Author: SammiSteeves

Back to School

As a former NYer, August is still summer. It’s still a month away from school. It’s still hot. As a Southerner (I can claim “southern status,” because I’ve lived below the Mason-Dixon line for nearly 1/3 of my life–also, you should hear me drawl), August is the start of the school year. Summer’s over. And it’s disgustingly hot.

This year is like no other. Obviously. That is truly the understatement of the year. Even though I opted to keep my kids doing remote learning for the first quarter, I was grateful that the district decided to start everyone remote, at least for the first month. Which made me less of the bad guy when I informed Shea that she would not be going to middle school.

Xander is more than willing to never go back to school again. He can’t even fully appreciate the laid-back format of Remote Learning with Sammi Steeves. Normally, on the first day of school (or any school day, for that matter), I would have to wake him up at 6, so that he can make it to the bus by 7. Xander likes to hit the Mom Snooze Button, which requires me going into his room every 5 minutes: “are you awake yet? How about now? Xander? Xander?!” Then I sing. Loudly. Operatically. Obnoxiously.

Thanks to remote learning, I don’t start the harassment until 7:30. He would be 30 minutes into an hour-long bus ride by that point, so really, we should all be feeling pretty good about the extra sleep.

Truth be told, my alarm went off at 6:30, and I rolled out of bed and wandered around like low-battery Wall-E for the first 15 minutes. Where’s. The coffee. It isn’t like I don’t already get up between 6 and 6:30, but for some reason my Rufus Alarm didn’t go off this morning. My Rufus Alarm tends to go off some time before Justin leaves for work at 5:30–it’s a lot of snorting loudly in my ear, sniffing my nightstand (which instantly gets me out of bed, because even though he’s never done it, I’m convinced that this is the morning he will steal my glasses), more snorting with a hefty amount of nudging, and then usually he’ll bring me something from dirty laundry–a sock, shorts, a pair of underwear. He’s big on gifting. Sometimes I get a shoe, but rarely is it even mine. On this morning, even Rufus was wanting to sleep through the first day of school (he did bring me a ball of used painter’s tape later in the morning, so I wouldn’t feel forgotten).

Even though everyone was reminded over the past week that school would require getting dressed, there was still a decent amount of complaining. “But, why??” Well, Xander, if you wouldn’t sit top naked in class, I don’t think you should be top naked during google meetings with your classmates.

Then comes the fun part. Fill out an “All About Me” form. Typical first day of school stuff.
“Mom, how do I spell Trampoline.”
“T-R-A-M-P-O-L-I-N-E…Why??”
“My teacher wants to know an area where I need improvement.”
Ladies and gentlemen, we’re a solid 5 minutes into the school day.
“Xander, she means what school subject needs improvement.”
“Ohhhhhhhh!!! All of them.”

By this point, I foolishly assume he has the hang of it, and get back to cleaning out the fridge. Then I hear Shea: “Xander, you can’t put ‘backflips’ under After School Responsibilities.” Ah, yes. While most children are doing homework, or taking out the trash, I obviously require that my children do no less than 10 backflips.

I double-checked the sheet before he submitted it. The child used “backflips” to answer 5 questions, including, “when it comes to learning, my strengths are……” backflips. I fail to see how that is a learning strength, but what do I know–I can’t do a single backflip.

Happy First Day of School!!! Only 179 to go!

Day After Day

School starts next Monday, and while most northern states are still coming up with a game plan, here in the south we had to decide by 17 July: remote learning, or face-to-grimy-face. I asked for opinions from friends and family, but the truth of the matter is, I made my decision back in May, when school ended for the summer.

Of course then I watched as county after county around us put their face-to-germy-face option on the back burner, making all students do remote learning—at least until September. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Even though my kids are locked in to remote learning for the first 9 week, I sure do love to doubt myself. Is this the right decision? Am I being paranoid? Am I going to lose my mind? I believe the answers are Yes, No, and Oh hell yes.

