Relax, I'm Vax'd

 

California's COVID "reopening" day was June 15th, Tuesday of this week, after one of the longest (fifteen months) lockdowns in the country. I am a very cautious person by nature, and change for me will always be incremental (no mask-burning parties here!).  I've stopped wearing masks outside for a good while, and (more recently) with vaccinated friends in small groups, which feels... strange (but good). While in our private pods at work, we'll soon be allowed to take off our masks if all of our pod-mates are fully immunized, there's not anything that broadcasts everyone's vaccination status (everyone needs a pin like mine!).  Patients (and us in exam rooms and hallways) are still supposed to be masked in the hospital/healthcare settings, until Cal/OSHA says otherwise.  When I stopped by the library today, masks were still required.  Many private business (especially in a progressive area like ours) will probably still require masks for a bit longer, which is totally fair (we have a dozen or so COVID cases per day, the vast majority in unvaccinated people), as only about 50% of our (eligible) county's population is fully vaccinated (59% have had at least one dose). 

Many of my friends are nervous about the "unmasking" of the public due to there still being so many anti-vaxxers (and anti-maskers, largely the same people) out there, now unidentified and unmasked, and many of us still have kids under twelve, who are still susceptible to COVID and not yet eligible for vaccines (Niall went to the store with Kelvin today and was aghast at all the unmasked people! However, he and Iver both, kids of two doctors, actually understand the immunology behind why [some] adults can safely unmask, while they can't [yet], despite that it doesn't feel entirely fair). I really don't mind keeping the mask on for a bit longer, especially to be consistent for and in solidarity for my kids, as we creep closer to herd immunity (I heard someone joke they want a mask stating "I'm fully vaccinated but I don't trust YOU!" To be fair, social trust is probably at an all-time low with everything that has happened politically in the last 4-5 years in our country and due to the extreme ideologies of some of our neighbors).

But, because I'm vax'd, I do feel like I can relax a bit and, with my pin, hope make those around me feel safer too, even if I choose to keep my mask on (the pin is available on Etsy for purchase if you want one, too!).

Welcoming the Rain

I don't usually welcome rainy days, nor do I make a point of exercising/walking in the rain. However, my good friend Kellie and I planned to get together for a Sunday walk this past weekend, and the forecast showed nothing but rain, which has actually become more and more rare in these usually-gloomy parts due to climate change. She and I both suffer from eco-anxiety and are dreading another terrible fire season due to another very drought-y year, so were happy to see rain on the forecast, even if it made our walk a bit more... soggy.

We donned our rainboots and rain jackets (even thought the rain actually makes it feel warmer and muggier here), and walked for about an hour and a half from her house, to and around McKinleyville's Azalea Reserve and back (there were actually azaleas, when there weren't a month ago when I took my parents).  I am pretty clueless when it comes to plants, but she has been doing a lot of reading and could identify many of the local species, including poison oak (yikes), skunk cabbage, and various berries (she also pointed out a rat's nest, which we avoided).

Salmonberries

Blackberries

Azaleas

Daisies?

(Columbines, I think)

I didn't get any pictures of us, bedraggled, during or after our walk.  It was worth it, though, to think that these many drenching drops of water were helping our local plants, forests, and river ecosystems get a much-needed boost this season. 

I will welcome more walks in the rain!

Table Bluff County Park(ed for a long time)

 

With California’s COVID restrictions lifting ("Opening Day" is supposedly June 15th), we are feeling more and more safe venturing out and about and eager to plan/do more day and weekend trips. This weekend, we opted to stay close to home (which has a ton of outdoor space to explore and which is just what we enjoy most, even in non-COVID times, but which is especially good because of the still-unvaccinated kids) but went somewhere new (well, I thought it was new, but Kelvin recalls we'd been there and, sure enough, there was blog evidence from 2013).

