Tag: coronavirus

Grandma Got The Covid From Her Grandkids

True confessions: I hate that “Grandma got run over by a reindeer” song. It’s obnoxious. However, if people continue to be selfish, we’ll get a whole new parody, Covid-style.

What I am really having a hard time with, is the fact that a majority of these people have never missed a single family holiday get-together. So, as a person who hasn’t had Thanksgiving with family (beyond my husband and kids) since 2014, I am here to tell you, you will survive.

In 15 years, Justin and I have made it home for one Thanksgiving, back in 2006, before our wedding. In 15 years, we have made it home for 7 Christmases (ok, I managed to make it home for 10, but Justin doesn’t always have the luxury of just flying home). Ask any military family, and they can attest: you will survive.

And maybe you’re in the mindset, “it won’t get me.” Well, that is great for you, and I’m proud of your ability to stay positive…or, negative?? Either way, how much of a jerk will you feel like, if your need to spend the holidays with your relatives, ends up with a senior member of your family sick, or worse, dead? Will it have been worth it??

So, this holiday season, since so many people out there love to throw around the phrase “support our troops,” let’s play a game. Let’s all pretend we’re too far away to make it home for Thanksgiving, or Christmas. Let’s act like the soldiers stationed overseas, who don’t have the luxury of selfishly asking, “should I risk killing grandma??” We can all play soldier and spend one holiday season away from our immunocompromised relatives. If hundreds of thousands of military families stationed around the globe can do it year after year, I’m pretty sure you can suffer through this one.

Kimchi, If You Please

It seems like a lot of people got on a bread baking kick during CoronApocalypse; that’s cool. I took a different route. I have been perfecting kimchi.

First, I need to go back. To the dawn of time…or, at least my time. My sisters are probably in agreement that our favorite meal growing up was hot dogs, sauerkraut, and dumplings. Which would fill the house with the smell of sauerkraut. And while a lot of people might think, “eww,” I’m thinking, “put that scent in a candle and I would buy the heck out of it.”

Jump ahead to marrying Justin. When my parents visited us in Germany, before Shea was born, my Mom asked, “what are some meals you would like me to make while I’m here?” I already knew my number one choice! Of course this also lead to a hilarious moment, when Justin put a bite of dumpling in his mouth, made an awkward face, and said, “I don’t think I can swallow this.” My Mom still laughs about it.

But this isn’t a dumpling story. Eventually, Justin told me he did not like sauerkraut. This seemed…unacceptable. What kind of Slovak are you!? He told me the reason he didn’t like it, is because his Mom made it in his bedroom. I spent years picturing Poor Justin, heading off to kindergarten, smelling of fermenting cabbage, because his mom was keeping crocks of it in his bedroom. Poor Justin.

I decided I would only ever make my beloved meal if Justin had to work overnight…which, in the army, happens often. Especially a decade ago, when he was working 24 hours on, 24 hours off. I could air out our apartment and hide the evidence before he came home at 4am! It was a stellar plan—until the one time he got out of his overnight shift, on the exact day sauerkraut was sitting in a crockpot, stinking up the place. I decided to give up the habit, and not offend the poor man.

Years later I found out that Justin’s Mom didn’t actually start her sauerkraut production until after Justin had joined the army and moved away, and to this day I don’t understand why that was the excuse given to me as to why he didn’t like it.

We’re almost to present day. Stay with me.

Three years ago, Justin left for Korea. And he started eating all types of kimchi. We would talk on the phone and he would tell me about this food or that food, that he had tried and liked. Who are you, and what the heck did you do with my husband??

Once back in the states, Justin and I would go out for lunch dates to a little Korean restaurant in Columbus. Suddenly, CoronApocalypse. I started perfecting my bulgogi, and different banchan. After weeks and weeks of trying different recipes from Pinterest, I got myself a Korean cookbook, and I started my adventures in Kimchi.

Making kimchi is an art. I started with small batches. One would be too salty, and the next would be too spicy. Justin and I have eaten so many batches of melt your face off kimchi, but eventually I perfected the ratio of garlic and gochugaru (red pepper flakes, although Xander is adamant that it’s a character from Beyblade Burst).

Can you smell it?!

Of course, if you like kimchi, you’ll love kkakdugi, which Justin tells me means diced radish; it makes more sense than my explanation: COCK-doogie, because daikon tends to be pretty…phallic.

I have actually started planning dinner around kimchi. I cook so much Korean food these days, just so I can load a plate up with rice and kimchi! I also regret not starting making kimchi in Kentucky, simply so I could’ve asked my little Korean Aquacise ladies my kimchi questions: what’s the best container for storage? How long is it good for? Can you still eat it when it gets fizzy?? So many questions.

