Love Shows Up

One afternoon when I was maybe four years old, my mom took my toddler brother and me to run some errands. We were in a car wreck; I got a bump on the head and the Chevrolet Nova was really banged up but all was otherwise OK. My mom, brother and I waited in a police squad for the tow truck and a ride. My dad came, of course, but was so distracted, out of his mind I imagine with worry, that he ended up getting in a minor crash himself on the way to the scene.

A couple years later, just as I was about to begin first grade, I woke one morning to find my father sitting on the sofa in tears. When I asked what was wrong, Mom explained that Dad’s mom had gotten very sick during the night and may die. She would surrender her life later that day, but not before my parents packed up three children including my four-month-old sister and drove the two hours so my dad could be with his siblings at their mother’s bedside.

As a tween, I remember once waking in the middle of the night with a stomach bug. I lifted my head from the bathroom floor to my mom leaning against the door jam sighing, “Thank you for making it to the toilet.” My mama is the most wonderful in so many ways but she does not have a mastery of vomit (a trait I inherited and so much appreciate.) It was ironic, though, because during those same years my dad went through a series of ear surgeries. The usual post-op effects combined with messing with the inner ear is a recipe for dizzy, barfy times. We were kids; we hid. But his wife was by his bedside, soldiering through the messes and smells and delivering the care.

My parents helped Todd and me and my siblings and their spouses build houses and landscape yards and move, again and again, long after they had sworn to hire people to do this work for them in their own home, their own lives. They slept on an air mattress in my sister’s basement and cared for her children so many nights and days while my sister was hospitalized trying to hold onto a baby or saying goodbye to a baby or in the neonatal intensive care unit caring for a tiny baby. Mom and Dad come to every grandchild’s soccer game, choir concert, basketball tournament, church reading, play performance, school program, and any other event in which the kids can possibly partake, and they bring cards and gifts.

Today is my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary. Wow. I remember when my grandparents celebrated that golden milestone with a big party. I remember being a kid when other couples would honor the day with a blessing during mass and I thought, Wow, that’s a long time and, wow, those people are old. Dad and Mom did that, too, even though they’re clearly super-youthful and my childhood mind was clearly mistaken.

Prior to the blessing mass and now this actual, blessed day, my parents decided to mark the big occasion by taking their family— all 21 of us— on a weeklong, all-inclusive, Caribbean vacation. It was a year in planning, spun with pandemic concerns, and can you imagine the price tag?! It was the greatest gift. Sure, I mean, I’ll never turn up my nose at luxurious accommodations, gourmet meals, 24-hour espresso, unlimited mojitos, sunshine and sand, hours to read, and so many laughs with my loves. Yet, the gift was TIME together, to enjoy one another, to appreciate our beloved family and all we’ve weathered and all we mean to each other. 

 

Do Ted and Noel have a perfect marriage? I doubt it; I don’t think there is such a thing. Some days we may question their love for one another, feel pretty sure they do not like one another. That’s how some days go. What’s more, no one— and I mean no one— knows what goes on in another’s marriage. I’m sure there have been hardships and trials about which I as a daughter am unaware, and I prefer it this way. Among all the things my parents have taught me, here is the biggest lesson, the celebration of their 50 years in holy matrimony: LOVE SHOWS UP.

Thank you, Mom and Dad, for your persistent example of love, commitment, faithfulness. Because of you, I do my best to always show up for those I love. Because of you, I have so much and so many to love. Happy, happy anniversary! Jesus loves you and we all do, endlessly, too.

The Way He Thought About It

 Yesterday was our wedding anniversary and I spent much of the day thinking of my father-in-law.  Hear me out-- it might not be as weird as you think.

Todd and I were married on a brilliant, fall day, 24 years ago.  That day, Harlan did not become my father-in-law, as his wedding to Todd's mom was still several months away.  But, Harlan was there, grinning, with my mother-in-law on his arm.  They were happily married for 18 years before esophageal cancer took him from all of us, far too soon.

Our wedding day was in mid-October, exactly six presidential elections ago.  That means just a couple weeks after Todd and I said our vows, our nation elected (re-elected) a leader.  If I really think about it, I can remember who was running for president.  If I think even harder, I know who I voted for.  Between our wedding day and Election Day, Todd and I honeymooned in Hawaii.  I don't remember rallies at airports, campaign signs in yards, or the barrage of 24-hour commentary from partisan outlets.  Maybe these things happened, but they were not all-consuming. Maybe Todd and I talked about the election, but it was far from the only thing we talked about.

My husband's stepfather was an intelligent, well-read, civically engaged, thoughtful, kind man.  Harlan was one of my favorite people to share a conversation with.  Whether we were discussing child-rearing, scripture, volunteer opportunities, Costa Rican farming practices, ice cream flavors, or, yes, even politics, Harlan typically weighed in by saying something along the lines of:

"That makes sense."

"Oh, really?"

"I can see why you would feel that way."

"That seems reasonable."

"I never thought about it that way."

He wasn't disengaged.  He wasn't dim.  He wasn't preoccupied.  He wasn't malleable.  Harlan was kind and compassionate and secure in his own beliefs so as to not feel threatened by others.  Did Harlan have opinions, even political ones?  Absolutely.  Did they always line up with my pushy, myopic, contradictory views?  Probably not.  Did it matter?  Well, it sure didn't matter to me and, if it did to Harlan, he was a veritable genie at masking his own feelings to protect mine.

It's a bit ironic that Harlan was actually quite politically involved and politically motivated.  I knew him to have friends who were well appointed and connected with a political party.  He even collected memorabilia from one party.  Though I cannot recall, he may have had campaign signs in his yard; but, if he did, I guarantee they didn't say "IDIOT" or "BULLSHIT" as read current signs-- on behalf of both major parties-- lining city streets and assaulting witnesses daily.

