On the Eve of 2025

 I write to you from the winding roads between Deep Creek, Maryland, and Arlington, Virginia. Cell reception is sparse, so I do not know when I penned my last update. So perhaps I will begin with a brief year in review. 

Whew. A lot happened in 2024! We planned to engage with design/build firms to renovate our home. And we did have those conversations but the process seemed onerous. We put an offer on a new home in February and moved into our new home in April instead. Surprise! Moving was, as it always is, labor intensive. Nitin traveled a fair amount this year. I struggled with anxiety. I increased my SSRI dose and went back to weekly therapy. I received an accommodation to work in my office downtown just once per week. And I overcame significant anxiety to fly to Paris! Nitin went back to PT after some injury setbacks. And work has been crazy for both of us, for different reasons. So that’s the grown ups. 

But more importantly, the kids! Myles finished up at CCCC this year. His colorful sky painter friends were a beloved crew. He loved his teachers and the lackadaisical, freewheeling vibe of CCCC—lots of play and outdoor time, light on the academics. Myles has always loved to learn and he’s a very bright kid. That piece of kindergarten has slotted in very smoothly. Myles has quickly become a skilled reader and his teacher has given only excellent reports on his behavior at school. Myles also warms up very quickly to new friends, pairing up with new buddies at Glebe easily. Unlike Ellie, he delights in extended day after school and enthusiastically signs up for enrichment classes every day of the week. But the transition has been taxing for Myles in ways that are more evident at home. His big feelings have grown more quickly than he always knows how to keep up with. He asked us for a therapist he could discuss his feelings with (!) and of course, we happily obliged. He’ll start seeing his new therapist in the next few weeks. I remember similar growing pains when Ellie was mid kindergarten. It is sometimes hard for us to find ways to gently give him the boundaries he needs and we have struggled as parents to know the right way to deal with extra salty sass and formidable reticence to follow instructions. This is a learning curve for all of us. I continue to believe that taking care of our special bond and showing love is the foundation of giving him the support he needs. I love to see his curiosity continue to grow and his expansive knowledge on so many subjects is delightful. Myles’s enthusiasm for soccer and his natural athleticism have also been a treat to watch this year as he played hours first season on the Optimists. He runs, jumps, fences, plays floor hockey — he just loves to move. And he is still my ever generous sweet little guy, sharing cornbread with his sister when she drops hers, nuzzling with his nose to show affection, and giving the biggest bear hugs. We love this guy so much and we’re so proud of him. 

And Ellie! Ellie began the year in first grade and she has grown so much, in so many ways, in these twelve months. Ellie has grown into her friendships this year, more intentionally choosing friends who are kind to her and share her interests, and allowing more distance in a friendship she’d outgrown. I’m very proud of her for setting this boundary, learning so young a lesson that I struggled with for so much longer. And how lucky are those she chooses to be her friends. Ellie is kind, loving, whip smart, and funny companion, simply wonderful company in every situation. I just adore her. She is warm, imaginative, and a gifted artist. She is exceptionally observant and far beyond her years in her skill in reading the room. There is a brand of empathy that cannot be taught, which Ellie has in spades. Ellie began seeing an excellent art therapist this year who earned a rare and instant Ellie seal of approval. Her therapist shared with me that she’d asked Ellie, how would I feel in XYZ situation, and Ellie responded gently, I know that I would feel this way, but you have your own feelings and reactions that could be different from mine. That seems straightforward but so many adults lack that mindset, the awareness that each person is experiencing their own rich inner world that is not a complete facsimile of what we ourselves are experiencing. I have also loved seeing her dedication to her interests. Yesterday marked a 175 day streak of learning French on Duolingo. She is a whiz at math and is a talented and enthusiastic artist. Her IBS abated towards the end of the year, and she rediscovered the joy of eating her favorite foods. She’s also a goofy sweetheart who loves her many squishmallows, her sweet doodles, and snuggling with us. We absolutely love her to the moon!

