hopes of teaching better decision making the next time around. This is not one of those moments. The stakes are too high for that. This is a “the adults are talking” moment. Kids are not mature enough for this moment. That is not an attack on your child. It is a broad statement about all children. It is true of your children and it was true when we were children. We need to be doing that thinking here, and “Johnny wants to see Bobby at school” cannot be the prevailing element in the equation.
“The teachers need to do their job.”
How is it that the same society which abruptly shifted to virtual students only three months ago, and offered glowing endorsements of teachers stating, “we finally understand how difficult your job is,” has now shifted to “screw you, do your job.” There are myriad problems with that position but for the purposes of this piece let’s simply go with, “You’re not looking for a teacher, you’re looking for the babysitter you feel your property tax payment entitles you to.”
“Teachers have a greater chance to being killed by a car than they do of dying from COVID.”
(Eye roll) Per the Insurance Institute for Highway Safety (IIHS), the U.S. see approximately 36,000 auto fatalities a year. Again, there have been 133,420 COVID deaths in the United States through 12:09 July 10, 2020. So no, they do not have a great chance of being killed in a car accident.
And, if you want to take the actual environment into consideration, the odds of a teacher being killed in a car accident in their classroom, you know, the environment we’re actually talking about, that’s right around 0%.
“If the grocery store workers can be onsite what are the teachers afraid of?”
(Deep breath) A grocery store worker, who absolutely risks exposure, has either six feet of space or a plexiglass shield between them and individual adult customers who can grasp their own mortality whose transactions can be completed in moments, in a 40,000 SF space.
A teacher is with 11 ‘customers’ who have not an inkling what mortality is, for 45 minutes, in a 675 SF space, six times a day.
Just stop.
“Teachers are choosing remote because they don’t want to work.”
(Deep breaths) Many teachers are opting to be remote. That is not a vacation. They’re requesting to do their job at a safer site. Just like many, many people who work in buildings with recycled air have done. And likely the building you’re not going into has a newer and better serviced air system than our schools.
Of greater interest to me is the number of teachers choosing the 100% virtual option for their children. The people who spend the most time in the buildings are the same ones electing not to send their children into those buildings. That’s something I pay attention to.
“I wasn’t prepared to be a parent 24/7” and “I just need a break.”
I truly, deeply respect that honesty. Truth be told, both arguments have crossed my mind. Pre COVID, I routinely worked from home 1 – 2 days a week. The solace was nice. When I was in the office, I had an actual office, a room with a door I could close, where I could focus. During the quarantine that hasn’t always been the case. I’ve been frustrated, I’ve been short, I’ve gone to just take a drive and get the hell away for a moment and been disgusted when one of the kids sees me and asks me to come for a ride, robbing me of those minutes of silence. You want to hear silence. I get it. I really, really do.
Here’s another version of that, admittedly extreme. What if one of our kids becomes one of the 302? What’s that silence going to sound like? What if you have one of those matted frames where you add the kid’s school picture every year? What if you don’t get to finish the pictures?
“What does your gut tell you to do?”
Shawn and I have talked ad infinitum about all of these and other points. Two days ago, at mid-discussion I said, “Stop, right now, gut answer, what is it,” and we both said, “virtual.”
A lot of the arguments I hear people making for the 2 days sound like we’re trying to talk ourselves into ignoring our instincts, they are almost exclusively, “We’re doing 2 days, but…”. There’s a fantastic book by Gavin de Becker, The Gift of Fear, which I’ll minimize for you thusly: your gut instinct is a hardwired part of your brain and you should listen to it. In the introduction he talks about elevators, and how, of all living things, humans are the only ones that would voluntarily get into a soundproof steel box with a potential predator just so they could skip a flight of stairs.
I keep thinking that the 2 days option is the soundproof steel box. I welcome, damn, beg, anyone to convince me otherwise.
At the time I started writing at 12:09 PM, 133,420 Americans had died from COVID. Upon completing this draft at 7:04 PM, that number rose to 133,940.
520 Americans died of COVID while I was working on this. In seven hours.
The length of a school day.
Just a neighborhood friend (and her cousin) over for some slip and slide fun. Plus ice cream.


And then a Bundt cake with our friends later.

Daddy and Owen were painting the garage while Katie was having her waterslide party. Yes, it’s purple. We only use Home Depot or Menards “oops” paint colors ($30 vs $120 for five gallons) for garages so it was bright peach or this. We figured the purple was meant to be.
Also, Tom’s sprayer died about 3/4 of the way through…so we ended up buying a new one. We hated to spend the money but he will definitely use it for future projects.



