Month: December 2020

For years Little Big Boss (LBB) (13) and That Dude (TD) (11) have bemoaned our lack of holiday inflatables in a neighborhood awash with them. I at last relented this year—first at Halloween, then at Christmas—desperate to bring them surprise and delight in this tough year. (“I shopped my way out. Bought up everything I could see…”) The Halloween Jack-o’-lanterns were no trouble at all, functioning flawlessly from the start. The JOY, however, has been more troublesome. It runs on a timer, scheduled to arise in triumph at the same time the outdoor lights turn on. But LBB and I (apparently) unwittingly set it up too close to the house.

Invariably at least one of the letters gets caught under the bottom of the bump-out each day, and just struggles there sadly—as if the Wicked Witch of the West had survived Dorothy’s house falling on her—until I remember to set matters to right. Since mid-December, we’ve displayed “J,” “O,” “Y,” “JY,” “JO,” and—of course—the 2020-perfect “OY” for some amount of time each day. Prince claimed, “There is joy in repetition,” and indeed, I have repeatedly fixed our “JOY,” every blessed day since we set it up. Except for Christmas itself, when we left it down due to stormy conditions in the forecast. No JOY for Christmas for us! The day after Christmas, I found giant chunks of ice had formed all over it in its deflated state on the ground. I peeled the glaciers off as carefully as I could, fingers crossed that I wouldn’t tear apart our JOY during its seasonal debut. Fortunately, I did not.

Every time I have thought to reposition the inflatable and put a stop to this nonsense, it has been too windy or too dark or too cold. And then the thought leaves my head again until it is too windy or too cold or too dark. At this point, as we contemplate when to start packing up the decorations, I am genuinely curious every evening to find out what mischief JOY has gotten into this time: Which letters will be trapped under the house and need freeing? Which one will be wrapped around itself and need untwisting? Most importantly, will JOY ever arise triumphant without help? Um, no. Because joy takes work, work that I rediscover each day I am willing to do. (Work that may or may not include finding JOY in another location next year.)

On Thanksgiving day, I posted on my Facebook page a photo collage of my family’s 2020 Virtual Turkey Trot experience. I proudly announced that Big Daddy, Little Big Boss (LBB), That Dude (TD), and I had paid for the privilege of meandering about our own neighborhood in snazzy matching T-shirts. That snapshot shows one version of events: the TL;DR idyll of a suburban American family spending some healthy, safe holiday time together and–bonus!–earning some credit toward the impending carbo-ganza. Check and check. But there’s another version of our early morning 5K, my friends, and it is U.G.L.Y. (As in “you-ain’t-got-no-alibi ugly,” for those of you who went to high school sporting events in PG County, Maryland in the late 1980s. For those of you who didn’t, you’re just going to have to take the leap of faith that U.G.L.Y. is very, very, super ugly.)

In the two months between sign up and race day, I largely failed at getting my teammates to train with me. Last year, LBB (13) and TD (11) participated with me in a “real” Turkey Trot, one that involved timing chips, free snacks at the end, and a lot of other human beings with whom they hadn’t been trapped on Coronavirus Island for the last 8+ months. Getting them motivated to prepare for the 2020 event was understandably challenging, but it’s not as if I set the bar very high. When I am going for a “run,” I always use air quotes to remind everyone that I will not really be running. I alternate between a brisk walk and a slow jog. (TD swears my walking pace is in fact faster than my jogging pace due to my comically small “running” stride. He might not be wrong. Mama’s not trying to eat concrete any more often than absolutely necessary.) Still, my offspring rejected a good 80% of my training invites. When LBB did come along, she refused to interval (or wear proper sneakers). When TD accompanied me, he’d invariably poop out at the halfway point, skillfully leveraging our house’s central location in the neighborhood. Big Daddy was willing to do the full course, but our schedules rarely aligned to train together.

All that left me mostly on my own for training. I’d make my way methodically around the neighborhood every couple of days, listening to tunes, using my interval app, trying to improve my time little by little. I was feeling ready as Turkey Day approached. The night before the race, I announced we’d be shooting for a start time of between 7:45 a.m. and 8:00 a.m. LBB was on board; this plan would get her back inside in time for the Macy’s parade. TD responded with an “OK,” which could indicate anything from actual concurrence to “there’s no chance I’m going to willingly cooperate with you on this.” I chose to interpret it as the former, and went to bed Wednesday night with hope in my heart for some quality family time out there on the course.