You see, I am not what you would call “organized.” Or good with schedules, or staying on task. And while we had 3 months of practice in the spring, I am not a teacher. I never wanted to be a teacher. I can teach you how to swim, I can teach you how to be a lifeguard…neither of those things dramatically shape a person’s future. I mean, I suppose they do. Congratulations, you no longer have to worry about drowning; hooray, you now have the skills to swim laps for exercise; look at you, completing the requirements for an awesome summer job. But, based on the number of adults I have taught to swim over the last 2 decades, you can survive in the real world without knowing how to tread water or rotary breathe.

So, step one of this adventure was more about me. I am a notorious schedule maker…and breaker. I have spent my years going into every day with a plan: these are the items I need to complete, and this is the time I have to get it done. Ooh wait—should I alphabetize my pasta?!

I have lost track of the number of times Justin has said, “Sammi, I love you. But I wish you could complete one task before moving on to the next.” Hey buddy, I would like to complete one thought before moving on to—squirrel!

Right—step one. For the last month, I have written out a daily schedule and followed through. By week 3 I had even added morning yoga into the mix; by week 4, I was starting each morning with chanting before yoga. And I have swept my house every-single-day. Which most people are probably either thinking “why,” or “so?” Because, and you wouldn’t understand.

I don’t just ride the struggle bus—I am the driver. Everything is draining. If I get overwhelmed by…anything (and I mean anything), I have a tendency to shut down. And by “shut down,” I mean nap. As the driver of this struggle bus, I also know that both of my kids are frequent passengers. If I can’t keep it together, we’re all going suffer.

I don’t want to jinx anything, because I really (truly) am impressed with my ability to finally follow through. But I have a really good feeling about this school year. Do I want to homeschool my kids? Absolutely not. Am I willing to send them back to school, when our state is averaging 16% positivity (and our county has averaged over 20%)? Absolutely not! I can barely manage to convince my son to keep a shirt on all day—in what world do we think kids are going to do about wearing masks at school!?

Way Down Yonder on the Hatchechubbee

(I hope no alligators eat my hubby!)

Covid is weird. Not the having of Covid–we have all been lucky enough to avoid it (so far). It’s the Coronapocalypse part of it that’s the strangest. It’s causing the weirdest items to be on back order. First it was toilet paper and hand sanitizer, and then slowly it became gym equipment. Next came bicycles and any other items you could use out in the world. It’s good to know that people aren’t just locking themselves away inside, and instead are getting out and adventuring.

The downside is that we spent 2 months searching the ends of the earth for kayaks. Except that by “the ends of the earth,” I mean the 75 mile radius we’re required to stay inside (which has since been bumped up to 150. Look out, anyplace further than 75 miles–I’m still not going to drive that far).

This all started back in May, when I realized how close we were to the Chattahoochee river…which is a ridiculous realization, seeing as though we live just across the border, in Alabama. And what marks the Georgia/Alabama line? Oh yeah–the Chattahoochee. I literally drive over it or next to it every single time I get in my car. So, congratulations to me for gaining a hint of situational awareness.

When the Great Kayak Quest of 2020 began, it was mostly a pipe dream. I doubt I could fit 4 kayaks into my minivan (no matter how badass she is, she does in fact have her limits). Even if we got a rack, it would probably hold 2. My kayak dreams had to sit in time out……until Justin got a truck. Suddenly the possibility of spending free time in water was once again allowed to be dreamed about. Justin was really the Search Master Extrordinaire. I had accepted that, in these times, the chances of locating kayaks (that weren’t being sold by JimBob for 3 times what he paid for them back in 1987), was bleak.

Lucky for us, Justin can sometimes be obsessive once he gets it in his head to do something. By last weekend, his quest had come to an end–we were the proud owners of 4 kayaks. Hooray!

And what does anyone do when they get their kayaks–well, they load their family in the truck after lunch and head over to the Hatchechubbee (an creek off the Chattahoochee)!