In addition to moving this year, we traveled a bundle! We visited our beloved creek house in Charlottesville for spring break in March. In April, we “moved house,” and in May, we flew to Boston for the weekend to celebrate Nitin’s 20 year reunion at Harvard. In June, we visited the Broadmoor in Colorado, where Nitin had a conference and the kids went to a camp that invited a falconry session. In June, Grandma & Grandpa visited while Nitin was traveling, and in July, we saw Taylor Swift in Amsterdam and visited Paris. In August, we drove to Bentonville, VA and went rafting, climbing, and horseback riding just before the start of the school year. In October, we visited Grandma & Grandpa in Chicago and checked out the Art Institute and the Chicago Botanic Garden. In November, we visited Turks & Caicos on my 40th birthday, on the eve of the presidential election, which is its own can of worms that I cannot possibly open at this moment. Suffice to say, we have devastated, frightened, dumbfounded, and uncertain hours to move forward, but we move forward each day nonetheless. In December, I flew to St. Louis to see my GW girls and Nitin and the kids headed to the creek house. The holidays looked different than we expected, due to an onslaught of germs, but we still made it to Deep Creek for hiking and snow tubing. 

Is this a completely comprehensive summary? Not remotely. I am sure that though I included minute details in some places, I omitted major plot points in others. I hope that I still managed to the spirit of the year. Which, candidly, was — swift chaos, jam-packed, a ribbon of anxiety braided through, but also plenty of joy, affection, and laughter. I hope that 2025 will bring slow moments of joy and connection, patience with ourselves and each other. I have been noodling on my own word of the year — slow and less come to mind. But it’s really about making thoughtful and intentional choices rather than living reflexively or reactively. Spending time together. 

More rest, snuggling, reading, walks, cooking, pausing. 

Less screens, Amazon purchases, obligatory yeses, shame, rushing, doing without thinking. 

Wishing a happy, whole-hearted, thoughtful new year to all. 

Quotes

Myles: "I thought I had diabetes when I was 18. These pine cones make good alcohol."

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Ellie, after N gave her a lecture about discipline: "“I’ve seen you eat two ice cream sandwiches and a square of chocolate in a single day.”

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N: "I don’t like that precedent."

M: "You’re not the president! Mommy is the president!"

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M (after getting a timeout): You have Terrible Daddy Syndrome!

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M calls the Mercedes symbol a "windmill" 

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Notes from Myles's last parent/teacher conference at CCCC:

• Difficulty with volume regulation ("The loudest person I have ever met")
• Speaks very quickly and speaks during class
• Doesn't like art
• "Brilliant"
• Does "the face" when redirected
• Hard to pick an activity after naptime

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M: “You can never trust a little guy!” 

M: "There are 100 ways to make me sad."  

11/10/24: the kids are holding an election upstairs. ellie casts her vote for kamala harris. myles casts his vote for sharkie.

ellie: so you would vote for a shark for president over kamala harris? the shark will just eat everyone?

myles: so???

Myles, after having GI issues overnight: mama, can I have water, so I stay hydrated, and an apple, to keep my energy up? 

The children had a GI bug, watched Home Alone repeatedly, recovered, and then booby trapped or laundry room using Christmas ribbon and a bag clip

Shoyces Abroad!

 Bonjour! Though we have spent most of our trip so far in Amsterdam. The Dutch language is less accessible than French, and we are driving to Paris now, via Antwerp and another Belgian city I cannot hope to pronounce or spell correctly. 

So. We left home at 3pm on Wednesday for Dulles airport and flew to Paris on Air France. I cannot overstate how terrified I had been of this flight for the preceding seven months. I used to joke that there was not enough Xanax on earth to fly me over the Atlantic. It turns out that there is. But I still must credit myself for pulling my shaking, sweaty body on the plane. It also turns out that sitting in the first row of business class alleviates my social anxiety and claustrophobia greatly. I did not require champagne, a three course dinner, or even the cozy slippers the airline provided. But I greatly benefited from the impression of sufficient oxygen. I watched a few episodes of Bridgerton and passed out for 3.5 hours, waking 20 minutes before landing. Chef’s kiss and the last thing I expected. Sorry, sorry. This is meant to be an account of our family vacation, but I had to begin by noting that it may not have happened this way, without a kick of courage.