I don't know what Harlan would think of this current presidential election.  I am sure he would have a way to handle it all with grace and wisdom and would hopefully share that with the rest of us.  I think he would be disappointed, discouraged by all the cackling and whooping, name-calling, baseless accusations, outrageous claims and overall bad behavior.  I know he would never take part.

Today, a co-worker confided in me, "I wish you were working Election Night."  I confess, I am a bit disappointed to not be assigned extra work after completing my daily news show on Election Day.  It is always an exciting time to be in television news.  But, things are strange right now, and since I am one of the producers working remotely in the pandemic, I am guessing there are not a lot of jobs my supervisors would need filled that I could actually do from my basement set-up.  So it is.  But my co-worker went on, "I'm just afraid.  I wish I had you as a friendly face in the newsroom because, depending on how results come in, some of the people are going to get really angry."

Last week, a relative shared he's scared of what will happen to America-- to us-- on Election Day.  "I'm afraid there will be violence, that people will hurt each other."  Based on what we've seen and experienced as Americans this year, I don't think that fear is without merit.  I told him I understood and I was afraid, too.

I don't know if Harlan would have been afraid, but I am glad he is not here (at least not in the way we think) to see and hear and experience all this hatred.  I admired Harlan, the way he loved my MIL, the way he took care of my sister-in-law, the way he adored my children.  I strive to treat others the way Harlan treated me, to look down the table, lean back in my chair, nod slowly and say, "I never thought about it that way."

How Deep the Father’s Love for Us

When I ponder the unfathomable— the Lord’s love for us— I often think of our own family, how deeply I love my own children. My brain knows God loves each of us infinitely more than I love each of my children... but my heart does not begin to understand how that might be possible. Sure, sure, they are not really my children... we are all God’s children... but I LOVE THEM SO MUCH. It seems like I must love them more than other mothers love their children, at least as much as God loves us.

Through all my fears and failings, I pray my children know how much I love them. I am not physically affectionate by nature. I don’t effuse compliments. I don’t condone lavish gifts. I don’t gush over them to others. I sigh; I point out room for improvement; I yell; I run away to Kwik Trip. Then, I lose sleep over the many ways I am failing them. But I LOVE THEM SO MUCH and would, like any good mother, lay down my life without blinking.

This evening, we came to the end of a hard day. I was crabby and had just scolded a child, several children, for being unhelpful and thoughtless. We have had a lot of such days. My youngest came to me before I could go to her to say good night. She is the fiercest hugger, and she clung to me. “I love you, Mom,” she hissed into my shoulder. “I love you more,” I told her back. She pulled away, stared with such intensity and vowed, “That’s not even possible.”

She was so sincere I nearly believed her. In that moment, I saw the Father’s love for me. I knew she knew how much I love her. My precious, beloved child of God.

Gua

On Monday evening, as Benjamin's birthday celebration was winding down, my mom called me to let me know my grandma, her mom, had died.  Lucia Josefine Wirkus Althoff was 104 years old.  (The last few months, she told everyone she was 105... but that would not have happened until September.)  Hers was a long and full life-- that goes without saying.  Hers was a complicated life, as I guess they all are.  Hers is not my story to tell, and I wouldn't even try.  I do want to record some of my thoughts on the love and loss of this woman.  First, here is the obituary of record:

LUCILLE J. ALTHOFF ~ DODGE CENTER

Wednesday, July 15th, 2020

Lucille J. Althoff, 104, of Dodge Center, MN died July 13, 2020 at Fieldcrest Care Center in Hayfield, MN. Lucille was born September 18, 1915 in Grenville, SD to Kazmir and Josephine (Koslowski) Wirkus.

Lou married Frank E. Althoff  September 2, 1941 in Detroit Lakes, MN. They lived in various cities in Minnesota before settling in Dodge Center in 1950 to raise their children. They moved to Zumbrota, MN in 1970 and returned to Dodge Center in 1982.

Lou is survived by her children Patricia Norlin of Dodge Center, MN, Michael (Suzanne) Althoff of Burnsville, MN, Melinda (Wesley) Allen of Newport News, VA, and Noel (Ted) Paukert of Maple Lake, MN; 15 grandchildren, 35 great-grandchildren, 3 great-great grandchildren; brother, John Wirkus of Green Valley, AZ and several nieces and nephews.

She was preceded in death by her husband Frank in 1996, three sisters, five brothers and one son-in-law.

Private graveside services will be held at a later date.

I was not the closest person to her, nor was I the most distant.  I loved her.  I appreciated her and I had a deep respect for all she had experienced and how she had persevered.

All we grandchildren called her "Gua" and my grandpa "Buppa."  I could be getting it wrong, but, as I understand, the monikers came about because that's how another cousin pronounced Grandma and Grandpa.  The names stuck.  Everyone in my life knows her as Gua.  At the nursing home where she spent her final 14 months-- yes, you read that right-- just over a year in her nearly 105, they called her "Gramma."  Naturally, most of the residents there were grandparents, but she was considered the Gramma of them all.  You'll notice the discrepancy between Gua's full name as I listed it and as it reads in the obituary.  That is another story I'm never sure I have right, but I've seen her birth certificate, so there are facts and there is perception.

My mother is the youngest of Gua's children.  Marriage and employment opportunities took our family several hours away from the small town where my mom and her siblings were raised.  The distance and the age meant our visits were less frequent and our relationships maybe not as tightly knit as some others were.  They still mattered to us, and I like to think we all did the best we could.

My grandparents lived in a mobile home in a well tended park.  Nearby was the town recreation area with wide, open spaces and an outdoor pool.  How I loved visiting as a child, especially in the summer, when we could have a backyard picnic, swinging my legs in a striped-canvas sling chair, and then getting a coveted quarter-- or was it a dollar?-- to walk through the trees and across the field to offer my admission to the pool attendant.  Gua and Buppa and my parents would trail as spectators.  When we spent the night, my siblings and I took over the front room.  There were twin beds for my brother and me, end-to-end and corner-to-corner, and a pillow-and-quilt creation covered the remaining floor space for our sister.  Our parents slept on a fold-out sofa bed on the porch.