We were prepared–everyone was sunblocked from head to toe, water bottles were filled, life jackets were packed. After dreading that covid was going to lead to my first summer ever without some body of water to be in or near, kayaking was jumping in to save the day, and bring aquatics back into my life!

Did you know (I bet you didn’t, unless you live in the south), that a river could be hot? If my Water Temperature Guessing Skills are still up to snuff, then we’re talking about 88-90 degree water. When the air is 95, with a real feel of 105. But who cares, right, because we’re kayaking!!!

Shea, who has one foot planted firmly in the angsty pre-teen category, was the Queen Complainer. I spent more than half of our trip pulling a kid behind me (which is a pretty good workout, so no matter how much complaining Shea and Xander are doing, I’ll just keep dragging them along).

We survived, and as we were loading the kayaks up to head home, I commented to Justin that his white white shoulders must have reflected the sun, because they were still super white.

Or so we thought.

Slowly, over the next 5 hours, we all turned crispy. Every. Single. One of us. It turns out the UV index was 11 while we were out. Eleven. On an index that I thoughtwent up to 10. While our kids turned back to normal colors within 24 hours, Justin and I continued to be red and crispy all week–which is something Justin has not ever experienced. Even me, with summers spent outside guarding for days, has never gotten a sunburn that stayed red and painful for a week.

This past weekend we decided to try evening trips, in an attempt to save us all from The Redness. It was still a balmy 100+, but we didn’t end up looking like boiled lobsters.

“Sam? Is that an alligator?”
“OMG Justin, I toldyou I saw an alligator last time!”
“Ok, well that is definitely an alligator.”

I got closer, and it got further away. He (or she. I have no idea how you tell with alligators) was extra uninterested in us. Not that I was looking to be eaten–I just wanted to get a good look! It’s not every day that you see an alligator (except that now it kind of is every day, because Sunday we counted 4).

When we got back to the boat launch, there were 3 trucks pulling in and parking. One boat. 12 people. For anyone who spent their summers at Camp Turk, we’re talking a Blue Fin size boat, with 4 real adults, 2 young adults, and a metric ton of kids. All preparing to get into that one, not very large, boat.

Then I heard, “did y’all see any gators?” Me? Yes, me. I told her we definitely had, and she told me the best places to go to see them. All while 6 children, under 6, ran around yelling about going swimming…in there…after I just told you we saw gators, and you just told me sunset is the time when they like to come out?! Y’all look delicious.

Honestly though, my only regret is not sticking around long enough to see everyonepile into a boat meant to hold half their numbers on a goodday. While southern people watching is amazing, southern reptile watching (or locating) could very well become my new favorite activity.

Sisters Are Masking Up For Some Fun

Last month, my sister Alissa texted in our “Sistas” group chat, “What are you doing June 4th??”
Well, let me think…….Staying at home, like the rest of the world. Like we’ve been doing? Pre and Post Coronapocalypse, my schedule is always pretty open.
“Mark your calendar for a sisters night!!! We’ll FaceTime and celebrate your birthday!”

Sure, ok. I can take time out of my busy schedule of reclusing to FaceTime.

Of course then later that afternoon, Alissa tagged me in an instagram post, promoting a Live Instagram Party on June 4th! I’ve been duped!!!!!! 

Being the rather un-savvy human that I am, I saw “Live Instagram Party,” and I pictured “100 random people, mostly from CNY, meeting up in mud masks, for the world to see!”

So then the text:
Oh Alissa no!!!!! Dirty trick! 
Social distancing party with random ass strangers?!?!

She talked me down, and promised: “You’re alone in your house watching an Instagram Live as she sits in her house doing a facial. You’re watching someone doe the facial and tell you the steps and she’s also hilarious and plays music.”

Honestly, Alissa, I love you, I do. But had I known the details, I would have RSVPed NO.

But, I was suckered into girl time, and with my sisters both over 1,100 miles away, it isn’t like we spend a lot (or any) time together. I can suck it up and deal with whatever painful experience this is about to be.

