a list of good things that happened in spite of 2020

The baby learned to walk.
The baby learned to talk.
The baby learned to say, “Oh my gosh!” with such clarity, it’s impossible not to laugh in response.

After two years of living in a house the color of poop, they now live in a house the color of a majestic morning fog. A woman walking her dog stopped by last night, told them how nice it looks. “I’ve lived on this street for 35 years and that house has always been ... brown,” she said.

The backyard grass came back to life. The hydrangeas and calla lilies bloomed like never before. The boys learned how to use computers, how to think for themselves, how to problem solve, how to cure their own boredom. 

Mom and Dad celebrated thirteen years of marriage, snuck away for a weekend alone, ate takeout in a hotel bed and remembered they actually like each other. 

The kindergartener started reading at a third-grade level. Mom and Dad still aren’t sure how.

The third-grader’s art was published in a magazine. “I’m going to be famous,” he whispered to his mom. She laughed and told him becoming famous isn’t a worthwhile pursuit, but becoming an artist is. 

Mom started rising in the dark again, every morning, meeting God on the page next to a burning candle. She now deletes Instagram every other week. Fruit has come from both habits.

Dad learned how to play the piano. Mom wrote thousands and thousands of words. They finally replaced the used washer and dryer set they bought on Craigslist in 2013. (Their clothes smell better already.) 

Everyone learned to live with disappointment, with lower expectations, with the simple joy of a spacious backyard.

Summer came and went, the scent of grass and sunscreen permeated their lives for a few blissful months. Mom attempted family haircuts on the lawn. To be expected, they looked awful. The kids rediscovered the wonder of a water table, a $15 splash pad from Amazon, a backyard hose.

The kindergartener learned to swim. The third-grader learned to multiply. Dad learned to ask for help, and started taking a little yellow pill each morning. The baby learned to run, to sing, to lift a spoon of yogurt to her mouth (sort of). 

Mom tried to keep her wits about her, maintain a sense of adventure. She took the boys hiking, peach picking, to Apple Hill for cider milkshakes. She took the third-grader to climb trees so they could both learn to be braver. 

The teachers created magic over Zoom, pulled out all the stops, hosted a pajama party at 7pm on an ordinary Thursday. The boys learned accountability, discipline, how to set alarms on their watches.

Mom and Dad joined a Be The Bridge group, made new friends, engaged in a series of important conversations. The boys made a “squirrel trap” in the yard (although it’s more of a feeding trough, to be honest). Mom started seeing ladybugs everywhere—a little thing between her and God.

They took a nightly walk around the neighborhood, fresh air therapy as Mom calls it. The boys whizzed by on scooters and bikes, the baby wiggled her feet in the stroller. They started doing regular devotions in Mom and Dad’s bed, under the comfort of a weighted blanket. The whole family found a rhythm of sorts.

For the very first time, they got a Christmas tree before Thanksgiving. Mom decked the house; Dad strung the lights. The baby ran down the hallway in her footie jammies singing Jingle Bells at the top of her lungs. 

They won’t soon forget the heartache and grief of this year. But Mom was worried she’d forget the good stuff—so she wanted to write it down. 

Family photos captured by Lee Brown Photography.