Once we showed up to check on them, of course Katie wanted to paint, too…so we let Katie do her name.


Give this girl some empty space and this happens. Constantly. Needless to say she loves the new house.
Complete with birthday shirt, unicorn tail headband, and the shoes (heels!) she thought were appropriate to wear to work at the new house. Also, pose 2 was ALL her.



When you wake up at 5am with an idea to hopefully make Katie’s pool noodle birthday candles a bit better (adding the letters) …and you’re hoping the rain stops so the whole thing doesn’t get ruined (because you were cheap and used the cardboard school folders instead of going to Target or Walmart to find the plastic ones) …but who expected it to storm this week (it’s never rained once on her birthday) …so you were taping candle flames to the sticks in the rain in your PJs (hoping the neighbors weren’t watching because the PJs were too short for public). Oh, and Tom put the letters facing the house instead of facing the street, so that required a last-minute complete rearrangement (because the letters were already pinned on—because we already moved the glue gun/craft bin to the new house). Phew.
But she LOVED it so that’s all that matters, right?


Katie’s hair still doesn’t really seem to grow much—even after almost a full year—but I figured a cut was a good birthday treat!
Masks on!

She didn’t believe me that you could tell if someone was smiling (or not) under the mask…






This was last year. Okay maybe it grew an inch or so? And it looks like the curl changed a little? Still not as much as I’d expect after a year.

Since the kids have bigger rooms, I thought it was time to have desks. Owen’s matches his room perfectly.

Katie’s is smaller since she’s probably also going to have the drawing table in there.

Playing while Mom and Dad work.

After some last-minute drama (with getting the funds wired the morning of)…it’s a done deal. We are now the proud owners of a 30-year mortgage! But it’s seriously our dream house and we couldn’t be happier. Tom and I just keep saying What did we do?! Oh yeah, we bought a house THAT WE LOVE.
I mean, we have purchased two houses in the past and they were both great for us at the time but we never loved them. We. LOVE this. house. (Is it perfect? Of course not. But does it check all of our boxes? Minus a lazy river and a four car garage… Yes.)


And then Anna brought the kids over…and was our family photographer!!



I dropped my mask getting out of the car at the closing offfice and OF COURSE IT’S RAINING TODAY and it immediately got soaked so I had to use whatever mask was in the car so Katie’s it was! (normally I have a bunch in the car for back up but I had washed all of them the night before.)

On our way to buy a house!

After a few weeks of randomly talking with Owen, he finally decided that it’s not really for him.
If I’m being honest, I might have been secretly leading him into the decision because we’ve watched him for the past few months and he just doesn’t care about doing any of it when he’s not actively at a meeting. It’s frustrating because he seems to be excited about it all during a meeting or at an event but then as soon as the meeting is done, he doesn’t think about it until the next meeting.
I feel kinda guilty because I really did want him to love it and I wanted him to have something to do besides baseball, but we don’t have the time or inkling to really get on him or make it a big deal. He hasn’t finished a single badge since distancing started while his friends have worked through a bunch of them. Also, this wasn’t really the optimal time to start scouts since scouts is really hands on and you can’t do much when you’re social distancing. If you’re not self-motivated it’s much harder. And Owen really isn’t one to self-motivate.
So, it was about a $250 experience.
Plus they’re cute. And I guess she’s cute, too.

The kids started by catching fireflies. They were actually pretty good at it. Katie set these on the table and they stayed there long enough for me to get a photo—half on and half off!

Soon the fireworks came out. We started small.

The kids were at a respectable distance.


But the second one we did—a Panda—got a little crazy. It started small but then the second phase got insane and sparks were reaching the kids. Needless to say everyone immediately moved back!


Then they did some individual ones—each kid got to hold one and I managed to snap this awesome pic of Owen.

The dads got involved, too.


We have a garage door opener to store some stuff before we move in…so of course the kids wanted to see the house again.


Tom and I innocently went to a local artisan shop today to get some ideas for the new house and one of the very last things we saw was this desk/hutch. We had actually been looking at desks for the kids rooms (since they’re bigger) and even a basic Ikea piece is like $100 (and not real wood). So I had a hard time passing this up. (Of course Tom could build something like this but he just doesn’t have the time.) So this will be Owen’s new desk… Something he can definitely grow into and something that we can paint over the years if we need to. Now we just have to go pick it up next week after we close!