We arrived at our temporary home in Amsterdam 18 hours after bidding the dogs goodbye. We tromped around to a nearby park and the Albert Heijn grocery in an effort to stay awake. A few things about Amsterdam. So many bicycles. Was not clear to me that many were even locked when not in use. So few cars for a city of that size. The bicyclists did not wear helmets. Maybe helmets for kids, sometimes? Public transit was also hopping. We took the tram and walked everywhere we went. 

We found the Dutch to be relatively friendly. I did notice that the Dutch never moved an inch to accommodate anyone walking in the opposite direction on a sidewalk. And some folks literally pushed me to get where they were going. But in other ways, we found the Dutch to be extraordinarily accommodating and generous. At the science museum, a presenter polled the group to see if anyone did not speak Dutch, and finding that a relatively small minority only spoke English, delivered his entire presentation in both Dutch and English. The U.S. would never. On our way back from the Taylor Swift concert on our last night, the train conductor spontaneously invited our children to come to the front of the train and drive. They were absolutely delighted. 

As Nitin had noted, in Canada, life is about 90% the same as the U.S. I believe he estimated that life was about 20% the same in Amsterdam, which seemed low to me, but there certainly were notable differences. I should caveat that we experienced roughly 48 hours of life in Amsterdam, and the slice we sampled may not have been representative.

At one point, a tour guide pointed out a sign that read, in Dutch, fuck the housing market. This sentiment is not entirely surprising to me given what I observed of the housing stock. Nitin searched high and low for our Airbnb, and we landed in a home shared by a divorcee and her two children, which they vacated periodically for Airbnb guests. Our kids enjoyed the ample supply of toys. The home was friendly and creatively decorated, if quite hastily cleaned before our arrival. The main floor of the home is basically a storefront with a giant window that opens to the street. We learned that the Dutch have a cultural preference of keeping their drapes open to show they have nothing to hide. We tired of being gazed upon in the main living area by passersby and drew the drapes. All bedrooms in the house were subterranean. To lighten the basement quarters, the main level included several glass panels installed as flooring. 

The place bore hallmarks of storefront that was only moonlighting as a residence. The toilets were housed in different rooms than the showers.  The stairs were narrow and irregularly shaped. The wall in our bedroom jutted out above the only outlet. We ended up smacking knees, heads, and elbows repeatedly. The home was likely glad to see me go. On my first night, I accidentally shorted out half the electricity in the house by attempting to use an American heating pad. We did not spend much time in the garden behind the house, but it was lovely. The rain was never far away when we were in Amsterdam.

We visited a science museum on Thursday, followed by a very soggy and blustery tour of the city’s many canals. Boats provide yet another form of non-car transportation—and also housing. After a houseboat boom, the city restricted the number of houseboats permitted to 2,500. Still quite a few more houseboats than I am accustomed to seeing! We began our tour in the red light distract and I got a glimpse of one of the ladies working in a window. Per our guide, the ladies work near a childcare center and a church, so that patrons can drop off their children, visit the ladies, and pray for their sins. I have no idea if she was joking, but those businesses were in fact located quite close to each others! The kids weathered the messy weather fairly well. The guides assured us that this was a typical Amsterdam in July and I could not help but feel cognitive dissonance. Back at home, there was a heat index of 112 the same day. Later that day, Nitin and the kids hunted down croissants and hot chocolate. They dined in a Thai cafe down the street. 

We keep explaining to the kids that there are many buildings in Europe that much older than 

what we are used to seeing at home. Like a castle, built in 1200, that we visited today in Antwerp. We cannot help but notice that many things seem smaller in Europe, too. The guest towels provided by our host were the size of American hand towels. The capacity of the washer and dryer was less than half that of our machines at home. Paradoxically, each load required many hours to fully dry. Also smaller: IKEA glasses, sinks, serving sizes. 