Table Bluff County Park is about five miles west of the highway between Eureka and Loleta so about 45 minutes from our house, and we headed out there on Hookton Road on Saturday morning. As we got an early start, we intended it to just be a half-day trip, with our plan being to return home in time for Niall's naptime (~1 p.m.).  However, we (which was extremely important after what happened!) had packed lunches so that we could take our time out there. 

After reaching the bluffs, we headed north on South Jetty Road, to check out some different beach access points.  

In Trinidad (the beaches we frequent the most), usually we have to do a bit of hiking (down) to get to the actual sand and waves.  Kelvin was very excited to see this sign advertising "Vehicle Access to Waveslope" that indicated that we could drive right onto the beach. 

However, just because you CAN doesn't mean you SHOULD... (you probably know where this is headed...)

We enjoyed some quiet morning time on the very isolated beach (check out the new rack we got for our "adventure" car!). Pepper enjoyed frolicking in the sand. 

 

The kids found a ton of ladybugs among the seaweed. 

 Iver found and added to a "stick fort."

Between 10 and 10:30 a.m., we decided that we'd leave the beach and head back to the bluffs for lunch, and then go on to do some errands in Eureka. 

However, the sand had other plans.

Kelvin's Highlander got horribly stuck going up the gentle sandy incline that we'd made it down easily an hour or two prior.  

     The kids' shovel really says it all!

Peeking Pep

We (adults) tried for upwards of forty-five minutes to dig it out. We had had some recent snow experience, and used the kids' beach shovels to dig out the wheels, flatten out the sand, and used multiple planks of beach driftwood lying around to try to splint the front and back wheels of the SUV, which kept spinning. We tried putting it in neutral and pushing. No luck. We saw a couple of people walking their dog and, on their suggestion, walked the few hundred yards to the paved road to see if there were any pick-up trucks nearby that might be able to give us the ~10-or-so-feet tow that we needed to get to the flat part of the sand.  Nada. 

Ultimately, we called AAA, and I went through a self-reported smartphone menu that asked me to identify my membership information, our vehicle and location, and was informed that they'd be figuring out the towing situation. The first "rescue" estimate was 118 minutes. We received a few phone clarification calls from AAA, who ultimately told us that, due to this rescue being on sand, not on a paved road or highway, the service would not be covered, but they'd still arrange a local tow truck, although they could not give us general time estimates. While we were waiting, we actually saw a couple of other cars and groups of people drive down the path we were on, and warned them about getting stuck. They wisely reversed back the way they came. Iver apparently also asked Kelvin, "What if AAA doesn't come through? Do we call triple-B?"

Our precise location!

The kids were thankfully in good spirits during this time--we were stuck at one of their favorite places in the world (the beach!). While they’d watched from their car seats for some of the digging time, we let them out to frolic about the dunes some more. Once we’d given up on getting ourselves out, we ate our packed lunch as a picnic. Then, to pass the time, we took a walk on the path-which-got-us-stuck to photograph the beautiful, cheery, wildflowers (including the coastal yellow bush lupine which I’d never seen before) along the road and South Bay.  It was actually a lovely, sunny afternoon, which can be rare around these parts (especially south of Eureka).

“Follow the yellow flower-lined road...” 

(My children wear t-shirts and I wear coats)

A bouquet for you, mama!

Lupinus arboreus

Still waitin' on a tow 

We started to get a bit antsy after one, as it started getting cloudier, and the tide was getting higher (Iver, who struggles with anxiety, wondered if the waves would reach our car before we would be rescued. In a confident voice, I told him "no," but I admit the thought crossed my mind as well.). The kids asked about a million times when the tow truck was coming to which we had to keep answering “We don’t know. Soon, we hope.”  However, around 1:15 or so, two hours after our initial call to AAA, we got a call from Pacific Towing Company in Eureka that a driver (Mike) was on his way to us. Hallelujah!

