Have you watched everything on Netflix yet? I’m getting there. I can barely remember the days I didn’t have time to watch TV. My kids, however, don’t watch TV. They watch YouTube. And neither one of them is into movies, really, except for superhero movies. Which is how I ended up watching “The Little Prince” with my mom on a recent rainy day.

As a French major in college, I read the original book, Le Petit Prince, published by Antoine Saint-Exupery in 1943, in its original language. The beloved children’s book has been translated into 250 languages, btw, and still sells about 2 million copies per year.

It’s an odd little book. Fanciful and melancholy. The Little Prince is sort of an intergalactic orphan, traveling from planet to planet while pondering deep existential matters. “Well, I must endure the presence of a few caterpillars if I wish to become acquainted with the butterflies.”

The 2015 film is an appealing update. It introduces a new character, a modern-day little girl who’s spending her summer “vacation” studying around the clock to gain acceptance into the elite Werth Academy while her Type-A, pant-suited single mom is at work all day.

It’s impossible for me to not see everything through a pandemic-filtered lens these days. Watching this clip where the mom explains her Life Plan for the little girl, I felt an unpleasant jolt of recognition: minus the Zoom meetings, this was what distance learning was like in our house. The girl works away, hour after hour, day after day, alone in her room, with no friends, recess, or music to break up the schoolwork.

Then, she meets her neighbor, an eccentric old pilot who lives in a ramshackle house filled with his artwork and inventions, as cluttered and colorful as her house is spare and angular. (Even the shrubs are square.) He, as it turns out, is the creator of The Little Prince.

The animation is amazing. The modern-day sequences are CG-animated in the style of “Kung Fu Panda,” also directed by Mark Osborne. The book excerpts are filmed in stop-motion, featuring beautiful paper cutouts and puppets. Osborne told the NYT the use of delicate paper was “in keeping with one of the major themes of the story, which is that anything beautiful is ephemeral.”

Among the more chilling parts of the movie are the scenes of the adult world: drab, gray cities filled with skyscrapers and drab, gray-faced adults pecking away at computers while posters on the wall urge them to “Be Essential.” That message is also reinforced on the walls of the Werth Academy, where posters read, “What Will You Be When You Grow Up? Essential.”

Here again, my grown-up, COVID-colored worldview crept in. Because we know now what we didn’t know just months ago: that the real essential workers are not those pecking away at computers inside of high-rises, but the bus drivers, delivery people, supermarket clerks, mail carriers, medical providers, and caregivers. (And janitors–no spoilers, but this turns out to be important.)

Also essential, it turns out? Social interaction, play, rest, and numerous other things we may have taken for granted until we didn’t have them anymore. The Little Prince, so young and yet so wise, has already learned this lesson: “It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”

FACT O’ THE DAY: In my research for this post, I learned that Antoine Saint-Exupery was himself an aviator who wrote the book in New York, where he fled after the Germans occupied France in 1940. He returned to fly reconnaissance missions for the Allies, and disappeared the year after his book was published. Years later, parts of his plane were found along with a silver bracelet with his name on it.

READ O’ THE DAY: This NYT article by Deb Perelman calls out the impossible challenge of parents working while schools remain closed. This part made me LOL bitterly in recognition:

Why isn’t anyone talking about this? … Why am I, a food blogger best known for such hits as the All-Butter Really Flaky Pie Dough and The ‘I Want Chocolate Cake’ Cake, sounding the alarm on this? I think it’s because when you’re home schooling all day, and not performing the work you were hired to do until the wee hours of the morning, and do it on repeat for 106 days (not that anyone is counting), you might be a bit too fried to funnel your rage effectively.

The post The Little Prince and the Pandemic appeared first on Abby Off the Record.

In my last post, about my memories of a friend who has passed, I said that I write in order to remember, to share, and to heal. This week, the world has changed again, and I have asked myself what my role is as a writer. At times I have written to encourage and inspire. At other times, to entertain and connect. Today, I am writing to record, respond, and show solidarity.

It’s not enough and it won’t change the world, but after grappling with my fears of saying the wrong thing, I’ve decided that this is what I have to offer in this moment. And while no one needs it or is asking for it from me, it’s what is going on in my heart and in my home. My fear of anyone thinking that George Floyd and black lives are not on my radar or don’t matter to me is far greater than my fear of saying or doing the wrong thing.

I have spent the past week reading, watching, listening, hurting, and going way too deep into Twitter comments and IG Lives. All day on Tuesday I grappled with whether or not to post the “black square.” After much research and consideration, I finally decided that it was problematic and I did not.

I scrolled past list after list of links, resources, and books and thought about adding my own, but I did not. I thought about taking inventory in my own home of books, music, art, and toys showing diversity and posting a picture, but I did not. (I did take inventory, and came up with many books by and about people of color, plus a Black Panther T-shirt, but I did not post about it.)