When Todd and I visited my grandparents to tell them we were engaged to be married, Gua said, "Oh, no! What would you do that for?"  She and her husband were married 55 years before his death from lung cancer, just two months after our wedding. I'm sure their marriage was not perfect, but they were committed to one another, appreciated one another, and, boy, did they love to dance.

In the year following our wedding and Buppa's death, I took a job as the evening newscast producer at a small television station in the market where Gua lived.  She could see my work on a daily basis, and I was living close enough to visit on a weekly basis.  We soon developed a weekly date.  I would meet her in the morning, either at her home or at the casino.  She occasionally took bus trips with other senior citizens.  We would run errands and go out to lunch, arguing over who should pay the bill, and then go back to her place to watch "The Bold and the Beautiful" before I had to leave for work.  One of her favorite stories is how she pointed out to me that her small town of Dodge Center was not listed on the weather maps at my TV station, so I went to the chief meteorologist and asked that Dodge Center be added and he did it; the town has a dot on the weather maps still today.  She said, "We got Dodge Center on the map."  I have no idea if that's true but it's a great memory.

Gua loved, loved, loved to fish.  When I was a child, we had several relatives with cabins and would occasionally rent a cabin as a family on one of Minnesota's many beloved lakes.  Gua would join us.  Later, my parents moved to a lake home, and some years after that, so did Todd and I.  When Gua was still in good health and had good mobility, she would visit and spent hours every day sitting at the end of the dock, casting for pan fish.  She would catch them, clean them, fry them and eat them.  She brought into the house more fish scales on her clothes than anyone cared to note, and she stocked the freezer.

Gua was always supportive of me having a career and, later, of me not having a career and raising four children-- often pointing out she also raised four children.  She loved my children, always, up until the very end, knew them by name, remembered their birthdays, enjoyed their company.  She also loved my husband and loved when he visited.  I distinctly remember one occasion, about three years ago, when we walked into her building for a surprise visit and she spotted us, calling out to her friends, "Oh, look, there's my grandson!  My grandson is here!"  I was only a little irked.

The last year of Gua's life was hard for me.  This is not about me... but I can only share from my perspective.  She moved into a nursing home and, just a couple months after that, I went back to work full-time.  I couldn't visit as often as I would have liked.  She had difficulty hearing and was unable to speak on the phone.  We wrote letters, but hers mostly contained variations on "I am waiting to die," and, though true, this was tough to read.  I last saw Gua in person, for a "normal" visit at Christmastime.  Shortly thereafter, the building went on lockdown due to the threat of several illnesses, and, then, a couple months later, the coronavirus outbreak forced a more permanent quarantine.  By late spring, the facility had set up distanced visits, through a window, and all my children last visited Gua with me on Memorial Day.  She was amazing, smiling and calling all the kids by name.  When she first saw us through the window, this look of astonishment and then relief washed over her face.  "You're all OK!" she exclaimed, and then asked, "Are you OK?  Is everyone OK?"  I cannot imagine being 104 years old... getting excellent, around-the-clock care from staff, but not being able to have visitors or to get hugs, and maybe not understanding or remembering everything about this pandemic.

The very last time I saw Gua, it was a window visit to her room with Todd, on July 3, 10 days before she died.  We had been notified she was not doing well and, after all, she'd been telling everyone she was waiting to die, wanted to die, didn't understand why she was still here, wanted the Lord to take her.  I made an appointment and stood outside her room.  A loving staff member woke her, sat her up in bed, put on her glasses, and helped her with the phone.  She waved vigorously and told me she loved me.  She said in back-to-back statements, "I'm going now" and "Come back in a few days!"  I did not go back.  It was not because I didn't want to see her, didn't cherish the thought of just watching her sleep, didn't care.  Rather, it was because I remembered the words of hospice workers through the final days of other people we've loved: When a person is transitioning from this life to the next, and you keep touching them, talking to them, waking them, you are pulling them back here, delaying the journey.  I didn't want that for her.  It was especially hard when my son begged to go see her one more time.

After we got that call, on Ben's birthday no less, he had the best response: "Finally, we can be happy about someone dying!"  He was ready to celebrate his great-grandma's achievement of her final reward.  She had often told us she saw Frank and spoke with him, so we believe Buppa came for Gua.  We are sad because we are selfish people and want to hold on to those we love as long as we can in this life and-- let's face it-- after 104 years, we became kind of complacent... it seemed she would always be around.  In the end, I am told, my aunt and cousins who were closest to her and who cared for her on a daily basis, were able to be with Gua when she died.  For that, I am grateful.

For a long and challenging and blessed and surprising and entertaining and faithful life, I am grateful.  To have had a grandparent, alive and active in my life-- until I was nearly 46 years old!-- I am grateful.  (I mean, come on, my mom turned 70 last month... what baby of the family still gets to have her mommy around at that point?)  For a niece who shares her name, I am grateful.  For all the people, both family and staff, who did the hard, loving, heartbreaking, really hard work of loving on and caring for Gua every day, I am grateful.  To have had such a strong woman in my life, I am so grateful.

When I was a sassy child, Buppa would say at the end of each visit or write at the end of each letter, "Be good."  I, thinking I was so clever, turned it around on him and would say "Be good" before he had the chance.  This tradition continued all these years later, with Gua, even after Buppa had died.  Be good, beloved Gua, as only you can.  You were a blessing in my life.

Fantastic Fourteen!

On Monday, July 13, Benjamin celebrated his 14th birthday!  Well, it was actually the fourth, straight day of celebrations... all carefully orchestrated by him.  He spent much of the day at a theater camp-- where the children went through temperature checks and health screenings, were spaced six feet apart, and wore face shields; NO sharing of birthday treats-- so there wasn't a huge party on Ben's birthday.  As if this mom would ever host a huge party, even without a pandemic...