I know. This is very on brand—a fussy, poorly traveled American squawking about small towels. Notwithstanding my tendency to pick things apart, we did enjoy Amsterdam. 

Yesterday, we visited the exterior of the house that Anne Frank lived in before her deportation. I photographed the house, inadvertently capturing other tourists who were snapping smiling selfies in front of the house, which was jarring. We have taken our fair share of selfies, and I couldn’t explain why we needed to capture the likeness of our family in front of a cathedral that is centuries older than the country we live in. That somehow seems less crass than a smiling selfie in front of Anne Frank’s house, but perhaps I am mistaken. As we strolled those streets, I thought of her footsteps on the very same bricks, considered her view of the canal from her front windows. We skipped the museum. We thought our children too young to hear about the atrocities children in that neighborhood had experienced. 

We did allow the children to hear about the colorfully tragic life of Vincent Van Gogh, however. Our delightful guide, Maryanne, managed to capture their—and our—attention for a full hour. Van Gogh lent his assistance by living and painting so vividly. Everyone remembers that Van Gogh chopped his own ear off—though there was no mention of him mailing said ear to a prostitute. I had not known that Van Gogh only painted for ten years—from 27 to 37. He began at 27, following a string of 10 failed attempts to launch other careers. He began with dark paintings modeled after Rembrandt, but thankfully discovered brighter colors—yellow, so much yellow—and painted seven separate portraits of sunflowers. He developed an absinthe problem, then quit the absinthe but remained terribly unstable. His brother Theo kept him afloat in many ways over the years, eventually finding a hospital where Vincent could reside safely. In periods of mania, he painted prolifically—75 paintings in 70 days. In dark periods, he could not paint and tried to kill himself by ingesting paint chips. The paint chips failed, but eventually, Vincent succeeded, shooting himself in the chest in a field of wheat. Vincent died an outcast, with no reputation to speak of in the art world. Theo died six months later.

We took two trains to see Taylor later that night. I have less to say about the concert. Not because I was underwhelmed. It was exactly as expected, and could only have been improved had Travis Kelce, who was in attendance, made a dramatic cameo on stage. Her costumes dazzled; the lights, dancers, and set were spectacular; and I was reminded that Taylor, while not Beyoncé, actually has a beautiful voice. I respect her work ethic most of all. She came on at precisely 7:25 and played until 10:45, exactly as she had done each previous night. She clearly had a cold—blew her nose several times when she was near her piano—but nonetheless ran, climbed, strutted, and danced up and down the stage for 3+ hours continuously. She even added an unaccompanied acoustic session at the end “to challenge herself,” and honestly, as rich as she is, being Taylor Swift seems challenging enough, at least to me. The volume of her musical catalog itself also speaks to her focused energy. 

We were predictably exhausted when our driver arrived this morning to take us to Paris, but there has been plenty of napping in the car. We arrive at 4:30. French election results are in at 8pm tonight, in an interesting twist of circumstances. Nitin’s European colleagues suggested that we plan to be in for the night by then, in case there is a public reaction to the results.

So, that is my accounting of our European adventure thus far. I’m glad we came. We had a memorably delicious lunch at a cafe in a small Belgium town that lacked English menus today. I would not go as far as to say that life begins outside of one’s comfort zone. I’m not a fridge magnet. Taking the dog for a walk on our street is also life. The beauty in the mundane is ever more apparent to me as I age. But stretching gives us more to think about. And it is a thrill to experience a new place at nearly 40. To learn that the Dutch pronounce fuck the same way we do, sometimes loudly and on public transportation. To marvel at how plastic caps remain affixed to bottles in Europe. To realize my world is a vanishingly small part of the world at large. And to plant that seed of an idea our children, who are otherwise very much in danger of believing that their bubble is the world itself. 

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The first half of 2024!

