HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: Here's the time where I would usually say: do you know Lisa Regan? She's a USA Today bestselling author, and then a whole bunch of other wonderful stuff. All of which would be totally true, and then I would transition gracefully into her essay.
But I love you, and I love Lisa, and seriously? There's no reason not to get right to her story. Oh, except for--get a tissue.
by Lisa Regan
My daughter is twelve years old now. She’s a “tween”. You know, the stage between being a child and becoming a teenager? It’s an unusual stop on the parenting journey that no one and nothing adequately prepares you for which also leaves you wondering how the heck your own parents survived it. My daughter and I used to do everything together. She loved hanging out with me.
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| We loved doing our nails together |
We even had this ritual that I called our “Day of Fun” which was a day where we went out together, just the two of us, and did whatever she wanted to do. Some days we saw a movie. Some days we went to the park. Some days we got our nails done. It was quality bonding time. Whenever I put a Day of Fun on the schedule, my daughter would be brimming with excitement for days.
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The giant slides were our favorite |
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| Making snow angels |
Then she turned ten and suddenly, the Day of Fun was no longer her idea of fun. I was crushed. I understand that this is a normal part of growing up. Now she’s more interested in her friends and her favorite activities: art, coding, video games, tennis. None of these involve mom. I’m here for rides and food.
Don’t get me wrong: I want her to develop relationships with other people. I want her to learn valuable social skills and life lessons that are only possible if she’s out of our parental sphere. I want her to grow and spread her wings.
I also know that at some point, when she’s a little older, mom will be cool again. So I wait. But it’s hard. Not just because her interest in me has waned but because talking to a tween is like trying to have a meaningful conversation while you’re on the downward freefall of a log flume.
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| If there was fun to be had, we'd find it! |
Then came the pandemic. No more school. No more hanging with friends. No more art class or tennis. She was still more interested in keeping in touch with her peers virtually than me, which was fine. However, she needed exercise.
A few years ago, she underwent reconstructive skull surgery due to a rare condition called craniosynostosis. During her recovery, she developed osteoporosis which led to her breaking her femur. Then came even more recovery. Months in a body cast; months using a wheelchair and walker; months of physical therapy. All of it meant her osteoporosis would only grow worse.
We did what we could to bring her bone density back up with diet and supplements, but the doctors were firm on one thing: at her age, the best thing we could do for her was make her exercise. A lot. So we did. Her bone density went back to normal, but the mom in me is always worried that any prolonged period of sedentary activity might cause her bone density to dip again. This pandemic has suddenly made sedentary activity the norm.
I told her I wanted her to walk the dog with me.
It was clear that she would have preferred to sketch or text her friends or stream a favorite show. However, it took only a mention of her experience with osteoporosis for her to jump off the couch and get walking.
Since it was just us and no technology and lots of ground to cover, we talked. She asked me for funny stories from when I was in middle and high school and when I got my first job.
After a few days, she started coming to me and asking, “Are you going to walk the dog today? I want to come.”
After a couple of weeks of such uncharacteristic tween enthusiasm, I asked her, “Do you really want to go on these walks with me?” and she said, “Yeah! I love hearing your stories. It’s just the way you tell them. It’s so funny and entertaining. You make something that should be boring sound so awesome.”
Don’t worry. I acted cool. No grateful mom tears—not in front of her anyway. Finally, my penchant for storytelling came in handy with my tween! These walks are an unexpected gift as a result of the pandemic. I hope one day my daughter will look back fondly on her memories of our pandemic walks and all the “funny” and “awesome” stories she heard.
Have there been any unexpected advantages to this pandemic for you?
HANK: Aw...I am sure so. But right now I have to go get those tissues I suggested. Um, okay. Having breakfast with my dear husband every day. Reading the whole paper. I made pasta--because why not? We watch (and listen to) the birds and ducks. The stars are bright. We have a lettuce garden, and a lovely herb garden. We have electricity, and I am very grateful for my freezer. I honestly pat it every day in gratitude. My hair is.... resting.
And oh, Lisa, thank you. And your wonderful daughter.
How about you, Reds and readers? Any pandemic..plusses?
“Strong and intuitive” Detective Josie Quinn races against time to find a missing newborn baby in this fast-paced thriller from a USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling author (Publishers Weekly).
When Detective Josie Quinn is called to a large house on the outskirts of the small town of Denton, she’s horrified by the viciousness of the attack: smashed glass, splintered furniture and blood are spattered across the floor. The owner, a single mother, is fighting for her life, and her newborn baby is missing.
A beautiful young woman caught fleeing the scene is Josie’s only lead, but when questioned it seems this mysterious girl doesn’t know who she is, where she’s from or why she’s so terrified . . . . Is she a witness, a suspect, or the next victim?
As Josie digs deeper, a letter found hidden in the house convinces her the attack, the missing child, and the nameless woman are linked to a spate of killings across the county, and she is faced with a heartbreaking decision: Should she risk the life of one child to save many others? Or can Josie find another way to stop this killer before any more innocent lives are taken?