Unfortunately for those of us in Baltimore, this is not new. The outrage over the death of an African-American man at the hands of police, or the related issues. In 2015, our city experienced what is now called the Baltimore Uprising, but was then simply called riots and looting after Freddie Gray died in police custody. I wrote about it here. It was not the first time I had talked to my children about racism, but it was the first time I had to figure out how to talk to them about police brutality.

I was in high school when the video of Rodney King being beaten by the LAPD came out; it was on the news but it was not on a phone in my hand. It was not in my hometown. My kids were 9 and 6 in 2015, and attending a school with a nearly 50% minority student population. Many of their classmates lived in the neighborhoods affected by the riots. Most kids were on or exposed to social media. There was no ignoring or avoiding the news.

In 6^th grade, my son had a teacher who based the entire curriculum on Black Lives Matter, which this teacher called the modern-day Civil Rights movement. Most of what they read, discussed, and wrote about centered on this topic. I’m not going to lie—it was controversial. Many parents, white and black, clashed with this teacher and questioned the curriculum. I did not love that my 11yo was reading first-hand accounts of violence by imprisoned teens, but would I shield him from books about slavery or the Holocaust? No. In the end, my son did well in the class and I am glad he had exposure to issues I certainly wouldn’t have brought up on my own at the dinner table. And it laid the ground work for the dinner-table discussions we’re having today.

What I’m continuing to learn is that avoiding issues like systemic racism and police brutality is a privilege. Addressing them is imperfect and uncomfortable. Talking about them in your home is hard enough, and on social media feels near-impossible. There’s no shortage of people to shout others down, criticize them, call them names, or worse.

So why address it at all online, you might ask? Because silence doesn’t help anything. And because that’s where the conversation needs to happen.

I turned to one of my favorite podcasts for guidance: in Episode 156 of the Edit Your Life podcast, host Christine Koh interviews Amber Coleman-Mortley, director of social engagement at iCivics, Inc. on how to talk to kids about race. Amber shares what she said when her daughter commented that “all the black boys” on the playground played rough, and her video-game analogy for explaining privilege to her sons.

In response to a question I asked Amber on Instagram (@momofallcapes) about engaging apathetic teens who think “why bother speaking up?”, she replied:

“It’s so important to empower your teens to have courage to stand up. I’m finding that group chats, TikTok and Snap Stories are prime spaces where racism and racist cyber bullying is happening. Talk about community responsibility. Contextualizing allyship as ‘being a good friend,’ often resonates more. We must be vigilant.”

She also quoted educator and activist Angela Davis who said, “In a racist society, it is not enough to be non-racist, we must be anti-racist.”

As beloved ex-royal badass Meghan Markle said in a video she recorded for students graduating from her former high school in LA, “The only wrong thing to say is to say nothing.”

LINK O’ THE DAY: I really appreciated this video by ex-NFL player and ESPN commentator Emmanuel Acho, which I shared with my sons. He gives thoughtful responses to questions he’s been asked, like “What good does rioting do?” and “Why is it OK for you to say the N-word but white people can’t?”

LAUGH O’ THE DAY: I can’t help it. It must be in my DNA to seek out humor, even if it’s dark. This reply to an “all lives matter” commenter made me chuckle:

“I’m curious, what is it about the statement ‘black lives matter’ that might suggest other lives don’t matter, or that other groups don’t also deserve respect? For example, if I said ‘save the coral reef,’ should one take that as a suggestion that I think all other reefs can go to hell?”

The post On Speaking Up and Standing Up, However Imperfectly appeared first on Abby Off the Record.

Well, this pandemic has not panned out like I thought. Is that a ridiculous statement, or what? My efforts to revive this blog, to write regularly, to hire someone to fix it for me, to guide my kids through distance learning, to navigate my own fears, stresses, and existential dread? None of it has worked out. I can’t examine or explain it. I’m too depleted. But today I sat down to write the way I used to, in order to remember, to share, and hopefully, to begin to heal. Here it is. 

My Friend Jim

“Abigail! It’s Jim [Fullname]. Just calling to see how you and the boys are doing. Can you believe what’s going on in the news? Reminds me of this thing my dad used to say… Anyway, call me back when you get a chance. I know you’re busy.” 

Once every few months I would hear the rumbly, rambling voice of my old friend Jim on my voicemail. We met 20+ years ago when I first moved to Maryland, and he lived across the hall from me in an old Victorian house that had been carved into apartments.

He swears he remembers the exact day, by the mailboxes, and me exclaiming “I’m only 22!” in response to his astonishment that I didn’t know something. (Like how to sign up for mail forwarding, maybe, or that the guy I was dating with the obnoxiously loud sports car would turn out to be a jerk. There was a lot I didn’t know back then.)