On Friday, Ben invited one friend and Dad took the two of them go kart racing, and out to lunch and ice cream.  This particular adventure was one Todd and Ben had been discussing for several years, and I guess Ben was finally deemed old enough, physically big enough, rational enough, and brave enough to drive.  They had a very good time.

On Saturday, Grandma Rosendahl and Aunt Lisa hosted a birthday dinner for Ben at their home.  There was a feast with all his requested favorites and a bounty of gifts.  Grandma gifted Benjamin a kitten, in a way.  She has been helping the local animal shelter by fostering a feline family, and wrapped up a note that she was keeping one of the kittens to be Ben's cat.  It will live at her house, of course, because I am highly allergic to cats.  I took photos of the kitten-- very cute-- but am not posting any here because they are all of sisters holding the cat and not Ben.

On Sunday, Grandma and Grandpa Paukert held their family birthday party.  Again, Ben chose the menu, complete with Neapolitan and Golden Oreo "Oldstone" cake.  We are still doing our best to maintain health and safety rules, hanging outside.  It's a good thing G & G have the best place for that!

Sunday evening, Ben was invited on a sunset cruise with the neighbors, complete with another gift and banana cream pie.  He is the neighborhood social butterfly and has cultivated unique friendships with all the adults who live around us.  I imagine he provides some form of entertainment-- can't imagine what all he tells them about us-- but I am so grateful for the village, as they say.

On Monday, we did our best to celebrate Ben in small ways all day long.  He was born at 6:30 a.m., so was "officially" 14 by the time he woke up.  After theater camp, Ben had a couple friends over to swim and ride the Jet Ski.  Gifts were pretty limited... when you're a teenager you just want cash, apparently... but we ordered a new kind of pizza for supper (BBQ chicken, highly recommend) and Ben chose a red velvet cake.

Todd had some photos come up in his memories for this day.  I'm not sure where he stores them... and I'm not sure I'd ever seen these before... but it sure was fun to share and to remember.

This boy captured our hearts.  He enthralls us, surprises us, annoys us, and exhausts us every, single day.  Ben has a huge heart, a passion for adventure-- wherever he can find it-- and a need to be with people.  His main goal in life, at this point, is to get a television in his bedroom.  Happy, happy birthday, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy!

The Last Day of School

Today is the last day of school... but like no last day of school anyone in any time could ever have imagined.  There were no last-day-of-school photos or announcements or gatherings or celebrations.  Krinkeland is all home tonight, under our roof, safe, and that is what matters most.

Amanda is done with high school.  She took an online math final, I think (or was that yesterday?) and then spent the day working at the animal shelter.  She had her evening at home.  There was no field party... or all-night lock-in... or even a blasted sleepover.  Amanda got the text from Mom, warning of curfews and the threat of unrest, and she returned from work, ate carryout pizza, took a bath, and talked online with a friend.

Elisabeth is still finishing online learning assignments tonight, because she is a procrastinator.  She got out for a few hours this afternoon to celebrate a friend's birthday.  She hasn't seen a single friend in several months.  It was a small group, gathered outdoors.  I think they still followed the safe-at-home orders... I don't know anymore... and I am really not sure it matters.



Benjamin finished his online schooling, got his grades, and went on a bike ride.  Two friends ended up coming back here and they swam until they turned blue.  They are now officially calling themselves eighth graders.  They think they're big stuff.  They were the reason behind the pizza order.



Madeline was technically done with school yesterday.  The baby is done with elementary school.  She FaceTimed with friends today and watched too much YouTube.  She hovered over my desk regularly, asking when I would be done with work.  Grandma brought them Taco Bell for lunch, and that was the big acknowledgment of the end of a bizarre, bereft school year.



I didn't even really see my kids; I was so overwhelmed with work.  The only exchange I had during the day was with Ben, when he reported his final grades and I scolded him for the one A- he got.  I am not proud of that.  This is not an excuse, but it is the truth: We are under state stay-at-home orders amidst a global, viral pandemic.  And, now, we are also under curfew imposed by state and local authorities, after four Minneapolis police officers murdered a black man.  His name is George Floyd, though we will never forget it.

A friend texted me yesterday, as the riots and looting were spreading across both Twin Cities and into the surrounding areas.  She asked if I was at work and what I knew.  It was days and hours into continuous breaking news and minutes before the start of my newscast.  I said, "Of course, I'm working. Just stay the F home. Stay home and stay safe."  She heeded my words, assured me she and everyone she loves is home and safe.  All I could do was make sure my loves were doing the same here.

Today, while not celebrating the kids' last day of school and not being the mother they need and deserve, the doorbell rang.  (The doorbell never rings anymore... everyone is on lockdown, and staying the F home.)  It was flowers for me.  My husband delivered them to my desk with coffee, before turning to order the pizza and parent the children.  It was several more hours before I broke away for the restroom and took a moment to read the card.



I wept.  I do that a lot lately.  I have cried for George Floyd every day this week; it doesn't fix anything.  Then, I went back to work.

Eventually, I begged off... it was a 12-hour day following not much sleep the night before... and I am not young.  I am drained.  I am worried about my babies.  I want to do better by everyone, for everyone.

I made it to the deck as the sun was setting and the last three squares of pizza were congealing.  I let Maddy pick the board game... but I didn't let her win.  And now, I am going to collapse into my pillow, after one more round of hugs.  They need hugs.  I need my kids.  Stay safe and stay the F home.  I don't know how we're going to get through this, but I sure want the opportunity to try.

Go, Our Little Gopher!

Yesterday was officially Decision Day, the traditional day when high school seniors announce their post-high school plans.  If they had been in school, there would have been some sort of fuss, with kids in gear and holding signs and who knows what-all.  Even with distance learning, there were lots and lots of social media posts.  Amanda was featured in several of those, due to her leadership positions at the high school and across state organizations, but she chose not to create and share her own.  She said she didn't like to put out photos of herself (and she really doesn't like this photo I took) and she didn't feel compelled to make a Decision Day post because she made her decision long ago.  I said I could respect that, and I let her be; but the blog is mine!

