EVE DENTON

With the absence of real school every day, private personal learning has become even more valuable. Eve is still working with our favorite teacher of all-time, now retired and teaching kids at home. Her recent assignment was to create a photo collage to represent every letter in her name. Eve took this assignment very seriously, stressing over each image and whether it could be discerned by the other kids on the Zoom call. See if you can guess . . . 

(This letter has two pictures)

Just in case you struggled through, here's the key.

I've always appreciated LMK for her work but never more than now.
Quarantine has created its own rhythm, and sometimes it's relaxing and good, and other times it's a slog. Thanks for giving Eve something to look forward to each week.

Verdict

I keep telling myself that at least now we know what we're facing.
I wrecked on my bike last week--hit my head pretty good, scraped up my arm, and embarrassed myself in front of a friend who witnessed the whole thing.

The next morning I woke up with a pain in my back and realized I'd tweaked it in the wreck, and this sidelined my exercise for the rest of the week (but not my eating . . . ). I finally got back on the road yesterday morning, and while I was running, my watch erupted with GroupMe texts. I couldn't pull up the image and the texts were a little discouraging, but I determined to finish my run/walk before reading further.

Governor Ducey announced yesterday that AZ schools will be closed for the remainder of the school year.

Deep down I knew this was going to happen, but I'd recently convinced myself that the kids would get to return for at least a week or two to say goodbye to everyone and graduate and stuff.

Nope.

It's so difficult to express how all this makes me feel. Admittedly, I cried for a few minutes before I could make it into the house and tell the kids--especially Micah. High school is so social, and I knew it would hit him hardest. They took it pretty well, but its' going to be a LONG eight weeks.

Every day brings some new twist in this story, and I'm tired of it.

Now Micah has real school online (not that involved yet, but ramping up), and the little ones are scheduled to be online by Monday.

Portrait of Social Isolation

Eve's fifth-grade teacher arranged a zoom chat for her class today. Look how happy she was.

I listened to 20 fifth graders excitedly share what their lives have been like for the last few days, Showing off their pets and younger siblings, and chattering, chattering, chattering.

Her teacher patiently listened as they shouted over each other and discussed possible school ideas.

And it made me very, very sad.

I can't articulate it.

This is going to be long.

And hard.

And long.

Did I mention sad?

Eve's Fun Run

Gone are the days of wrapping paper and cookie dough fundraisers at our elementary school. Now they do a "fun run" to raise money for the school.

I hate the idea that schools need to do anything to raise money outside of our tax dollars (another soapbox, another day, perhaps), but this is a pretty good activity.

Eve got into it, focused hard on getting each lap recorded, then took off around the course again.

These pictures crack me up because they reveal her quirky, silly, funny personality.

She and her friend Summer were dancing it up surrounded by all the runners . . . and didn't care what anyone thought about it.

Eve only has one year left of elementary school. It's so weird. And yet so good . . . 

I Know Better Than Saying Such Things Out Loud

I knew I shouldn’t have said it  out loud.

“How could this day get any worse?”

Brad was driving me home from the mechanic as I cursed the day. TWO cars had broken down on me. The 2001 GMC truck, always reliable despite its 230,000+ miles, shuddered and chugged before I traveled a mile earlier that morning. Luckily, I maneuvered it to the curb on a residential street before it completely shut off. I wasn’t far from home, and despite the 100-degree temperature at 10 am, I walked home. That didn’t sidetrack my day for long, and I didn’t think much of it, until Eve and I drove home from her piano lesson around 3 pm and the AC on the suburban died. By that time of day, temps had peaked above 110, and we were HOT. I called Brad, who met me at the mechanic who warned that the AC in 2015-16 suburbans are notorious for going out and the repair is pricey (almost $1900, we discovered).

But really, what else could go wrong?

Something really big, that’s what else.

I finally hopped in the shower around 4 pm, when my phone rang with a number from Denver, CO. I normally don’t answer these almost invariably soliciting calls, but I turned off the shower and answered.

Micah was on the other line.

“Mom, they think I broke my collar bone. Can you come get me?”

I didn’t have a car, remember? I called Brad to run to the school while I quickly showered after I texted our friend. “Could Dr. P squeeze Micah in for a quick X-ray? Think he broke his collar bone.”

Watching Micah gingerly exit the car confirmed his level of pain and the broken bone. He broke his right collar bone several years ago, and he knew.

Neither of us was prepared for Dr. P’s recovery plan.

One month in the sling.

Two months till light sport activity.

Three months till contact sports.

No football.

Dr. P hugged me then sympathetically turned to Micah.

His whole season gone.

He got to play one game, and then a fluke tackle at the end of practice ended it all.

We both were heartbroken.

Later that night, the boys in our ward brought him ice cream and exclaimed over the X-ray. One friend commiserated. He missed the entire last year with a torn ACL. I visited with my friend on the couch, and we shared the agony moms feel when their kids lose entire seasons due to injury.

The next morning, after he left for school, I saw his discarded cleats.

And that’s when I cried for my boy.

I know he’s a sophomore and that he has hopefully two more seasons.

 I also know how this boy lives and breathes football. Every team (college and pro). Every athlete. Every position and play and point.

Thursday (the very next day) was the team’s game, and Micah stood on the sidelines, black sling over his white, padless #8 jersey. Two coaches approached me with condolences. 

One commended Micah for his work ethic and improvement. Small solace but a little salve for the still-fresh wound of disappointment.

Next year, Toros.

Next year.