It ended up being after 2 p.m. when we saw the wheels of a red ATV, but we were elated.  Despite our "tow hook" being missing from the Highlander's trunk for unknown reasons, Mike found a way to hitch our front to his front and reversed back, pulling us the few feet that we weren't able to make it up.  He told us that he'd done about ten similar rescues in the past eight months and, as a contractor (due to his sand vehicle!) for the company, was making good (and well-deserved) money (I think he doesn't mind the permissive road sign!)! We were so thankful, despite the $350 out-of-pocket fee! Niall now wants to "get a tow truck" (and become a driver) so we can help pull people out of the sand! 

It was a rough ~ 4 hours, and not the way we had really wanted to spend our Saturday (plus, sand was everywhere!) but, as many things in life, adversity (and unexpected adventures) can teach us (and our children) a lot. We were literally stuck, and had to brainstorm what to do as well as make the best of it. We were patient with one another, kind, and stayed calm in spite of uncertainty. In my post- (or near-post-) pandemic life, I have come to be a bit better at coping with things that don't go as planned (and realize that such adventures provide good content for my blog as well as memories). Staying still and appreciating the wonder of our surroundings is a good lifelong practice.  We had shelter (we also had a conversation about how some homeless people sleep and live out of their cars), warmth, food, water, sunblock, a tiny kiddie potty for elimination (poop), cell phone battery life and service, each other, and not that far to go to the main road (if we'd ultimately had to desert our vehicle and walk to find help). We spent a lot of quality time on the South Jetty, and there are far less picturesque places to be stuck. Niall even got in an abbreviated nap during our return drive. We had an experience that our family will remember for a long time (but not one we care to repeat). We all sure learned a lesson about (not) driving on sand, despite what a road sign indicates.

Remember: just because you CAN doesn't mean you SHOULD!

It's a wrap (the end of the shortest, longest school year ever)

Whew.

The 2020-2021 "academic" school year is (finally) over.  Here's my attempt at a recap (warning: I know this post comes across as a bit of a downer.  But it is all the reality of what we went through, and I had to document it).

August 25, 2020: First day of "school" (Zoom Kindergarten). I wrote Iver an emotional letter when I couldn't stop crying at what I knew was the theft of a normal ritual of childhood for him and for so many children across our country and world because his school elected not to open for in-person learning.   

For me/us, "remote" or "distance learning" was just horrendous, and just as terrible as I predicted it would be, for months and months on end.  Iver was zooming into Kindergarten from group childcare (which, as was paid for privately, stayed open), while we as healthcare workers tried to keep our patients healthy, stay well ourselves, avoided doing anything with anyone that wasn't essential, and tried to be "supportive" (involuntary) homeschool parents in the evenings and weekends without any family nearby and without too many tears.  There was a lot of fighting about boring math and Spanish worksheets, unengaging online activities, and lots of parental guilt and frustration, with no end in sight and very little joy or breaks to be found to fill our own cups.  Trying to keep up with remote learning was worse than having our child redshirt kindergarten, in my opinion (but not knowing how long schools would be "closed," deferring was not an option we seriously entertained). I know that adapting to distance learning was hard for teachers, and recognize that this year was rough on them, too, but it was a nightmare for parents and our kids had to pay the steep price for something that did not have to be.

I'm sure his teacher loved his completion of this assignment about la granja.

March 15, 2021: First day of in-person school (at two half-days per week). I celebrated and sighed with relief at a pretty major burden lifted and a sign that our kids wouldn't be educated exclusively by screens... forever.  But I still lamented the incredibly inconvenient schedule of "hybrid" school, which was the worst of all exposure worlds. We relied on childcare teachers' help in shuttling Iver to school and back on the days he went, due to an 8:30 start and 12:30 end.

 

April 1, 2021: about two weeks after starting in-person school, Iver was put on his first quarantine due to a childcare COVID exposure, and could not attend his part-time in-person kindergarten. Thankfully, he was able to be watched by a vaccinated teacher.

The third week in April (or so; I can't recall the exact date. I deleted a lot of e-mails):  Kids go back to four half-days of in-person learning all together as one class.