Race day dawned with slightly overcast skies, temps in the low 60s, and no wind: ideal conditions. I was up and going in time to do cute race hair (Minnie Mouse buns) and to sidewalk chalk the Start and Finish lines on the corner for a more authentic trot experience. By 7:30 a.m., Big Daddy and LBB were diligently preparing themselves to run as well, but TD had shown zero signs of getting out of bed. He’s almost always up and about by 7:00 a.m., so I went in to shake his fake-sleeping self “awake.”

“Time to get ready for the run.”

TD adopted Oscar-worthy groggy mode. “Wait. Whaaaat? Is that today? I’m so tired.”

“We’re starting within the next 30 minutes.”

“I caaaaan’t. I’m sooooo tired.”

“Yeah, nice try. We’re doing this. I’ve been telling you for 2 months that we’re doing this. I told you last night we were doing this.”

“But it’s soooo early.”

“It’s really not. Get yourself together. I’ll be checking on your progress shortly.”

I headed downstairs and made myself half a slice of peanut butter toast. When I ventured back upstairs 10 minutes later, TD has moved from his bed to the couch in the office, staring at a computer screen. I threw my head back, stared at the ceiling, and exhaled loudly.

“What’s wrong, Mom?”

“You’re supposed to be getting ready for the Turkey Trot.”

“I am getting ready.”

“You haven’t changed yet, and I am going to guess that you haven’t brushed your teeth or been to the bathroom yet.”

“Yeah, no. I’m preparing my mind.”

“By doing stuff on the computer? Be out front in 5 minutes.”

I returned to the Start Line to find LBB itching to get underway. She had a parade to watch at 9 a.m., after all, and the clock was ticking. I reluctantly declared a staggered start, and bid her and her father adieu, as my vision of happy family fun run time absorbed another blow. They were out of sight up the first hill by the time TD stumbled out of the house, one shoe on, the other in his right hand.

“They left without us?”

“I sent them ahead. It’s you and me, dude.”

As soon as he finished shoving his other foot into his shoe, I started my timer and we set off up the hill. No more than 90 seconds in, he complained once again about how exhausted he was and how I walk too fast but run too slow. We were probably about 5 minutes behind Big Daddy and LBB, but we didn’t see them coming back down the first court for complicated reasons involving courts off of courts on the course (which you must now say aloud quickly five times before reading any further). TD and I kept muddling along, and his running commentary of lament prompted me to abandon any thoughts of listening to music. We caught sight of Big Daddy again about halfway through when he was gliding down the biggest hill on the course on the other side of the street from us. TD and I had just paused for a shoe-tying break (his, not mine) when we saw Big Daddy, no LBB to be found, despite all of his pre-race assurances to her that they would stick together. Another minute or so up the hill, LBB popped into view, stomping down the other side of the street, her stare fixed straight ahead. We called and waved; she made a brief, curt movement with her left hand that appeared to be directed toward us. This was going well.

I tried valiantly to stick to my intervaling strategy, and TD pretty much stuck with me, though he was definitely running his mouth with more dedication than his legs. Then, a bit under two-thirds of the way in, the course took us past our house again. TD pleaded to stop in for some water, but asked that I not leave him behind. The garage door was open; there was water in the second fridge. He could be in and out in seconds. Go for it, dude. As soon as he had my blessing, he seemed to start moving in slow motion. He lumbered up the driveway ponderously, meandered his way to the fridge, and slowly opened it. He planted himself before it, legs spread wide, left hand clamped to the open side, slightly hunched over, peering inside thoughtfully. It was as if he had stumbled upon a TV in there. A TV showing his favorite program. Several very long moments later, he called down to me as I stepped in place at the bottom of the driveway, “There’s no water bottles in here.”

“Sure there are.”

“They all look like they’ve been opened already.”

“Just pick one and come on.”

“OK, well, if you want me getting someone else’s germs in COVID times…”

“It would just be someone from the family’s germs.”

“No, I’m not doing that.”

“Then just come on.”

“I have to have water.”

“It’s a 5K, dude. We have like a mile left.”

“Just really need some water. I am going to stay here if I can’t get some water.”