Amanda had a lengthy exploratory process for choosing an institution of higher learning.  She began her search several years back, asking lots of questions and touring lots of universities with friends who are older than she.  During her junior year, when it was really time to start considering, Amanda didn't have much of an idea yet what she planned to study, but she did have a set of criteria she wanted to use in choosing a college:

• large, with lots of opportunities
• somewhat urban
• in the Upper Midwest
• public

Her top three contenders got visits, with official tours, plenty more questions, and surveys of older friends and acquaintances who were already students.  These were: University of Wisconsin-Madison, Iowa State University, and the University of Minnesota-Twin Cities.  Amanda applied and had been accepted early to all of these schools, along with several others she eliminated from consideration.  She (and we) found wonderful things to love about each school.  In the end, as you can see, Amanda chose the University of Minnesota.  She loves the crowds and the busy-ness and is excited about the plethora of opportunities.  I suspect it also factored in that many of her friends have also chosen, or are already attending, the U.  While we did not decide for her-- in fact, tried to not pressure her in any way-- Todd and I are thrilled she will be close to home.

She made her decision months ago, carefully and quietly and without a lot of fanfare.  Amanda is still working toward scholarships and grants; indeed, we are all looking at ways to fund and support this next phase in her life, especially in such an economically unstable time.  As her parents, of course we will help her in any way we can; we are also firm in our belief that we are raising our children to support themselves, and we have confidence Amanda will figure things out, making her own way and, yes, paying for it (with help, is our plan.)

Today, the day after Decision Day, Amanda is spending this beautiful Saturday holed up in a room, in front of her laptop, taking college placement exams.  I don't know if this is the way it's always done, or if it's a pandemic practice... she will be our first kid to go to college, and I sure don't remember what it was like when I went... but it's an exciting and nerve-wracking time.  Already with some college-in-schools classes and credits under her belt, we know Amanda will do well.  With so much that is bizarre and unpredictable at this time, this announcement and these steps feel firm and well directed.

Amanda wants to go to college and we want her to go.  That didn't come out right...  I am excited for Amanda to go away to college because I know she is ready to go.  I pray we will continue to evolve and adapt in the coronavirus crisis and find our way for "normal" life to go on, for Amanda to be able to attend her university in the fall.  We will be cheering her every step.  In the meantime, we celebrate her decision and rejoice in how far Amanda has already come.  Ski-U-Mah!  Row the boat!  Go Gophers!

Madeline Kate Turns 1-1

One week ago, we celebrated Madeline Kate's 11th birthday.  It was surreal on many levels, and maybe all the processing is why I am just getting around to blogging about it now.  It seems unbelievable this baby of ours is 11 years old!  Naturally, Mama remembers every little thing about how she came to be-- from my denial, fear and excitement of a fourth child... to the sunny, warm, overdue day she came into this world.  That JUST HAPPENED; yet, now, she has all clothes on her birthday list, eats peas, had a gift delivered from her "boyfriend," and is getting ready to go middle school.

It was unusual celebrating a child's birthday under a stay-at-home order, but it sure was not unpleasant.  We are not big partiers, anyway.  A typical Krinke birthday is marked by one grandma making dinner, the other grandma making dinner, cake and presents at home, and maybe a special outing with one or two friends.  This year, we stayed home.  I put up a yard sign and drivers-by honked.  Family socially distanced their greetings and gifts.  Several friends called, FaceTimed, or dropped off gifts at the door.  Maddy got a new basketball, so we shot hoops.

That evening, she told me it was the best day, and she would like to celebrate her birthday in quarantine every year.  She is the best kind of human, and her joy-filled, optimistic approach will mean everything in this life.  Happy, happy birthday, Madeline Kate!  Jesus loves you and Mommy does, too.

We Don't Know

A few years ago, I went to visit some friends who had just had their first baby.  I did the things one typically does: took a meal and some baked goods, had a gift for the baby, waited to be offered a turn to hold the baby-- seriously, you all do this, right, especially with first-time moms?  You walk in, put everything away, pretend you totally don't see the mess, scrub your hands up to the elbows for at least 30 seconds as though you are actually headed into surgery, making sure the mom sees you and knows what you are doing, and then stand and wait.  You don't ask if you can hold the baby; you surely don't grab the baby; you smile gently, looking perfectly calm and capable and sane.  That's how you get to hold a new mother's new baby.

I also did some things maybe other people don't typically do when they visit the home of a new family.  I don't really know; I'm not other people.  I said I had some extra time and asked if the mom would like me to keep holding the baby while she took a nap-- of course, she said no, and looked like she was already missing the baby or like I might be doing it wrong, so I handed back the bundle.  I went to the kitchen and washed up the few dishes in the sink, dried them, and put them away in the cupboards.  I went to the laundry room and took the load out of the dryer, folded it, and did my best to make piles for each family member.  I snuck into the spare bedroom where the breast pump was set up, checked the connections and settings, made sure all the parts were in working order, checked the battery backup.  I went into the bathroom and left some necessary, but private, items-- tools for Mama's self-care-- on the counter.  I found Dad hiding in the bedroom and said, "Your job description just expanded.  Help her.  Get up with the baby-- not every time, just once in a while, to give her a break.  Tell her how beautiful she is.  Right now.  Let her cry, and don't ask why she's crying; just hold her hand and hand her tissues.  Pick up and throw away the tissues.  And, for the love of all that is good and holy, do not pressure her to be intimate with you.  Not this week, not this month, maybe not this year.  Be patient.  She will tell you when she is ready.  When she is, it will be different, but tell her it is wonderful.  Tell her how beautiful she is.  Thank her for the gift of your child."

Then, I cooed over the baby one more time and I left.  Later that day, my friend texted me, something to the effect of: "THANK YOU, HOW DID YOU KNOW?!"  Well, that's easy: I knew because I'd been there before-- four times.  I knew what she was feeling, how she was struggling, what she didn't want to say, how she couldn't ask for help.  I knew because it happened to me, too.