 Welp! I believe that the six months since my previous post, in December 2023, is the longest gap yet on this blog. I didn’t realize just how quickly the time was passing, but June (!) is upon us. 

In fairness, these five months have been action packed. We began the year expecting to learn more about possible renovation options for our long-time home at 4525 16th Street N. We met with one delightful design build firm and one that was less of a fit. But questions multiplied and as the potential scope of the project — and budget — grew, my eyes wandered to nearby real estate listings. And by the end of April, we’d “moved house” to 1601 N. Stafford. Still within the Glebe school zone and just a block from the high school the kids will attend. Wow. We are still settling in, but the house is lovely, and we’ve been enjoying the new patio — and the spring weather —  by dining al fresco.

Also difficult to believe that within months, Myles will be wrapping up his time at CCCC—Clarendon Childcare Center, our crunchy co-op preschool, housed in a slowly crumbling local church. The preschool feels like a time capsule, in ways—aging fixtures, dull linoleum, a scent that is vaguely similar the smell of the preschool that I attended as a child. Packed to the brim with wooden blocks, books, and sundry items that could perhaps become a component of a future craft projects. So a preschool that could plausibly be featured on a hoarding reality show but is also adept at hanging on to their wonderful, tight-knit start of teachers. At least one of our children has attended for the past five years. We weathered Covid here — heated debates about re-opening, masks v no masks, testing regimens, even a brief and disastrous stint of virtual preschool when Ellie was newly three. I co-chaired the community engagement board, we trekked to Potomac Vegetable Farm, we learned about mindful moments, the waving window, and balloon breaths. We came here for the sense of community and the quality of the teaching. And earning my co-op credits and pulling weeds on the playground on first Fridays made me crazy at times. The intensity of the co-op model has been a difficult fit as work encroaches on more of so many family’s lives in our modern era. But—I have no regrets. All of us found lasting friendships. We found like-minded people who were not simply dashing in and out anonymously at pick-up. The school focuses very intentionally on social emotional learning. Which is as it should be at age, regardless of which three year old neighbors may be cutting their teeth on Harry Potter. It may be particularly important in such an affluent, achievement-conscious community to emphasize running your own race, so to speak. 

So. Myles is heading to Glebe for kindergarten in August! And Ellie will begin second grade. She has just weeks left of first grade with Ms. Van Hook, who eventually became a beloved teacher to our slow to warm kiddo. Nitin and I were quite grateful that Ellie had been placed in her class from the beginning. She was named Glebe’s teacher of the year this year, which was no surprise to us. She was warm, enthusiastic, engaging, thoughtful, organized, and such a keen observer of each individual kid. Ellie has had a pretty decent year. She may not quite have found a really steady friend crew yet, but she seems to play well with classmates and has been able to speak up in class more often as the year proceeds. She doesn’t exactly delight in school, but we are hoping that she feels even more comfortable as the years at Glebe continue. Ellie still loves art and has been burning through series of graphic novels. It’s exciting to see her so engaged with reading. She began guitar with me early this year, and that has been a struggle. She dislikes practicing and my sense is that becoming skilled requires more work than she expected. I’m reluctant to let her quit, but this is an age old parenting dilemma! She has also struggled with anxiety in new ways this year, causing chronic GI issues that we have not quite been able to crack yet. We’ve been to her pediatrician, and a pediatric gastroenterologist, undergone blood and stool testing, tried Miralax and a prescription medication that caused nightmares. She just began therapy again, with a new therapist, and this feels potentially promising.