Mostly everything in me wanted to leave him and his pitiful fake-dehydrated self at that point. But the part of me craving that happy family holiday time was powerful enough to propel me up the driveway to locate–practically immediately, of course–a pristine, unopened bottle of water on the fridge door. “Here you go!” He accepted it from me with eyes full of admiration for my Mom Power for finding things. Yet that admiration was apparently not enough to motivate him to truly get back on track. I set off briskly down the driveway and toward the next court, only to hear TD call out to me to slow down as he was still trying to unscrew the top off the water bottle. I turned around to find him lollygagging his way along the sidewalk, fiddling with the bottle. Something about his leisurely demeanor broke me. I was done being patient, done being a cheerleader, done with happy family fun run time. I called back,”You’re on your own, man!” and took off in a tearful huff.

The next court was one to be run twice. I lapped TD my second time around, finding him plodding along, drinking his water, carefree. “Hey, Mom, what’s up?” he offered casually as I chugged past him. “Oh, just out for a run!” I responded with an overly cheery tone through my tears. TD suddenly looked a bit concerned, but didn’t quicken his pace. My fury accelerated, fueling me not to a faster speed (alas!) but rather into a multitasking frenzy: I kept moving, tears still falling, and pulled up Hangouts to send TD a strongly worded text on my feelings about this situation. “Wow. Your willingness to sabotage my 5K experience is impressive.” TD did not have his phone on him, so there was no way he’d see the message in real time. And he never stoops to responding to my snarky messages anyway. But I needed to get it out. I would be waylaid no further by his shenanigans!!

I zoomed onward to the next court on the course, which also needed to be circled twice, and saw TD moving at a snail’s pace toward it as I completed my second lap. Then I headed for the front of the neighborhood, where I saw LBB making her return trip toward home, again on the opposite side of the street. I shouted to her from across the way to “finish strong”, and she gave me a friendly wave this time, having had a moment to forgive her father for ditching her and with her spirits further buoyed by the proximity of the finish line. I never crossed paths with Big Daddy again after our single encounter on the big hill, and realized he was probably done by now, waiting for the rest of us to trickle in. I completed the turnaround at the entrance to the neighborhood and headed for home myself, encountering TD as he was coming out of the second 2-lap court, presumably for the second time. He called dejectedly from across the street, “I don’t want to do the rest by myself!”

“I’m going to go finish, but I will circle back for you once I do.”

“Don’t leave me out here!”

“I’ll be back!”

I probably had about a quarter mile to the finish line by that point. TD had closer to three-quarters of a mile remaining. I didn’t look back again until I had crossed the line, shared high fives with Big Daddy and LBB who had cheered me in, and stopped my timer. But when I did look back, TD was making his way speedily up the quarter mile home stretch, barreling toward our house with a focus heretofore unseen during the race. There was no way he actually went all the way to the front of the neighborhood and turned around. Absolutely zero chance that he hadn’t just blatantly cheated. I stood there gobsmacked as Big Daddy and LBB yelled out encouragement to him as he ate up the last stretch of sidewalk on approach to the finish line. He crossed triumphantly, marveling at how he had really turned on the jets at the end. I immediately called him out on it, expecting him to sheepishly admit that he hadn’t gone the full distance. But he maintained that, indeed, he had gone all the way. He had suddenly found his inspiration and speed after our most recent encounter, and–lo and behold–here he was, a mere 2 minutes behind me. An amazing recovery and comeback! Downright astounding.

He would not be shaken from his story, no matter how pointed my questions, and Big Daddy gave me the side-eye and started gushing about how we should ALL feel a sense of accomplishment and should go inside and ENJOY our breakfast. The captain of Team LetItGo had spoken, even as I did mental calculations on which neighbors I might subpoena to acquire their security camera footage to determine where TD really did turn around.

And that is the U.G.L.Y. version of our Turkey Trot. Didn’t start all together. Each finished separately. Icy stares. Broken promises. Willful sabotage. Pathological lies. But still home in time for the parade. And probably signing up again next year. COVID willing, we might even make it out of the neighborhood.

We’ve been going to “Lights on the Bay”–Annapolis’s drive-through holiday lights display on the Chesapeake–since Little Big Boss (LBB) was in Kindergarten eight years ago. She brought home a flyer with a coupon for $5 off a weeknight visit, and a family tradition was born. A tradition that was even COVID-proof! Huzzah! No one brought home a coupon this year because no one is physically going to school, but—no matter—we were willing to pay full price to continue the annual trek.