Alissa, whatever happens next, don’t get offended.

This socially distanced girls’ night was still weeks away. In the interim, Justin and I decided to take on the overwhelming project of pulling up our upstairs carpet and installing vinyl plank flooring (this project hasn’t started yet, so be on the lookout for either an SOS or questions on how to dispose of a body–from either Justin or me. Things will most likely get intense). When we received our shipment notification, well, wouldn’t you know, it was being delivered June 4th! This could potentially be my justified out–the last time we received a freight shipment, it came at 8pm, so, a girl can dream.

Of course, that wasn’t the case, and it was dropped off at 1:30. Which not only gave me plenty of time to make it to my socially-distanced nightmare, but also left me alone to carry 1600lbs of flooring into the house. One. Box. At a time.

I need to back up. Yesterday was crazy (in terms of Sam’s Usual Schedule). Honestly, this entire week has been wild–I’ve left the house more times this week than there are days in the week. Don’t judge me, that’s a big deal.
Morning vet trip with Bruce. Home to wait for flooring. Forty-five minutes carrying in a million boxes (ok, there were a lot of texting breaks). Make dinner so we can eat before gymnastics. Gymnastics. And then home again, in time to cut watermelon, take a shower (because, the boxes. And the heat. And the sweat. And I’m gross), and wait…

I should probably jump in and explain at this moment just how very different my sisters and I are. They’re……pretty girlie. I will admit that Alissa has toned it down in the last 5 years (I’m being honest Alissa. Having kids has changed you, for the better…don’t hate me). I will not ever be the mani/pedi girl. I cut my own hair. I’m not low maintenance–I’m no maintenance. That’s….probably not true. I did shave my legs last week, so some maintenance went into all of this (me–all of me).

Alissa sent me a list of items I would need, since my facial kit didn’t arrive in the mail on time. Bowl of hot water? Towel? Cleanser, exfoliated, steamer (my rice steamer was still on the counter from dinner, but I don’t think that’s what they had in mind), mask (like, “I wear a mask to protect you; you wear a mask to protect me?” Is 1,100 miles not enough distance, socially speaking?), toner (now I’m thinking Jane Fonda workout videos from the 80s). Step 6 says “treat,” and Justin didn’t bring me any candy, so I guess this party just got ruined.

I jump on this FaceTime call with my sisters, and away we go?? I don’t know. “Sign into Instagram and start her video!”
Ok, but swear to me that I hit this button and random people aren’t going to see me?
“OMG No. Just do it.”

The video didn’t work. I cried the tears of a thousand heartbreaks.
“Sam! Get your cleanser!”
“I’m not doing that.”

Is it just me? Am I the only one who thinks it’s weird to wash your face for fun, in front of…anyone? This isn’t a Neutrogena commercial, and I’m not washing my face out of a bowl, in front of my computer. Weird.

I understand the sentiment, I do. And Alissa, your heart is always in the right place. But an ice cream eating party is a little more in my wheelhouse. Ben? Jerry? You’re both invited, but only if you bring the flavors.

Meanwhile, of course, Alissa and Erica are really getting into this. And I’m really trying not to laugh myself into a crying fit. “Sam! Where’s your cleanser!?”
It’s here–see me, pretending to be doing anything other than laugh.

I hear through my phone, from their viewing of the Instagram Live (that never loaded on my end), “get your steamers out, girls!”
JUSTIN!!!! Where’s your uniform steamer?? I’m going to need that…for my face.

We’re already up to enzymes. Let me pause for a moment and say that there are two reasons I don’t eat yogurt. 1. The consistency. 2. It’s Alive!!! So now, Alissa informs us that the enzyme step burns. Is it because microorganisms are, perhaps, eating your face?!?!

“Sam! Get your mask.”
“No.”