I live with anxiety myself, of course—in fact, I’ve recently increased my dose of the SSRI I have been on for five years to manage an increase in symptoms. So I know that mental health is rarely set it and forget it. We need to try different tools in our toolboxes. We need to learn patience and compassion for ourselves. We have to expect and accept a certain amount of ebb and flow. But that is a tall bill even for adults who have coped with these tendencies for decades. I also requested permission to work from home 4 days per week, rather than 2 or 3, as an accommodation to help mitigate anxiety and panic symptoms. I struggled with that. I worried that I should force myself to live at the very limit of my conditions—to be as “capable” and “normal” as I can be. But so many years into my life—40, this year—I am experimenting with giving myself more space. And also framing this as—I am still a high capacity person. But I am needed in so many demanding ways—as a parent, a wife, a family member, a friend, a supervisor, an employee—that it makes sense to make space for mental health where I can. A long tangent about me, as it turns out. But I have also learned that in a family, the mental health of any of us often affects the entire family. So this is the right place to acknowledge that both Ellie and I have been brave and strong and lived in the middle place — waiting for some wrinkles to resolve — this spring. And I am proud of both of us for valuing our health and wellbeing. And understanding that those things do not dull the many ways we shine in life. A note that E and I share similarities but neither are we two peas in a pod. Speaking of running one’s own race! 

Both kids continue to take swimming lessons. Ellie took a bike skills class this spring while Myles gave soccer a whirl, and loved it. Myles is a social butterfly, befriending kids at parks, museums, and in distant cities. He loves hanging with his mighty crew at school — the Colorful Sky Painter class. And he is delighted to attend playdates, birthday parties, or even to tag along when Ellie has friends visit. He is such a chatty guy that after twenty minutes of telling a parent at a playground about our lives, the dad—previously a stranger—asked Myles for his social security number! 

The kids do squabble but at this stage, I believe they are also each other’s closest friend. I overheard Ellie telling Myles yesterday: “…and then I realized…I’m really lucky to have you.” They are usually pretty quick to apologize when they step on each other’s toes. They are good, sweet kids. And they bolster each other’s confidence in unfamiliar settings, like childcare at Nitin’s college reunion or riding the bus to school,

Which reminds me that I have neglected to summarize the travels of the past five months. We returned from a trip to San Diego on NYE, if memory serves correctly. An aside—my memory frequently does not serve at all these days! Nitin bopped around the globe for work plenty in the first half of 2024. The family visited a house between Shenandoah and Charlottesville for a few days during Ellie’s spring break in March. And we are, as I tap this out on my phone, returning from a visit to Boston for Nitin’s 20 year college reunion. Both were smooth, relatively low-key trips. We will head to Colorado Springs for a short jaunt in a couple of weeks. And then on to Europe—a trip that has caused me plenty of trepidation, mainly due to the flight. But I am making room for excitement and doing my best to take gentle care of myself. I will see where I am and how I am feeling as we move towards that date. And I will be relieved for a relatively quiet several months after July. Just a driving trip with the dogs in August and a visit to Chicago in October — plus likely a visit with the GW girls and a quick jaunt to the beach with Dylan and Angelica. We are still mulling on Christmas.

As our family rabbi shared years ago—this is a mixed life. But I know how fortunate we are to have so many blessings. Even with the hard parts. The stomach bugs. The panic attacks. The probable IBS diagnosis. The ways that stress can distract us from treating each other gently. The insomnia, worries about loved ones, and the numerous  mundane papercuts in this life. All of it is, for us, so far outweighed by the weight of Zoe’s head on my feet at night. The scent of peonies, patter of rain, delicious thrill of a good book. And love if the heftiest counterweight. The comfort of a warm hug. Myles “nuzzling” my shirt with his nose. Ellie telling me casually, you know, I really love you. 

I certainly omitted plenty. That is what six months does to one’s memory. Also this plane will soon be landing. 

Quotes

M: [petting the dog with his palm, as directed] I’m trying to pet the dog with my handpits!

E: "I have a question. Is it true that girls can't have babies before they turn 18, or is it just not appropriate before then?"

E: Zoe, you’re perfect how you are. (Pause) I mean, it would be better if you were a vegetarian…

Poetry from Ellie:

How do you feel as you grow you will know

The duckling went to the beehive and sang a little jive

Myles called North Dakota North Cicada. He also thought we picked Ziggy up from Greenland, rather than Greensboro, NC.