That's the thing about the current situation we are in-- the global coronavirus pandemic: We do not know how to take care of one another, what other people need, what we need... because we have never done this before.  It has never happened to any of us.  We have never been here.  I think that's a huge piece of the emotional and psychological puzzle.  We look to experts and we turn to our families and friends, but NO ONE KNOWS.  And, it's different for every person, of course.

I am not a therapist.  I'm, like, the only person I know who never even took one psychology class in college.  It probably shows.  Sorry.  I do not have any answers.  I share this story and my views as a way to remind us all: We do not know, but we must keep trying and finding things that work.

A week or so ago, we tried to have an early Easter celebration of sorts, social-distancing-style with my MIL and SIL.  We went over to their house, stayed outside, kept significant distance between each of us, and tried to connect.  It was very nice-- a beautiful day, sweet Easter gifts, my MIL as the proverbial host.  We stayed and chatted for several hours and then left.  Days later, one of the kids asked whether we were going to do that with my parents.  I said there were no plans to, and it would be really difficult since that side of the family was much larger.  (It ended up being a non-issue because it was snowy and awful over the Easter weekend and each of my siblings' families as well as my parents did brief, drive-by drop-offs where we just yelled at one another from the front porch.)  Anyway, that same child said to me, "You ruined the day at Grandma and Lisa's.  You were yelling at her like you were mad at her.  And all Dad did was talk about the virus."

I tried to explain that I wasn't "mad" at Grandma-- of course not-- I was just worried about her, really trying to follow the rules to keep her safe.  I said there was ultimately no way to control who contracts COVID-19, but that I felt strongly about doing my part-- our family doing our part-- to stop the spread and not be part of the infection if we could so help it.  And we can so help it.  It is absolutely no fun, and we miss everyone terribly, but we can do this, and we will, if, in any way, it offers some layer of protection for the people we love the most.

Naturally, the children are confused and scared, too.  Each has different coping mechanisms.  Sometimes, they have questions, but, other times, they just do not want to talk about it and do not want to hear about it.  That's understandable, too, isn't it?  There are so many of us... and we are all here... all the time... it is a lot to juggle!

This is an exhausting, draining, confusing, changing struggle.  I suspect we all feel the same.  We are in this together, and I pray that brings comfort, if not answers.  I don't know what to tell you... but I am here for you.

Grocery Reality

Several weeks ago, when we as a nation and a state were beginning to track virus infections more closely but before any actual rules or orders had been set down, my husband said to me, "You know, out of everyone in this house, you are the one who is most at risk for getting really sick with coronavirus.  You have asthma.  You should not be going to Kwik Trip to get the coffee; you should not be going to the grocery store; you should stay home.  I will go for those things."  I thought it was an unexpectedly thoughtful and gallant gesture, and I agreed.

(It should be noted here I have since finally figured out InstaCart and now order all groceries and supplies online.  They are delivered to the house, with no humans having contact with one another, and the bags and boxes sit outside-- to supposedly kill the virus?-- and everything gets wiped down when it does come into the house.  So, Todd's foray was a one-time-only event.)

The evening after he offered, off he went to the grocery store, with a brief list and our most helpful child in tow.  They were gone for FOUR HOURS.  I got three phone calls and three text messages with questions from the store.  (I also got a number of threatening texts from the child, saying how much she hated the experience and would never do it again.)  When eventually they returned, the shoppers came with only about half the items on the list.  Now, this was not entirely unexpected, because grocery stocks have been fair-to-middlin', low really, with limits on common items when they are available at all.  I put toilet paper on the list not thinking they would actually be able to find any, because there hasn't been any toilet paper in any store in our town-- or through major retailers online-- in weeks.  So, no, they couldn't get everything.  But, also, he didn't get everything because he said the groceries cost too much!

These are some of the items and their prices Todd found obscene and intolerable:

• cinnamon bread from the bakery ($4.19)
• bagged salad kit ($3.99)
• canned sports drinks the kids like (usually $1.29 each, but on sale for $0.80 each)
• deli meat ($4.99-$7.99 per pound)

Now, he did buy the drinks-- but just one per child... and he did buy other "outrageously expensive" things like fresh berries, but in the smallest pint (maybe half-pint?) personal containers.  On the other hand, he bought two, huge bottles of flavored cream for his coffee-- because they were buy-one-get-one free.

It was a full two days later when Todd said, "You know, I think I was just so shocked by the prices in the grocery store because I never go to the grocery store."  Gee, you think?

Stay At Home

 the cast of our portion of SOAR's online musical

We here in Krinkeland, along with the rest of our state-- and similar scenarios in most of the country and many countries in the world-- are currently under the governor's stay home executive order.  Anyone reading this is surely in the same situation, understands what is going on with the worldwide pandemic of COVID-19, also called the novel coronavirus; but I mention it for posterity, reference, to capture the moment in time, so we can all remember.  That's maybe the not-funniest joke I've ever written: Our world has been upset, upended, rearranged, altered in every way-- something none of us has ever experienced nor could ever imagine-- and it would be impossible to forget.

I am documenting here the current state of affairs in Krinkeland, and my personal thoughts on this stay-at-home order and its effects.  This is what I am thinking now, today.  Naturally, it could change at any time, particularly under different circumstances, such as someone close to us getting sick with the virus.  It is not meant to diminish or augment anyone else's views or experiences.  I do not expect others to agree with me or even to understand.  My views are uniquely mine, but I feel them in my bones, with blog post lines running through my head throughout the day, so I wanted to leave them here.

This situation has been incredibly difficult, mostly because of the unknowns.  Everything is unknown.  The number of cases, rates of infection, symptoms and transmissions are constantly changing.  At this time, no treatment has been approved and no cure has been found.  Since it was first documented late last year in China, this new virus has claimed the lives of thousands of people.  The epicenter of the outbreak morphed from China to Italy and now to the United States.