A Vietnam vet, a bachelor, and a free spirit, Jim’s apartment was chock full of art and plants and knick-knacks collected over his colorful life. I know this because he asked me to water his plants and feed his fish while he was away on business. I was happy to do it.

When he was in town, we’d hang out now and then. He’d take me to dinner or a craft show or a play. He was into the arts, and I was into hanging out with someone who was interesting and interested in more than going out to bars and talking about their job. 

We were kindred spirits. That might sound weird to some people, that a 20-something woman and a 50-something man could be true friends, but we were. I’ve never believed that friendship has to look a certain way or come in a certain package. I think if you’re lucky enough to find a few people in your lifetime who truly “get” you and make you feel like your best self when you’re with them, you’re very lucky. 

Jim was close to his family, who lived in his native Michigan. He talked endlessly about his clever and adorable nieces, his beloved dad, who’d passed away, and his “Ma,” a strong and capable woman.

One time we were driving through downtown Baltimore in his old blue Volvo and a car ran a red light, narrowly missing broadsiding us. Jim immediately pulled over and said “I gotta call my Ma. ‘Ma! Abigail and I almost got into an accident, but we’re OK.’” That struck me as so sweet. And, yes, he always called me by my full name for some reason. 

Jim eventually moved back to Michigan to care for his mom. We kept in touch over the years, exchanging Christmas cards and calls. I could always count on him to remember my birthday, June 21. “You’re my Summer Solstice girl!” he’d say. 

Our phone conversations followed a rough pattern: catching each other up on family news, political rants (he was not a fan of our current president, to put it mildly), and usually, a couple of dirty jokes. Jim had quite the repertoire–he rarely repeated a joke. Example: 

A woman goes to the dentist. To her dismay, the dentist tells her she needs a root canal. 

Woman: “Oh no! Is it going to hurt? I think I’d rather have a baby than get a tooth pulled!” 

Dentist: “Well, make up your mind. I’ll have to adjust the chair.”

Jim had a lot of health problems stemming from his time in the Vietnam War. When he’d talk about them, it was with frustration. His eye was bothering him again; his legs wouldn’t work the way he wanted them to. But after a few minutes, he’d be back to his gruff, cheerful self. “Ma’s going to be 97, can you believe it? She’s got more energy than I do. I have to tell her to slow down.”

Both Jim and his mom, like the rest of us, were growing weary of being cooped up in the house during the coronavirus quarantine. They were grudgingly adjusting to online Mass and having their groceries delivered and disinfected by his nieces, he told me the last time we spoke. 

The voicemail on my phone last week was from a Michigan number, but the voice was not Jim’s. It was his mother’s, telling me that Jim was not doing well. He had been in the hospital and his health was declining rapidly. I told her to give him my love and let him know I was thinking about him. Just four days later, I got another voicemail asking me to call her. With a pit in my stomach, I put the kids to bed and called her back. 

“Jimmy passed this morning,” she told me with a quaver in her voice. “I wanted you to know because you were so special to him.” 

“And he was to me, too,” I choked out. “I’m so, so sorry.” 

This was a real blow. So sudden, so unexpected, and so at the worst time ever. As if there’s ever a good time to lose a loved one. My heart breaks for his “Ma” and his family. And for me.

Jim was a true friend. A kindred spirit. A person who showed up for me over and over, across the years and the miles, to let me know he was thinking of me. I was lucky to have him in my life for as long as I did. I will miss him. And on my birthday, I will replay his last voicemail and listen to that rumbly voice once again. “Did you hear the one about the priest … ?”

The post My Friend Jim appeared first on Abby Off the Record.

I spent $27 on gas in March. That’s an interesting and unprecedented accomplishment. It proves that we’re taking the stay-home order seriously. And so does the additional hundreds of dollars spent on food and booze, I guess? My grocery bill has never been higher, but our dining-out expenditures have never been lower. I did order takeout once, but for me it wasn’t worth the money or the stress about who had touched the packaging.

Since my last post, the Maryland governor has issued the closure of all non-essential businesses and, as of March 30, a stay-at-home order. (There was a semi-comical debate on NextDoor about why liquor stores are considered an essential business.) In a way, this didn’t change much for us, since we were already pretty much staying at home. But the FEELING of being at home changed once it was made mandatory.

I could observe this playing out online, as neighbors debated technicalities on NextDoor. People got into (more) heated debates about whether biking was still OK or if we shouldn’t even step outside our doors. The governor’s office clarified these questions, stating that solo exercise outside was fine as long as you maintained social distance, but this didn’t stop people from fighting about it online.

Over and over again I’ve seen reassurances that people will feel all different ways right now, and that’s OK. We’re certainly seeing that play out. Some people are bored and frustrated. Some are anxious and depressed. Some are making endless “social distancing” jokes and circulating quarantine memes nonstop.(Uhh, guilty.)