We identified a date that Big Daddy wasn’t working—he’d been pulling a lot of evening shifts in recent weeks—and dutifully reserved a ticket for Saturday, December 19th. No need to choose a time; the ticket allowed for entry at any point from the 5 p.m. opening to the 10 p.m. close. We’d never had to buy a ticket in advance before, but I didn’t think much of it; a lot of things are different this year. We saddled up with happy hearts around 4:45 p.m. to make the 15-minute trip from home to Annapolis. Something normal! Something fun! Something together! Something outside the four walls of our own house!

I even remembered where I had put the 3D glasses that magically show you reindeer or snowmen around the lights. At least every other year I forget what “safe place” I have squirreled these away—or just don’t think about them at all—and we have to buy new ones. But not this year! We were ready.

And not only ready for Lights on the Bay. We planned to make an evening of it: coffee stop, donation drop, lights display, and then pick up a nice Italian dinner on the way home. A pretty ambitious outing for our crew in COVID times; we have stuck so very close to home that the real world’s kind of big and scary now. Still, the mood was light as we set out, chatting and listening to holiday tunes on the radio. Shortly into the drive, Big Daddy and I had to process the stunning realization that neither LBB nor That Dude (TD) know what Go Go music is or that Chuck Brown is the father of it. Parenting fail, for sure, but fixable. We drove on undeterred.

First stop: fancy coffee. I am not much of a Starbucks person. Ordering there elevates my heart rate and makes my palms sweat. So complicated. So hard to sound smooth. So much to pay to stress myself out. So I usually just don’t go. An unforeseen side effect of this aversion is that LBB and TD consider Starbucks a MEGA TREAT. I didn’t realize quite how into it they were until I took them on a whim the first Saturday in December. TD asked with excitement whether we could come every Saturday. LBB—more in tune with Mama’s redlines than TD tends to be—declared there was NO WAY I would agree to that. She was stunned when I proposed “Saturday Starbucks in December.” Anything to get these kiddos out of the house a bit more and lift their spirits.

Armed with a Grande Caramel Brulee Latte, a Grande Nonfat Caramel Brulee Latte, a Grande Cinnamon Dolce Latte, and a Grande Peppermint Hot Chocolate, we journeyed to the nearby hotel that was accepting donations for a backpacks for the homeless program that—in a normal year—LBB and TD help pack the bags for. LBB came in with me to drop off the blankets we had brought, and we took a minute to appreciate the holiday decorations and lights that gave the lobby a warm, festive glow. On our way back to the van, LBB observed wryly, “Now I can say that I have been to a hotel in 2020.” Indeed you have, girlfriend.

On to the main event. We hopped back on Route 50 East to make our way to Sandy Point State Park where Lights on the Bay takes place. We hummed along for a bit before ending up in traffic backed up in the right lane nearly a full exit before the park. Surely this wasn’t Lights on the Bay traffic? There must be an accident—or some sort of other glitch. It was about 5:45 p.m. by this point. Maybe vehicles entering the park hadn’t quite hit their rhythm yet following the 5 p.m. opening and a bit more time was needed to stretch the accordion out. We’d sip our Starbucks seasonal beverages, enjoy each other’s company, and hold tight. No problem. Our driver, Big Daddy, would aggressively ensure that no would-be line cutters could get in front of our van, an activity which he takes VERY SERIOUSLY and results in those cheaters and scofflaws securing spots even further ahead of us than if we had let them in ourselves. Happy Holidays!

We entered a weird time warp at this point, so committed to this tradition that we batted not an eye at advancing perhaps 50 car lengths in as many minutes. We listened to more holiday music, played some guessing games, continued to enjoy our Starbucks. Everything was fine. LBB and TD were actually getting along. We cheered each new milestone achieved: off the highway, on the actual exit ramp, around another big bend. We scoffed at the U-turn bail-outs from the line—marveling that they would abandon the quest so far in. We called them quitters. We got out the 3D glasses to discover (and delight) in the fact that we could turn the moon into a reindeer. LBB and TD busily swapped playlist recommendations, complete with 45-second audio samples for the whole family to experience.