Last fall, I went back to work full-time, producing daily newscasts for one of the affiliate television stations in the Twin Cities market.  There are a dozen or more blog posts I could write on going back to a full-time professional life after 17 years of full-time mommy and very-part-time professional life.  This is not any of those posts.  The point is, I have been working a full schedule out of the house and some distance away, and trying (poorly) to also manage my former career in the home.  About two weeks ago, in the midst of trying to give accurate, compassionate coverage of this worldwide crisis, my employer began the process of transitioning many employees to work-from-home.  This, to my knowledge, had never really been done.  I started working from home just over a week ago.  It brings unique challenges, and the usual demands of the job continue, but I am managing them here, in my house.

You will also note from some of the photos, if you have not heard me wailing in the streets, our home is undergoing a massive, do-it-yourself renovation.  We began with what I thought would be a small (but messy) project about a year-and-a-half ago.  It spiraled... and I was wrong... Again, there could be so, so many posts on this, but I am electing at this time not to write about it.  I will say: I am an introvert and home is my happy place.  It has been an extreme toll on me-- on all of us-- to have a house in a state of disrepair that does not feel like home.  That continues to be the biggest stressor in our current situation.  We have had some sub-contractors work on parts of the house, but we cannot hire workers to come into our home at this time (under the order.)  There is also the uncertainty of finances.  Todd and I both went through major employment changes in the past year, and, while everything has remained stable for us so far, there is no telling what impact this virus will have on the economy overall and our case in particular.  Todd is working on the project as he has time, and with the kids suddenly having free schedules, we are all able to pitch in more... attitudes are adjusting and there have actually been moments of fun and joy as we all learn new things and work together. 

Ben doing a kids' and teens' workout on Zoom, in the midst of piles of home renovation materials

So, just before I got my work-from-home assignment, the children all found out they would not be going to school for the foreseeable future.  Again, the situation is fluid.  We just don't know.  But, they were kept home last week; this week coming up is technically their scheduled Spring Break (we were supposed to go to the Dominican Republic tomorrow-- canceled;) the following week the district and the private school are setting up plans to begin distance learning.  It's crazy.  

It is especially crazy for sweet Amanda in her senior year in high school.  Her music trip to New York was canceled.  The spring play-- she had the lead role and Elisabeth was also in the cast-- is canceled.  (And, as I typed this, I started crying... realizing I don't know when again-- if ever-- I will see my two oldest daughters perform on stage together.)  The state student council convention is put off.  Prom will likely not happen.  Who knows about graduation?  Our eldest is handling all of these things in style.  Each child had a set day and time to go to their respective schools and pick up materials and equipment, while not having contact with the other few scheduled students or teachers and administrators-- for everyone's safety.  Amanda came home from the high school with two comments: (1) "Mom, the ONLY thing I had in that building to mark my presence was the combination lock on my locker." (??????) and (2) "Mom, I did not hug Mr. B. (a beloved administrator-- she's in good with all the administrators) I did not even look at him, because I knew I wouldn't be able to control myself."  So, there's that.  In these times, she has been FaceTiming and texting with friends, trying to stay connected and relaxing.  They have all been relaxing, and I have been letting them.  This situation is bizarre and stressful.  And when do we ever have TIME?!

sharing puzzles and games--  because we've done them all-- with neighbors in the same boat

So, here is the thing: Being "stuck" at home with my husband, all four of my children, and our dog, is my dream come true.  It was not always my dream.  It is not always easy or fun.  We get on each other's nerves and it is well established in the universe that I have the shortest fuse around.  I am a creature of habit, and I miss the typical routine.  I really, really miss seeing our parents and siblings and nieces and nephews.  I miss my class at the gym.  I miss getting coffee at Kwik Trip.  I miss meeting up with friends... not that I ever did it very often, but, right now, I cannot.  But I do not miss the hectic lifestyle we had been living.  I do not miss the running, running, running.  I do not miss the constant calendar-checking-text-updating-dropping-off-picking-up-always-forgetting-something and never being able to give the people I love the attention they need and deserve.

This time at home, this time together is my dream come true because it has fulfilled wishes I long ago gave up on and some I didn't even know I had.  Have you seen that parenting tale that floats around the internet-- the one where the punchline is: You don't know it's the last time you're going to pick up your child, but, then, she's too big, and that time in life has passed?  (That one makes me tear up every time I see it, because it's so, too true.)  Well, I long ago gave up on setting a supper time and asking Todd to be home by that time.  He always had trouble meeting any kind of a time demand... and, then, the kids got so busy with their own activities, they were never all here at that time, anyway.  I had quit wishing for a quiet evening at home, together, because the children had so many commitments and it just never happened.  I quit even wishing for the rest of the family to be present at one child's event, because the others were always running in conflicting directions, and Todd and I would have to divide our attention to not miss too much.

I never could have imagined my senior in high school would be able to sleep as much as her body and mind needed, and then would get up and walk the dog or go for a bike ride.  I never could have imagined Benjamin would ask, "Dad, will you shoot baskets with me?" and Dad would drop what he was doing and head to the driveway.  I never could have imagined cooking three meals a day, having time to clean up and prep for the next in between, and then having all six of us sit down at the table and eat together.  I never could have imagined that I could come up from my basement hiding place to pour a fresh cup of coffee and help Madeline email her math test to her teacher.  I never could have imagined we would all spend Saturday night washing and sanding and re-staining baseboards to give them a fresh look-- but we did it!  The children play together, every day, all day.  The older ones taught the younger ones 500... they play kickball in the driveway... they bake cookies... they rearrange their rooms... they make fun of Mom and Dad-- but they do it together.

