BamamaPancakes

They say we should be documenting what it’s like living in a pandemic so that one day our children can look back and read about what it was like. I’ve written a few pieces, but for the sake of documenting and having 'historical' archives one day, here’s a look into the Sheaffer life after almost 6 weeks of quarantine. God knows I hope I won’t be writing another one of these in 6 weeks, but only time will tell. It’s almost overwhelming to write about COVID and its effects, which for our family, are fairly benign. So many factors constantly run like a news ticker at the bottom of our screen:  updates in the news….groceries…death rate… wearing a mask … homeschool plans … work to-do list…. local business…… what nonprofits need help …. Etc, etc, etc. Because it’s the easiest one to process: homeschool. Kids- I hope when you read this one day, you aren’t going to say “Oh this is when Mom really screwed us up.” I hope that comes later; you know, like your teenage years or so...

Parenting during a pandemic is … weird. You know that part in Anchorman where Ron yells  - while drinking warm milk - that he’s in a glass case of emotion? Some days I feel like that, but without the milk, because #rationyourgroceries. Parenting with all the kids at home is a thing, but it’s a normal thing. Parenting at home with all the kids during a worldwide pandemic along with basically a public shutdown is a whole new ball game, one we’ve never experienced in my lifetime. It seems like we are constantly walking this line between cool &calm and freaking the fork out, and I slip from one side to the other fairly regularly. It actually takes a lot of work to find your balance again in the middle, continuing forward with the right amount of caution and concern along with perspective and positivity. We’ve all said this stuff; we’ve all felt it; we’ve all read it in articles that we’ve posted and nodded along to and said “see? Yes, that’s what I’m feeling.” But I think ...

When we were kids spending many summer beach days on 83rd Street in Virginia Beach, we used to swim out to the dolphins. As soon as we saw they were close enough in, we’d grab our boogie boards and start swimming. We’d put our faces in the water to talk to them, and watch as they glided by, sometimes as close as 5 feet away. It was quiet except their blow holes bursting up from the water, and their chatter if we put our ears in to listen. Sometimes they’d  go under us, just the tops of their heads and always-unique dorsal fin showing, and sometimes they’d be playing, their tails splashing or even fully leaping into the air, giving us a show. Sometimes they’d swim in circles around my mom, rolling over so we could see their pink bellies. When I went to Haiti years later, our translator told us that in some cultures, they believe dolphins are the guardians of the earth, because of their intelligent, playful and protective spirits. I’ve collected them forever, and dream of dolphin...

Dear Friends, They say life gets busier with three kids. Whoever ‘they’ are appears to be correct, as the verdict is still out whether this letter will actually be finished or even go in the mail before Bryce gets to kindergarten.   I tried delegating this to the kids to see if they would write it for me. When I asked them what they’d say about the year, Bria’s input was “I love purple!,” Bryce brought me Wallie’s leash, and Addie said “This is boring; let’s play SCHOOL!”   Honestly, it’s not the worst summary of 2019. You may notice that our address has changed. Earlier this year, we discovered the joy of moving with three kids (and what fun that process is), but are now happily settled in, a whole 8 minutes from our old house, which I still drive by and thank for its many wonderful memories.   We thought our new one wouldn’t be a fixer-upper, so naturally, there’s been about 5892 projects that needed some Chip-and-Joanna-style love, and 3021 mo...

Nov 27, 2019 Dear Abram, Usually I write in front of a Christmas tree, its soft colorful lights warmly surrounding your tiny footprints, remembering all that is you.   This year, Thanksgiving falls late, on Nov 28 th , the day you were born.   The last two years, I desperately wanted a tree before then, so that evergreen smell and magic of the season would be in our home, holding your memory with it. One of the last memories I have of you kicking was when we were gathered in the cold after Thanksgiving weekend, picking out the biggest tree we could find for your Christmas. For some reason, the following two years, I needed that clear ritual to remember you, purposeful and planned. Perhaps this year, sweet boy, Thanksgiving coming late is a lovely reminder, both of the thanks we give every day for you, and because I’ve learned more about remembering and grieving, and how it’s not always perfectly planned or predicted. No matter what time of year or date...