At the 90 minutes and counting mark, our collective good cheer began to waver. I finally did the math on why there are only ever coupons for weeknight visits and why advance tickets were required on weekends. Big Daddy asserted that we had been behind an SUV with Minnesota plates long enough to invite them into our COVID bubble. LBB and TD remembered that they hate each and started trashing each other’s taste in music. Everyone but Big Daddy’s Starbucks was long gone. Our window for a big pasta dinner had already closed. Minnesota traitorously bailed out on us with no warning. But hope remained for us for Lights on the Bay. We had turned on to the final straightaway into the park. Traffic was still moving slowly, but the pace of the creep had definitely picked up. We had made it so far!

And then—the undoing. TD gave voice to those four words every road-tripping parent everywhere throughout the history of road trips dreads: “I need to pee.” I knew the jig was up as soon as he said it. We were on a bridge; there was no brush to hide in. And LBB would NEVER EVER consent to TD peeing in a cup in the van. She would sooner walk the 15 miles home than be even an auditory witness to such horror. Big Daddy wondered if I might walk TD up the road a bit beyond the bridge to a more discreet location. Alas, I also needed to pee (and probably had well before TD’s announcement) and thus could not safely take such a stroll. Besides, we were realistically looking at another 45 minutes to an hour of waiting. During our Disney vacation in 2019, we—with our coveted Fast Passes—mocked guests who waited 3+ hours for Avatar, one of the most breathtaking amusement park attractions ever created. Were we really going to wait 3+ hours for a drive-through lights show we’d seen nearly 10 times?

An escape toward home was available a hundred yards up the road. Big Daddy and I held a silent eyebrow talk to decide the matter, and then broke it to the kiddos. TD was relieved to know he’d soon be…relieved, but LBB was livid. All the careful planning. All the patient waiting. For what? A very long drive for Starbucks? No lights, no Chicken Fettuccine Alfredo. Everything undone by a Saturday night crowd and not just one, but two tiny bladders. We hopped back on the highway as soon as we could, LBB weeping dramatically in the seat behind me.

I suggested to Big Daddy that we head for a Wendy’s that I knew was a couple exits up; we could solve our bladder and hunger issues in a single stop. He cruised by the turn-off, explaining that we would have to cross to the other side of the highway to get to the Wendy’s. WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? We just tanked two hours of waiting for Lights on the Bay so that TD (and I) could get to the facilities POST HASTE, and you don’t want to take the exit because the proposed destination is on the left side of the road? Instead, we drove for 5 more minutes down the road to a different exit so that we could drive another 10 minutes to a Kohl’s which—phew!—was on the right side of the road. We had driven nearly long enough to have been home if we had taken a direct route. Sadness.

As fate would obviously decree for this outing, Kohl’s consistently puts their restrooms ALL THE WAY in the back of their stores, so TD and I had to sprint a respectable distance to make it to the promised land. My easily distracted sidekick—having not seen the inside of a retail establishment for months—earnestly asked if we might do some shopping on our way back out. I said, “Sure.” We’d get to scratch TD’s itch AND make Big Daddy wait awhile—as we had so recently been made to wait. Win-win.

When we eventually moseyed our way back to the van, LBB had stopped crying but was not speaking to anyone. We were now well into the 8 pm hour having eaten no dinner, making the van a mobile ticking time bomb. We resumed our journey home, but Big Daddy soon pulled into a McDonald’s on the left side of the road (almost immediately after passing a McDonald’s on the right side of the road)—belated and bitter evidence that Big Daddy can make stops on the left when he is good and ready to. LBB declined to place an order in protest of being promised good pasta and somehow landing at Mickey D’s. She even rejected the McDouble Big Daddy ordered on her behalf in case she changed her mind. (She told me later she ate Pringles and a box of raisins for dinner once we finally made it home.) I spent the rest of the ride home dipping nuggets in sweet-n-sour sauce and staring moodily out the window feeling sorry for myself, being salty with Big Daddy, wishing my teen and pre-teen got along better.

Yet by some miracle—a Christmas miracle, if you will—this Saturday night misadventure did not deter us from making another run at it two days later. As families, as humans, it’s the only sensible way. Stay hopeful. Keep trying. Get back up again. We got our 2020 Lights on the Bay fix in the end—on a Monday, using the ticket from Saturday. No Starbucks on the second attempt and saved the good pasta for Christmas Eve, but the tradition lives on, proving COVID-proof after all. Minnesota, if you’re out there, we hope you gave it another shot, too!