Some people are giddy with the novelty of having free time, possibly for the first time in their adult lives. Some people are going into uber-productive mode, cleaning out closets and making elaborate recipes. Some are channeling all their energy into being helpful, organizing food drives and sewing face masks.

My feelings change by the hour, but overall I mostly feel a sense of calm and safety. (Except for sometimes at 3a.m.) In a way, it’s like I’ve been training for this for years. All my meditation and yoga and breathing exercises and self-help books and podcasts are serving me well.

I am bingeing* on online yoga classes, walks outside, Instagram Live, and Hulu. “Little Fires Everywhere” and “High Fidelity” are really good. And I am amazed at how many people are creating (free!) content right now, like Brene Brown’s new podcast, “Unlocking Us,” Oprah’s new Apple TV+ show where she talks to people about COVID-19, which I watch on the app on my phone, and “Shine On at Home” with @ReeseWitherspoon on IGTV.

(*A friend once remarked, “Your binges are so much healthier than mine. I’m inhaling Oreos and wine on the couch.” I’ve been known to do that from time to time, too.)

Another thing that is serving me well (for the time being) is resisting a strict schedule for my kids. I feel like the odd mom out here, but I’m OK with that. I think there is no one right way to parent during a pandemic. I think it depends on so many factors, including how many parents you have in your home, the ages of your kids, and all of your emotional states.

Some people thrive with routines. Other people, like me and my kids, are driven more by their moods and energy levels on any given day. We are prioritizing sleep and healthy family dinners. I do force them to get exercise, preferably outside. Other than that, the schoolwork will get done when it gets done.

Our county is just starting “official” online learning tomorrow, so we’ll see how that goes. I’ve heard some schools have had to specify that students must get out of bed before joining Zoom calls. Always the pot-stirrer, my 13yo said, “How would they even enforce that?”

Stay safe and sane, everybody.

LINK O’ THE DAY: If you are not following Upworthy on Instagram, go do so immediately.

The post Experiencing All the Moods and All the Online Content appeared first on Abby Off the Record.

Man, what a rollercoaster, huh? One minute we’re all, “This is an adventure! We’ll make waffles and watch movies!” And the next we’re wailing into our weighted blankets about how we’ll pay the bills or force our teens to do algebra for the next 2 months. Yep, as of yesterday, they’ve closed schools here in MD through the end of April. 

We’ve all cycled through our individual meltdowns in my house over the past several days. No sooner did I decide to start this blog back up than I broke it. Something about incompatible PHP code, outdated plugins, blah, blah, blah. Hours and hours of back and forth with tech support in another time zone and it’s finally fixed. And, honestly, chatting with the web hosting guys is the only support and adult interaction I’ve had in days – I’ll take it!

I’m trying to keep my spirits up with daily exercise. Much like meditation, it’s become a habit for me and I feel out of sorts if I don’t do it for a few days. Pre-quarantine, I was used to going to the gym at least 5 times a week for a yoga class, a strength-training session, or a run on the treadmill. Now, walking up and down the stairs to the laundry room is about the only cardio I get. 

Thankfully, there’s a ton of free fitness videos online. My gym sent out a link to Les Mills group exercise classes on demand. So far I’ve done barre with a couple of statuesque beauties on a surfboard (?) in the middle of a fjord (??) in New Zealand. (“Hey Siri, do they have fjords in New Zealand?” They do! Now it’s a workout AND a homeschooling lesson!)

This is my 11yo son’s idea of a workout:

That balance board was a good purchase. You can also do planks on it. I have a pic of my 13yo doing one but I am FORBIDDEN to post it. Now you know one of the reasons I stopped blogging. Teens ruin everything. J/K! LOL. 

Speaking of teens, I took my kids out for a hike when the sun came out the other day. And by took I mean forced. And by forced I mean threatened. Literally the only power I have over the teen is threatening to take his phone away. #ParentingConfessions

So there we were, on our forced march through the wilderness, silently cursing each other’s existence. We didn’t see another soul. Or any interesting animals. But we did find a weird-looking plant that looked like coronavirus spores. Anyone know what this is? 

By the time we got home I needed some virtual yoga on the beach in Costa Rica. 

I’ve also tried the Les Mills SH’BAM dance-type class, which my 11yo declared “Cringey.” It’s super-empowering to model a healthy lifestyle for your children. 

What are you all doing to keep moving during this stressful time? 

The post Fitness for Cringey Moms and Grumpy Teens appeared first on Abby Off the Record.

Two nights in a row now, I’ve woken up at 3 a.m. Why is it always 3 a.m.? It’s like my body has its own internal anxiety alarm clock. Time to wake up and obsess over every bad thing that could possibly happen! 

This is particularly distressing to me because I am a big sleeper. I need my sleep. Can’t function without it. In fact, one of the things I obsess over at 3 a.m. is how tired and sluggish I’m going to be the next day if I can’t fall back asleep. I won’t be able to do my work… I won’t have the energy to manage the kids… The day will be ruined… Which in turn makes me MORE anxious and restless. It’s a whole thing. 