This time is a gift.  I don't want a gift at the expense of other people's deaths or suffering, struggles and pain.  This pandemic is horrific and each new headline makes it worse.  But these two realities can exist together.  We do not have the opportunity to trade one for another.  I may get new news that makes me feel differently tomorrow.  But, tonight, I am content.  My dream has come true.

a walk with my four kids and Jones-- a dream come true

Best Cousins, Best Actors

This past weekend, the BHS Theatre Department's one-act play won first place in Section 5AA, advancing to the state festival.  It was a powerfully emotional day, in part for the subject matter and performance value of the troupe's one-act, "Watermelon Hill;" and, in part because of the twists and turns and all-around drama in previous seasons preceding this win.  There's nothing to be gained from going back, rehashing, bemoaning... I will just say the past couple years of competition have been rocky, with unexpected and disappointing outcomes.  So, this year, this year, with Amanda being a senior and sophomore Libby sharing the small-cast stage with her sister-- there was a lot riding on a win.

The team did win, and I was so happy for them.  It was so exciting!  The emotions were mixed, however, because the runners-up-- the troupe that came in second place and alternate to state-- was STMA.  That's the neighboring school where my nephew, the girls' cousin, attends... And Kazmer, also a sophomore, was in his school's varsity cast.  And he was very, very good.

I cheered, I congratulated Kaz, I congratulated Amanda and Libby, we all shared lots of hugs and took lots of photos.  It was an amazing outcome.  The students worked so hard.  They were finally able to see and celebrate the payoff.  However, the best part of the event, for me, anyway, happened as the younger children and I were leaving the theater.  Madeline grabbed my hand and said, "That's so great, Mom!  That's so great they won!  I am so happy for my sisters!  Kaz is so happy, too!"  I chuckled and said I, as well, was happy for all of them and added, "I'm sure Kazzy is happy-- but I bet he'd be happier if his team had won."  Maddy was firm, "No, Mom.  I mean, Kaz did want to win-- but he wanted Amanda and Libby to win more."  I asked her why she thought that, how she knew that, and Maddy replied, "Because Kaz told me."

There are many reasons these three goofballs have dubbed themselves "Best Cousins."  I cannot thing of a single reason to argue against it.

Angels Among Us

I don't believe in coincidences.  Everything happens exactly as God plans.  It can be surprising... it can be awesome... it is just as it should be.

I also consider myself pretty calm and collected under pressure.  Really, I think of it as one of my talents.  My pants could be on fire, but I'm not going to go running in the yard, screaming, spinning in a circle.  I will stop, drop and roll... and then get up and keep making dinner.

A couple days ago, both of these personal beliefs came into play, and were challenged, in a single situation.

I was on my way to work, going with the flow of heavy, commuter traffic, on a two-lane highway, about 20 minutes from home and about halfway to my workplace.  On a straight, flat stretch of road, I stopped for a stoplight, but, when the light turned green and the cars in front of me moved, I could not go.  The car stopped-- dead-- in the middle of a busy highway.

It was already a rough morning.  I was struggling with the "work-life balance" (put in quotation marks because there is no such thing-- challenge me if you want, but I know the truth: it's everything-everything all the time and it's exhausting and nearly impossible to do it all.)  There were a lot of things going on-- in my mind and on the calendar-- and I was feeling overwhelmed.  I was actually on the phone with my husband, having a less-than-lovely conversation about all of this, when the car died.

My car is not fancy, but it is properly maintained and only five years old.  It should run.  I couldn't get it to start again and I out and out PANICKED.  I put on the flashers, put down the window to wave around other cars, and screamed into the Bluetooth speaker: "MY CAR WON'T GO!  WHAT SHOULD I DO?!"  I told Todd where the car was stopped and said I had to disconnect; we agreed he would call roadside assistance for a tow truck and start driving my way.  (He was already at work by that time, some distance across the metro area.)  Cars were zooming by my stopped van on both sides, with drivers honking horns and flipping birds.  I knew I would have to push the car off the highway, but I didn't think I could do it myself... so I figured I should call the police-- just to tell them, maybe to get some more muscle power at my location.  I took a deep breath and blinked back tears and looked up one more time.

There, on the shoulder of the highway, was my friend.  She is a kind and gentle woman I have known for many years, though never well.  We first met when our husbands worked together many years ago; we lived in the same, small town (where my car broke down) and the men commuted to work together.  Later, we were having our first daughters as they were adopting theirs.  Then, we moved to the next town, and Todd got a different job, and we lost touch for a number of years.  I knew of them, and would occasionally run into my friend at a store or a restaurant, but we did not connect again until the couple joined the CrossFit gym where I go.  I neglected to mention that during the not-much-contact years my friend went to seminary and became a pastor.

She yelled out her window, "Can I help you?"  And I said, "YES!"  She was already in workout clothes, and sprinted across the highway.  I told her the car quit and I guessed we would have to push it, and I asked her which direction we should go.  She pointed to the gas station across the next intersection, and told me to stand in the driver's door so I could push and steer.  Then, we just went.  Another man had stopped by that time and was pushing with my friend.  A second man in a construction vehicle followed behind to make sure no one hit us.  We got through the intersection and around the corner and brought the van to rest on the shoulder of the side street.

My friend asked if I was OK... asked if she could take me anywhere, bring me anything, sit with me.  I shook my head and I think she could tell I was about to lose it.  I assured her Todd was on the way and I would have to wait for the tow truck, anyway-- after I called work to let them know I was going to be very late.

I eventually got to work, a couple hours after I was due.  I was thinking all the time how grateful I was for my friend, and how I needed to thank her.  Before I could fire off a text to her, she sent one to me-- making sure I was OK and offering a little prayer that my day was getting better.  The day was a disaster... and it turns out the car had catastrophic engine failure-- a repair that is going to cost thousands of dollars and take a couple weeks to fix.  But the day was better, because of her. 

My day was better-- because of her.

Parenting Lows and Highs for the Weekend

LOW
I washed a load of candy wrappers.


HIGH
I overheard the 10-year-old, while assembling a BLT, say to the bacon, "Gentlemen, gentlemen, come now-- we can all get along!"