Of course, I’m not actually a professional, as I’ve only been at this kimchi game for less than 6 months. So, if you want to watch a pro, check out Maangchi.

I still don’t quite understand how you can dislike sauerkraut, but enjoy kimchi. But you know what?! I’ll take whatever fermented cabbage I can get!

Take Me to Court

For the past year, Justin and I have enjoyed multiple Friday morning dates. These aren’t breakfast dates, or movie dates. Oh no–these are court dates.

Let the record show that we are not criminals. We are there as witnesses. Or victims. Whatever you want to call us. It doesn’t really matter why we’re there (I mean, it matters to us, and someday when this is all over, I will be happy to share). The point is, we’re there.

It was exactly one year ago today that I got to sit in front of a Grand Jury (the grandest), and tell them my tale. While it was a relatively uneventful visit, the next three would not disappoint.

In January, we had our very first date in traffic court, which you would think would be for traffic offenses. Oh no, not at all! Justin and I waited for the court room to open, and we were instructed to stand against the wall. Suddenly, a line of prisoner, chained together, were being escorted into the court room. How many traffic stops end in arrests?!

The final prisoner was brought in alone, wearing a Hannibal Lector mask. The officers escorting him kept telling everyone to move back…what in the world is happening!? This kid weighed a solid 85lbs–what could he have possibly done (the answer–resisting arrest, on meth charges, among other things)!? This date is about to get super exciting!

Justin and I love checking the Russell County Mugshots; this was turning out to be Russell County Mugshots in real time! Most of them were what we expected–possession of meth, possession of a controlled substance, public intoxication. And then the judge read the next offense: discharging a weapon into an occupied vehicle. Ooh, can we get some back story?!
The judge said, “remember at the beginning when I said you can request a lawyer? You are definitely going to want to fill out that paperwork when you get back to jail.”

Justin and I also got a kick out of the Judge’s reactions to people. One young lady (from the “I came from prison” side) was there for drug possession. He asked her how she wanted to plead. “Um, guilty??” He responded, “are you sure about that? This is your first offense, and it’s a misdemeanor. I’m going to enter a not guilty plea, and you can talk to a lawyer about taking drug classes.”

We sat through two hours of drug charges, resisting arrest chargers, and all sorts of other charges. Justin and I were sitting in shock and awe the entire time. “Justin, I’m coming here every Friday! This is better than Dateline!”

The judge asked, “is there anyone whose name I didn’t call?” I stood up, told him who I was and explained our situation. The assistant district attorney said, “oh–that case was continued. You’ll get another subpoena to return February 14th.”

Valentine’s Day Court Date it is! This time. the prisoner chain ended with a young woman sobbing. Absolutely bawling. We were super excited to find out what she did. Whatever it was, she was in a great state of shock, which is how I would be if I had spent the night in jail. When her name was called, the judge said they would be pushing her case until last–oh shoot (three days later, when the mugshots were uploaded, we found out what she was there for: Attempted Murder. Yup, I’d be crying too).

Once again, we waited and waited. The criminals were less criminally the second go-round, but we did get a kick out of a couple who had pressed charges on their neighbor, for supposedly allowing his dogs to jump on and scratch their car.
Judge: “Do you have proof?”
“I have these pictures of the scratches.”
“How do I know his dogs made these scratches??”
Then the man’s Korean wife started yelling about how she saw it. The judge asked her three times to stop interrupting, and to stop talking out of turn. Then she was made to stand in the back. Then she was told to stand outside, and they would allow her back in when they were ready to hear her. Older Korean dependents are my favorite style of Army wife. The sass is intense, the accent is thick, and the inability to listen is expected.
Also, their case was thrown out, because even Justin and I knew it sounded like nonsense.

On this second date, I also made a court friend–the man next to me was a witness in a dog attack case. His neighbor on multiple occasions had set his dog out to attack children on the street. The man said, “he’s a racist.” He also told me he’d heard the judge was super strict. Well, it’s only my second time watching the man in action, but he seems like a super fair gentleman. But I’m not a criminal. Maybe the criminals see him in a different light.

Once again, we wait. And wait. This time, the correct name is called, but then the judge mumbles something and moves on. I stood up: “excuse me sir, I’m a witness in that case.”
“Come up here.”
Can I said I’d rather not? Why do I feel like I’m getting called to the principal’s office? He continues: “this case was continued,” and I sighed. We knew it was headed in that direction, when we looked around the court room and didn’t see the police officer we expected to see.