I know I’m not the only one suffering from anxiety right now. It’s all I hear and see lately—how scared and anxious people are about this virus, their health, their loved ones, their jobs. 

If there’s anyone out there who hasn’t done as much self-help and therapy as I have and hasn’t gotten the memo: THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH YOU if you are experiencing anxiety, now or ever. (Or fear. Or anger. Or any other “negative” emotion. I know! This blew my mind, too.)

Anxiety is not a bad thing. In fact, the very first sentence in the Medical News Today article, What to know about anxiety is: “Anxiety is a normal and often healthy emotion.”

Anxiety is what alerts us to potential dangers and compels us to take wise action—say, looking both ways before we cross a street so we don’t get hit by a car. Or studying for a test so we won’t fail. 

I feel like it’s important to underscore that anxiety in our current circumstances is NORMAL. And even healthy, in that if anxiety keeps you at home and compels you to keep washing your hands, that’s a good thing, right?  

But if it’s normal and healthy, then why does it feel so BAD?! Well, first of all, let’s recognize that many of us are feeling higher than usual levels of anxiety. I mean, last week I woke up in a panic that I’d forgotten to put out the recycling. I can never remember if pickup is on Mon. or Weds!

Whereas this week I’m doing deep-dives into Instagram stories discussing whether COVID-19 can live on Amazon boxes and what type of face masks are effective. (Only N95s, apparently. Not this rainbow LED one R. wore for Halloween.)

Anxiety becomes a problem when it starts to interfere with daily function, according to the American Psychological Association. The APA describes a person with anxiety disorder as “having recurring intrusive thoughts or concerns.” Nothing that will kill you, but here’s the other problem with anxiety: for many people, the bad feelings are so intolerable that they will do unhealthy things to make them go away. 

My youngest child was diagnosed with ADHD and anxiety a few years ago, and I can still remember the pediatrician’s exact words to me: “If you don’t get a handle on this now, he will find ways to self-medicate when he gets older.” Addiction runs in our family. Alcoholism has ruined the lives and relationships of too many people I know. I was not going to mess around with my son. 

The doctor emphasized that there is no quick-fix solution, no single pill or therapy that eliminates anxiety for good. And boy was she right. But I will save the details of our medical “journey” for another time. For now, I will focus on some of the coping skills I’m trying to learn myself and teach my son. 

Breathe. Have you ever caught yourself unconsciously holding your breath? We all do it. At bedtime, my son will often say, “I feel scared for no reason.” I’ll listen to his chest and his heart is pounding. Granted, this is often because he’s just been doing backflips on his mattress. But in his body, it feels like fear.

I encourage him to take deep breaths using the 4-7-8 technique: breathe in for a count of 4, hold it for 7, exhale for 8. Here’s a video for kids that shows how to do it. If he’s too impatient for that, we do this much shorter technique I learned from a kindergarten teacher: “Smell a flower, blow out a candle.” Repeat several times.

Feel your feelings. Um, obviously. Don’t we all just do this naturally? No. No, we do not. Most of us are so uncomfortable feeling anything unpleasant that we will do anything to avoid it or numb it. But before you guzzle a glass of shiraz or scream at your mom (depending on your age), know that the average bad feeling lasts a few seconds. That’s it. It will pass. It will not kill you. 

Here’s the best tutorial I’ve seen on how to actually do this:

Meditate. This is a hard sell, I know. For adults and kids alike. I posted this on Instagram the other day. I hope you can read it. If not, go here. 

Last night at 3 a.m., I downloaded the free Insight Timer meditation app, listened to Elizabeth Gilbert’s talk on “Facing Fear With Compassion,” Tara Brach’s talk, “Facing Pandemic Fears with an Awake Heart,” and then some soothing music. I eventually fell asleep. I could function today. Anyway, it’s the weekend. I think? 

Anyone else out there battling 3 a.m. anxiety? I’d love to hear what’s helped you. 

The post Thoughts on Anxiety at 3 a.m. appeared first on Abby Off the Record.

So here we are, Day … oh, who knows? With schools closed and everything shut down, the days are all blurring together and each 24-hour period feels like 3 days. In some ways, though, our new reality is not that different for me. There are lots of jokes flying around the freelance/work-at-home community like this: 

There are differences, of course. And not just the threat of disease, death, and economic decline. I mean the kids are home with us. 24/7. This is really flipping a lot of people out. On social media I’m seeing everything from elaborate homeschooling schedules and homemade scavenger hunts and STEM activities to people who’ve been doing nothing but playing Frozen II on repeat and serving fruit snacks. We’re somewhere in between. 