Sometimes (sometimes) I throw a face mask on while Justin and I watch tv at night. Never (ever) do I sit in front of my computer and talk to people with a face mask on. Because……I guess I’m not fun. Also, the number of times my skin has reacted to one mask or another, leaving me looking Hot Tamale Red–sisters or no sisters, I don’t really want to talk to anyone when my face is burning.

At the end of it all, I got to catch up with my sisters, who I rarely speak to (not for any reason other than I’m here, and they’re there, and, I’m more a texter than a talker). We talked longer last night than we probably have in years, so, thanks Liss….even if I didn’t mask up!

Contraband Masks, and Shower Caps

In Coronapocalypse, grocery shopping can only happen once school is done for the week. Luckily, Shea was done by Thursday morning, and Xander was…..well, close enough.

As I drove into Georgia, I began to wonder if this was a good life choice. Friday was the first day the state was beginning the reopening process. Would the grocery store be crazy, because the world was out living it up? Or would it be empty, because everyone was getting their roots touched up?

It seemed typical for Aldi, but as I walked to the door, the unfortunate employee who had to stand outside (this is the south, and it’s already hot) and clean every cart, informed me they had reached 50 shoppers, and would I please stand on the X. Absolutely! The next couple who walked up weren’t so impressed with rule-following–he asked them to please stand on the next X, as they were at “capacity,” and the couple continued to stand directly in the doorway. When another patron walked up, he once again explained that they were at capacity, and would they please stand on the next X. The response was, “how were we supposed to know that if you didn’t tell us.” I rolled my eyes hard, but then remembered I still had sunglasses on, so no one saw–probably for the best.

After a full 90 seconds of waiting, I was allowed to go inside. It looked just as overcrowded as the tiny Aldi always looks. I got a lot of nasty looks and rude comments: “that is a lot of food.” Well, I’m not leaving my house for 2 more weeks, so mind your beeswax! No…instead I would smile (which goes unseen under a mask), and would say, “you don’t realize how much extra food you’ll need for 2 kids and a husband at home all day every day!” Which is mostly a lie–my husband is not home any more than he was before. But my kids do eat nonstop. And also, mind your beeswax. I don’t hoard buy–I 2-week-supply buy.

Then I began to take notice of all that was going on around me. As a lifetime sufferer of ADD, I flip between being hyper focused and unobservant, to daydreamy and ultra-observant. Of all the women in the store, 1/4 of them were wearing either shower caps, or scrub caps. What. Is. Happening.

I feel like there are a number of public service announcements that need to be made. The newest seems to be: just because you see a nurse wearing something, that does not meant you will be safer by wearing it too. You don’t need gloves (eww), unless you plan on changing your gloves every time you touch something (honestly, if I thought about the number of gloves required to grocery shop without cross-contamination, I would need a whole box). Masks do you no good if you only wear them over your mouth (unless you have corks crammed up your nostrils, this is silly). And now, scrub caps are NOT SAVING YOU!!! What exactly do they think the purpose of the scrub cap is?? No Coronapocalypse fad has confused me this much.

On my drive home, I looked in my rearview mirror and noticed a man, alone in his car, wearing a mask. Oh my gosh, this has to stop. But wait! At the next light, I saw he had taken it off! Alas, perhaps he just forgot he was wearing it. He was also smoking a cigarette–whatever, you do you, buddy…until he finished his cigarette and put the mask back on. With smarts like that, you’re better of just staying home.

Also, I’ve been making contraband face masks. The SGM of the Army put out guidance, telling soldiers not to use uniforms to make masks (because they’re dipped in chemicals…great). This guidance came out after I had already made Justin 4 multi-cam masks, that he handed out to friends at work. And now, even though they are illegal (well, not illegal…just, not recommended), it’s what everyone wants. “But they’re not allowed.”
“He wants multi-cam.”
“But…they said…”
“He wants multi-cam.”
Great. So, when the shakedown happens, and these soldiers crack under pressure and give up their supplier, I’m going straight to Guantanamo Bay. Which I’m assuming is worse than prison. Which I’ve already established, is a place I couldn’t handle. I’m doomed.