That’s fine! We’ll be back!

……except that we couldn’t, because of Covid. I had the next court date, which would have been March 23rd. I wasn’t going to be subpoenaed to testify at that one–just wanted to be a fly on the wall and see how it went down. But it didn’t get to go anywhere, because the world came to a halt.

I was beginning to think there would never be an end to this. Or maybe that it would be forgotten (which I would not be ok with). Imagine my surprise when a sheriff knocked on my door and delivered yet another subpoena. We’re so popular.

Today was the big day. And it would be the final day, since the judge told me back on Valentine’s Day that there would be no more extensions. Justin was once again unimpressed with needing to go back. He can’t remember things that happened last month, so how anyone expects him to stand up and tell them what happened nearly 18 months ago is beyond me. But that’s why I’m there–to do the talking. He’s just there to look pretty.

Upon entering the courthouse, Justin was stopped by the security guard. “I can’t allow you in. You’re wearing shorts.”
He’s wearing golf shorts. “Excuse me?”
“You’re wearing shorts. What are you here for?”
“To testify.”
“Go run down to the dollar store and get yourself some sweatpants.”

Wait wait wait. He cannot go to court in his golf shorts, but he can show up in sweatpants? What kind of dress code is this!? I told Justin to just go to work, and I would be the big kid and do this date solo-style.

So, golf shorts are not allowed. Because the dress code says so. But the next person to walk into the court room behind me was a man wearing Pornstar joggers. And for those of you who were not teens in the 90s, Pornstar is a brand that often has the silhouette of 2 naked ladies sitting back to back. So, this man showed up to court in joggers with 100 ladies down the sides of his pants. Also, he had 6 inches of camouflage underwear hanging out when he sat down. I’m pretty sure “No visible underwear” is also on the dress code. As well as t-shirts, and 50% of the men in there were wearing their fanciest dirty t-shirts. Justin’s visible calves were more than the courtroom would be able to handle.

With Coronapocalypse policies still in full effect, the prisoners weren’t brought to court, but instead did their stuff through video conference. Today’s life lesson came when a man was charged with felony possession of marijuana. He asked why it was a felony, and the judge said, “you had synthetic marijuana–that is a felony. You would’ve been better off with the real deal.” This could be an educational show on PBS! I learn so much at traffic court!

The proper name was called yet again, and I told him I was a witness: “do you see the person here?”
“Sir, I don’t even know what they look like.”
And just like that, I was told that I would be receiving a subpoena to come back. Justin will probably never come with me again, which is fine–we wouldn’t have even been able to sit next to each other, and what’s the fun in enjoying Real Time Mugshots, if you can’t gossip with your husband while people are being sentenced!?

Teach Your Covid Well

We’ve made it all the way to day……oh my gosh, it’s only day 4. I have lost track of how many times I have said, “ok, keep going.” Or, “Xander, where are you??” Shea is much better with the whole schoolwork at home thing. Thank goodness, because I don’t know what I would do if I had to keep two kids on task—I struggle enough with keeping myself on task!

Xander doesn’t love school. He would rather be doing backflips, as stated in the very first school assignment.

Tuesday, he attempted to answer the question, “If I could meet anyone in history, I would meet..” with Naruto. Naruto. An anime character. From history. “Xander, it has to be a real person.”

I have also lost track of the number of times Xander has said, “ohhhhhhhhh!”

This morning, his first assignment was to read a passage about Covid-19, and then answer the questing, “how has your life changed because of Covid-19?” Easy enough. I had to coax a response out of him. But that isn’t the issue.

My issue is the fact that this particular passage about covid contains the absolute nonsensical statement: Older people, not kids, have been getting sick from covid-19. Liar liar pants on fire.

I don’t know where his teacher found this info sheet, and I’m sure most people just read over it and answered the question. The thing is, kids can and do get sick. We’re a solid 5 months into Coronapocalypse: USA Edition, and we all Know kids are not immune. This is not a magical virus that avoids tiny humans. They’re some of the grossest humans on the planet. The American Academy of Pediatrics says there has been a 90% increase in cases among children in the last month! That is the month before southern schools reopened!

Kids need to know why schools aren’t reopening. Or why schools are reopening, only to shut right back down again. Telling them they can’t get sick is confusing. Obviously Xander would be happy if school never reopened, but there are plenty of kids (Shea included), who can’t wait to get back to school.

In the time it took me to write this, Xander was supposed to locate 5 items that are special to him (and that could fit in a paper lunch bag)—he just appeared with a Nerf Bow that is bigger than him. Yes, Xander. That is the perfect sized item.

176 school days 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!?