I do think this is a great opportunity to teach my kids life skills they may be lacking. For instance, How to Make Yourself Ramen Noodles and How to Change the Toilet Paper Roll. Don’t judge me for not having taught them these skills already. I know plenty of adults who still haven’t mastered them!

I’ve always been not-so-secretly proud of my ability to conjure up semi-healthy meals out of a few ingredients. I am not great at meal planning and I dislike grocery shopping, so that means I often have to throw something together from the contents of my pantry or freezer. I also hate wasting food. So that makes me ideally suited for our current situation.

Instead of fighting the crowds at the supermarket, I have been making: 

• Smoothies with frozen fruit or fresh fruit that’s about to go bad

• Peanut butter and sliced bananas drizzled with honey on toasted freezer-burned waffles

• “Pizza & wings” – In quotation marks because apparently spinach pizza and vegan BBQ wings don’t count? Picky kids!

• Falafel wraps with wilted lettuce scraps – So what if I’m the only one who ate them? (For the backstory, see Sometimes Life is a Rotten Falafel)

• Chickpea and Quinoa Tortilla Soup – I used canned tomatoes instead of fresh, this powdered broth base my mom told me about, and the crushed-up tortilla chips from the bottom of the bag that no one wants to eat. It’s super-delicious with fresh cilantro and avocado, but even without it’s still good. 

• Panda Express Orange Chicken – This may look elaborate, but I only make the orange sauce and put it over chopped up chicken nuggets or Gardein “fake chicken” tenders, broccoli, and rice (all frozen).

• Jell-O and mac & cheese – OK, R, my 11yo, made those. But hey, making food out of powder is fun! 

Are you sensing a theme? If you said, “doctoring up frozen, canned, or powdered food,” you win! If you said, “passing off vegan items as real meat,” bonus points!

In related life skills, we have almost mastered Put Your Own Dishes in the Dishwasher but not How to Hand-Wash Mixing Bowls and Utensils Coated in Red Jell-O.

I need your help on how to grade the following. On the one hand, he changed the roll WITHOUT BEING ASKED. On the other hand, he left the discarded roll on the floor. What do you think? B+ for effort? B- for execution? 

LINK O’ THE DAY: This made me LOL.

The post How to Make Jell-O, and other Life Skills appeared first on Abby Off the Record.

Hello readers, old and new! I haven’t been writing regularly on this blog for a few years, for a variety of reasons. But I’ve decided to start again, at least for the next little while. This is a historic time we’re living through, and it feels important to document it in my own words. 

In the olden days of blogging (I started my first blog in 2005), one of the things I liked best was hearing from readers in different parts of the U.S. and around the world about their own experiences. We can fall under the assumption that we know everything about everyone, everywhere, thanks to social media, the 24/7 news cycle, and the internet in general. But it’s not really true, and it’s not the same as people telling their own stories in longer, more lasting form than tweets and TikToks. So here I go. 

Bear in mind that I am writing this as things are unfolding in real time. The news changes by the hour, and we are all learning as we go. Meaning: if you read this in a week or a month and all the rules for hand-washing and social distancing have changed (as they probably will), do not criticize or shame me for my ignorance. I get enough of that from my kids. 

Speaking of my kids, my sons are now 11 and 13 and don’t suffer fools gladly. And by fools, I mean Boomers. And by Boomers, I mean Gen-Xers like me or anyone older than them. I’ve tried to explain the generational differences to them. They don’t care. “OK, Boomer.” Tweens and teens are fun. 

Anyway, let’s get into the coronavirus/COVID-19 situation, shall we? 

Like everyone, everywhere, we’d been hearing the news about China and Italy for weeks. On March 11, our public school system in the Baltimore suburbs announced they were cancelling field trips outside of Maryland and DC for the remainder of the school year. This was super-disappointing to R., my 5^th grader, because his class was scheduled to go on a field trip to Philadelphia later in the month. On a real coach bus with reclining seats and movie screens!

A day later, schools announced they were closing immediately for the 2 weeks leading up to Spring Break.* I’ll be honest and tell you that my first thoughts upon learning–with zero notice–that my children would be home from school for 3 straight weeks were not about how many people’s health would be protected. Emails and voicemails about online learning, grab-and-go lunches, and field trip refunds began circulating hourly. 

The next day, Friday, my kids came home from their last day of school with some extra worksheets and links to online resources. That’s it. I’ve heard some of the private schools are conducting online lessons in real-time via Zoom or other platforms. Kids must login at certain times and complete daily lessons. That is not the case for us. Not yet, anyway. 

Like many people trying to keep on top on the ever-evolving news, I have been closely following social media. I follow thousands of people on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook. If this sounds like information overload, it is. But it’s also very helpful at times. Many people began posting homeschooling schedules, like this one. At first I found this helpful and inspiring. Very quickly, however, I tipped into overwhelm and despair. My kids announced that they were not going to be “forced” to do “tons of pointless work.” 