May 7, 2021: Iver gets put on his second childcare quarantine, forcing him to miss even more in-person school (thankfully my vaccinated parents were in town to be able watch him this time).  But what's another week or two away when you've basically had no school the entire year (and when you're a pro at Zoom-KG)? I basically stopped caring about "school or no school" at this point, basically writing the year off.

May 17, 2021: With three and a half weeks to go in the school year, Iver returns to five half-days of in-person learning. 

May 25, 2021:  We get a 7:00 a.m e-mail, text and phone broadcast that, not due to COVID but rather due to lack of water pressure, school was closed. 

Thankfully, the lack-of-water closure ended up lasting only one school day and we again praised our luck at having our childcare as full-day back-up just as they've continued to serve as our safety net all year.

The year came to an anticlimactic end with a Zoom KG "graduation" at a weekday morning time when we couldn't tune in anyway. Which is basically how disengaged this whole year felt. 

I never set foot in his kindergarten classroom the entire year (but I don't think any parents did-- drop-offs were outside). 

I only set foot on his campus twice --once early on to pick up some school supplies (Kelvin did all the "distance learning materials" Friday exchanges as his schedule was more flexible), and another time on one weekend so he could show us his playground.

I never met any of his teachers in person.

Or any of the parents.

Or any of his fellow classmates.

I loved school as a kid, and I had really wanted (and want) to be an engaged and involved parent, but it was entirely impossible this year with all the burdens that we were juggling.  I still feel a huge amount of disappointment, grief, guilt, anger, and pain (and am still traumatized by it all). Nevertheless, now that the year is over, I feel like I am going to be able to move past it a bit better.  While I was so eager for my child to be in school, now I sigh with relief to have just survived it all and to have had the year come to a conclusion, and to close this dark chapter.

(Parents, 2020-2021)

I know that Iver is okay.  Kids are resilient. One year, while it was the first one and the start, is not that long in the span of his educational journey. There are far worse things (COVID included) to befall children in this world than Zoom Kindergarten.  Despite my own issues at coping with what he was missing (and my frustration at the firm belief that the public schools should have never been closed for the school year [many private schools stayed open with precautions and did have not have rampant COVID outbreaks]), Iver did surprisingly well. He learned how to type and to navigate the Chromebook, the mute button, and the mousepad. He learned some math and a little Spanish. He became quite an advanced reader (and a sneaky texter). He made some actual friend connections with his "school" classmates, even through and despite the screens. He got to see more of his beloved childcare teachers (Maddie and Angela) than he would have, love shining even through their masks.  

We recognize that we are extremely privileged to have the means to pay for high-quality childcare to make up for our parental availability gaps during this challenging year (or that we didn't have to try to simultaneously work from home full-time with kids present and supervise distance learning). While Iver is a highly sensitive child who is slow to adapt to new people and new settings, the gradual introduction to the *actual* new kinder classroom/public school and kids (first remotely, then in person) actually probably worked in his favor. He slowly built relationships with some new school teachers, some of whom will also be involved in his first grade year (and who I'm sure are also relieved at surviving this year), while still being held closely and loved by the amazing souls at his current childcare, from which he may never graduate (we are forever in these LL teachers' debt).  It was a transition of a tempo that was probably just what he needed (despite it not being what we expected nor dreamed).

Our kids said goodbye to Maddie, a dear preschool teacher that has loved both of my kids so well, who moved across the country. This was sad for all of us. 

But am I sad to say goodbye to this nightmare of an educational year for Iver? Not in the least. I am thankful and celebrating inside that this pain is finally over, and I want to forget that it ever happened (while I still want it documented for my blog). 

While we still don't know what the fall will look like, I am hopeful that, with little kids' vaccines on the horizon, school will be near-normal.  In any case, nothing could be worse than the academic year we just endured.

Goodbye (good riddance), shortest, longest school year ever.  

May you be as rare as a unicorn sighting!