Here’s a primary document — a day in the life during these pandemic times.
This Thursday night marks three weeks that the kids and I have been at home without social contact.
Today is a struggle. Even finding the time and mental bandwidth to write and post this is a struggle of competing priorities and constant demands on my attention (that you parents stuck at home with kids know all too well). I am so grateful that John and I have each other and aren’t parenting alone.
One of the hardest parts of online home learning is the “showing your work” component. I spend more time trying to troubleshoot internet issues, download apps on different devices, manage passwords, help kids keep focused on their screens (and then take photos or videos to document their work for apps that may or may not be responding) than I actually spend with my kids in real time with real hands-on instruction or fun activities. I can understand why medical providers get frustrated with charting. When you’re spending more time with a screen/form than the actual patient, you might start questioning the point.
We have used the YouTube Lunch Doodles with Mo Willems as a special time to decompress with the kids and draw together, but they resent it now. It’s just another chore to reluctantly accomplish instead of an afternoon treat. Why? Because they resent the structure, or maybe they’re feeling anxious, or maybe they just don’t want to be told what to do, even by Mo. You scoff, but you don’t know my stubborn three.
So, I abandon Mo Willems (we have to anyway, since the internet is once again down) but I still feel like I should be doing something, anything, to cross off things on our school list, to Get Things Done. More screens, more distractions, more fights over who gets to play Prodigy the longest. Theo and I had an argument about his keen sense of sibling screentime equity that resulted in me hiding out in his room trying to get an email written and him bringing me a peace offering of a peanut M&M.
I am seriously disheartened by the expectation that we should maintain productivity in these pandemic times. This is not normal life. Stop trying to squeeze in relentless normalcy and the old status quo into every minute of the day. Theo’s cello teacher was like, “Let’s use this time at home with the kids as an opportunity to really get a lot more practicing in!” No, let’s not. Let’s lower our expectations.
I’m guilty of yelling at the kids more than I ever have and I am constantly feeling awful about it. I’m a little manic. I’m exhausted by 4pm. I am carrying anxiety and tension in my body. My elbows and forearms ache. Why do my elbows ache? I am trying to stay away from the news so I can avoid the “Seemingly Healthy 30-year-old Man Succumbs to Virus” stories that make me anxious for my own health and that of my husband’s. We are young (young-ish!) and have no underlying health concerns. Shouldn’t we be safe? Why are healthy thirty-year-olds dying? If they’re wrong about healthy thirty-year-olds, are they also wrong about how the virus affects kids?
When I do read the news, my attention is caught by stories that highlight the incredible lack of compassion for seniors/the immunocompromised, and I get flashbacks to taking care of my ailing parents. So, I recognize today’s struggle — it is a familiar feeling. It’s what I lived through in the last few years of my parents’ lives: constant anxiety, dread, worry, tension, and loss. I don’t have to name this feeling as trauma to know what it is.
I went outside to play with the kids after lunch. Bottle-blue skies, sun, temperatures in the 30s—a perfect Alaskan spring day. I put on my snowshoes and planned to trek around the property, avoiding the steep bit that the kids were sledding on (my knees aren’t what they used to be, before that fateful ACL injury at age 10 on the slopes of Eaglecrest). As soon as I stepped off the well-trodden trail, I sank into waist-deep snow, a whole winter’s worth. Oh, those best-laid plans. I laughed. I imagined what it would be like to just wait in my hole. How long would it take for John to come investigate? How long could I stay there and not return to normal life? My butt was already wet and getting cold. But I was still laughing. I could get myself out, but I was frankly enjoying the rest.
Theo eventually called out to me. “Are you okay, Mama? Do you need to be rescued?” I could hear it in his voice, the extra solicitousness since our earlier argument. “I promise you, I will never leave you!” Channeling Daniel Day-Lewis from Last of the Mohicans, he came to my rescue.