Listen. In the best of times, I find it frustrating maddening challenging to get my kids to do their homework in a thorough and timely fashion. If I dare suggest, say, that “we” review “our” work, check our answers, or look up the correct spelling of “ancwsers,” I am met with great wailing and gnashing of teeth. So I don’t see enforcing a strict homeschooling schedule broken into 30 min. increments. It will not go well. For any of us. 

In fact, there was so much wailing and moaning leading UP to today (Monday, the first official “homeschool” day), that we were all worn out and slept in. In fact, I let M., my 8^th grader, sleep in till 11:30 a.m. Yep, I did. That was 3 extra blissful hours I didn’t have to spend fighting with him over screentime, so yeah, I let him sleep in. Come at me, bro.

Also? I need to somehow squeeze MY work into this strange new schedule of ours. I have never felt so lucky to be a work-at-home writer who can continue to generate income even in our current circumstances. For me, working remotely ain’t no thang. It’s what I do. My heart is breaking for all these employees I’m hearing about who can’t work from home, who still have to work even though their kids’ schools or daycare is closed. (And many are still having to pay for childcare or backup childcare.) And the restaurant workers, now that MD has shut down bars and restaurants starting tonight. And don’t even get me started on all those healthcare workers. It’s a nightmare. How is anyone going to make this work?

It’s now been 3 days—only 3 days!—since life as we know it ended abruptly. All the sports and activities have been cancelled. All the movie theaters and gyms are closed. On Sat. one son had a friend over and my other son played outside with neighbors. On Sun. I woke up to online admonishments to cancel playdates and avoid playgrounds. I don’t know what to do. (Besides, OBVS, washing our hands nonstop!)

Here’s where I must insert some Grandma-shaming which will surely hurt some feelings. But when someone (without kids at home) suggests, “Go for a walk! Bake some cookies! Watch a movie!” it takes all my strength to suppress a violent eye roll and not scream, “And what about the other 13 freaking hours of the day?!” As one single mom of 3 said on Instagram, “Parenting is relentless AF.” And never more so than during a pandemic when all the Skyzones and Smoothie Kings are closed.

Hell hath no fury like an active elementary schooler whose after-school activities, sports practices, field trips, and playdates have all been abruptly cancelled. And not even fury. Real, understandable, crushing disappointment, bewilderment, fear, and anxiety. It’s a lot for any kid. And any parent. For now, we’re just getting by the best we can, hour by hour. Stay tuned and stay safe. 

*As of 5:07 p.m. 3/16/20, Maryland school leaders and health experts say the shutdown could last through the end of the school year. Yay. 

LINKS O’ THE DAY: This Twitter thread about Gen-Xers made me LOL in recognition. Warning: includes adult language. Dark times call for dark humor. 

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Here’s a look back at one of my favorite holiday posts. Ah, memories!

Fritz could be my kid! I was thrilled to have this realization during one of my many, many viewings of The Nutcracker.

I love The Nutcracker—the music, the dancing, the costumes. I am lucky enough to have seen it performed professionally several times. My dad took me to see it as a kid and even in college. I made my husband take me when I was pregnant with our first child, and I forced my sons to go with me once they were old enough. This is actually not as hard a sell for boys as you might imagine. After all, there are swordfights and a Mouse King and all sorts of acrobatic dancing.

Most people picture graceful ballerinas and Sugar Plum Fairies when they think of The Nutcracker, but the story is actually not all so sweet. If you recall, the Nutcracker in the title is the gift given to young Clara by her beloved godfather on Christmas Eve. Her brother Fritz gets jealous, grabs the Nutcracker from Clara, and breaks it. That’s totally something my kids would do!

A big part of my holiday stress since becoming a parent is due to the expectations involved in celebrating Christmas. There are my children’s outrageous gift lists, filled with live animals (hedgehogs, hamsters), loud musical instruments (a drum set, a ukelele), and every other page of the Lego catalog. Then there’s the jockeying of the relatives, all of them intent on getting equal time with my children. And there are the endless invitations and obligations, all of which seem to cost money and time I don’t have.

But mostly my stress is caused by this ridiculous notion that kids are supposed to be good and patient and grateful at all times in the midst of this melee—while all jacked up on sugar and up way past their bedtimes. The naughty/nice list is too much pressure on an energetic little boy with no concept of time or delayed gratification. Anyone who playfully warns, “Santa’s watching…” while wagging a finger at a kid having a hissy fit should be choked with a string of twinkle lights.

People who picture the holidays filled with cherubs in footy pajamas sweetly clutching teddy bears while visions of sugar plums dance in their heads need to come to my house in December. It’s all broken ornaments, tantrums, and time-outs around here. I am seriously considering having “Kids are why we can’t have nice things” stitched on a throw pillow.

But The Nutcracker reminds me that this is normal. Kids are sometimes often cranky and tired during the holidays. Sometimes they are unhappy with their gifts. No matter how much you coach them to force a smile and thank Aunt Betty for the hand-knitted wool socks, kids don’t have good poker faces. They might frown and pout when they get a lame gift. And let’s be honest: plenty of adults do too. Some of us just have better poker faces.

At Christmastime, I try to keep my expectations low and my décor replaceable. I may never have a Nutcracker to pass down to my grandchildren as a family heirloom, mostly because my own kids will have destroyed it first. But Nutcrackers make bad gifts for kids, anyway. You’re better off picking something out of the Lego catalog. May I recommend page 32?

The post Revisiting the Nutcracker appeared first on Abby Off the Record.

“Enough with the homeless man! Sit down and eat your yogurt parfait!” You know your parenting has gone awry if you find yourself hissing these words at your 8yo son in Panera, as I did one recent Saturday morning. Let me explain.

Our family had decided to go out to breakfast. A rare occurrence, since I prefer to drink my coffee at home in my bathrobe, not get all gussied up with pants and lip gloss to stand in line with a bunch of strangers. Anyway, there we were, enjoying our bagels and beverages. Riley was seated facing the window, where a homeless man was waiting by the entrance, asking passersby for spare change.

Unfortunately, this is an all-too-common scene in our city. Both of my sons have big hearts and lots of questions. A few I get on the regular: “Mommy, what does that man’s sign say? Why is he homeless? Why can’t he just go and live with his parents? Can I give him my chips/juice box/half-eaten bag of dino fruit snacks?” Sometimes we give someone an (unopened) snack or a dollar, but of course, it’s not possible to help everyone.

Sometimes, if I have the energy, I will launch into a long, confusing lecture on systemic poverty, affordable housing, and charitable organizations. This goes over about as well as you’d expect with two boys who live in a safe, loving home with unlimited access to toilet paper, pretzels, and Wifi. Where the fridge and dresser drawers are never empty, thanks to a Grocery Fairy and a Laundry Fairy!

On the one hand, I love that my son is worried about this homeless man outside Panera and wants to help him. On the other hand, it consumed our ENTIRE family breakfast.

“Can we give him some money, Mommy?”

“How about some food,” suggests Dad.

“OK! Can I go give him my bagel?”

“That’s stupid, Riley. He won’t eat it,” says Big Brother helpfully.

“I don’t think he wants your leftovers, buddy. We’ll get him something on the way out.”

“Look, he has 4 coffees now. People are giving him drinks.”

“That’s nice. See? People want to help.”

“Is that a policeman? What’s he doing? Is he telling that man to leave? Ooh, look, he’s doing a dance now!”

The jaded part of me who’s lived in Baltimore for 20 years—yes, the setting of “The Wire”—thinks, that’s not a dance, that’s what’s known as the “heroin lean,” son. Then the non-jaded part of me is immediately appalled that I know that and that I’m assuming the man is on drugs. This is followed by a shame spiral because I am raising children who already know what junkies, weed, and police brutality are, not to mention way more kinds of weapons than they’d know from just watching the Power Rangers.

Can you see why I prefer having breakfast at home?

In the direction I was facing at our table, though, I had a different perspective. I could see a line of people of just about every race and ethnicity, young and old, able-bodied and in wheelchairs. People were holding the door for one another, letting people go ahead of them in line, chatting with strangers about knee surgery: “Oh, you lookin’ good, honey! I had it last year. Just keep doing your exercises!”

We finished our breakfast and got up to buy another bagel to go. Riley was all set to give it to the homeless man, but outside the door we discovered he was gone. “I was looking for him, too,” said a woman next to us. “I had a bag of clothes in the car I wanted to give him.” People want to help.

Always the mom looking for a Teachable Moment, I said to my son, “You know, if you want to help there are other ways. One of your classmates is collecting pajamas to donate to a homeless shelter. Want to go pick some out?” I was so pleased with myself for thinking of this. It’s the perfect opportunity. Riley LOVES pajamas. He changes into them the second he gets home from anywhere, at any time of day. He owns more PJs than Hugh Hefner, R.I.P.

“Nah. You can, though.” And just like that, his altruism has passed. Giving a bagel to a dancing homeless man is one thing. Going clothes shopping with your mom for some anonymous person is quite another.

I used to want to avoid unpleasantness of any kind, any reminder of pain or suffering. I still want to shield my kids from it, even if that’s not possible or advisable. I struggle with how to talk about tough subjects like homelessness, the self-consciousness of doing the wrong thing or not doing enough, and the despair of knowing I can’t solve it.

What my kids and I can do, however, is acknowledge it instead of turning away. To the homeless man outside Panera: We see you. You matter. We want to help.

P.S. I did buy some pajamas to donate. Any excuse to pick out cute footies in toddler sizes!

P.P.S. Parenting is exhausting. You don’t get Saturdays off.

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