I’ve been writing things down since here and there since the coronavirus really started to impact our lives. I’ve shared some of this as snippets on Instagram but if you’re interested in reading more, feel free to read through these lightly-edited words. As this essay says, I’m craving to see what people are thinking/doing/feeling through all of this. Maybe it’s helpful to use my own still, small voice to give some words to what we’re all going through at this moment in time. You can find Week One here and Week Two here.
Sunday, March 29th
Some recipes:
This focaccia. (Freeze in pieces and warm at 300 degrees for 10ish minutes.)
This granola. (No coconut chips, please. Use roasted, salted pistachios and pumpkin seeds and cut the amount of salt to 1-2 teaspoons.)
Any pasta but especially this one because I’m obsessed.
Brownies. From a box. Because they’re the best and we can only do so much.
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Monday, March 30th
A friend asked me how I was feeling with Brooklyn fracturing her wrists. I can’t remember her exact wording, but something along the lines of whether it felt like more work or more chaos or if I felt exhausted.
You’d think it would, right? In some ways it does. She needs help dressing and undressing and bathing and all sorts of things she’s been able to do herself for years now.
But honestly? I said no. In the midst of the world being turned upside down, Brooklyn’s broken wrists actually feel incredibly manageable. There’s a PROCESS for all this.
I knew which clinic to go to. They knew to take X-rays and how to bandage her arms. That we needed to return in a few days to get casts and that we’ll go back in three more weeks to have them removed. They know that by then her wrists will have healed, that in a healthy 6-year old girl, three weeks is the extent of all this.
It’s actually incredibly comforting, in the midst of so many unknowns, that there’s a timeline here. We don’t know exactly how long schools will be closed or when restaurants will reopen; we don’t know when everyone can return to work or if the kids will play baseball this summer. But we know that in three weeks, her wrists will be fixed.
Certainty, right now, is in short supply. I’ll take what I can get.
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Guys, we don’t know how to leave the house any more. I took the kids to a drive-thru for lunch. (Which has traditionally been a treat after preschool conferences: we had Nolan’s by phone this morning.) (P.s. He’s doing FANTASTIC!) Of course, we couldn’t go inside. Still, it took a solid 10 minutes longer than it usually does for us to get in the car.
Yes, you need shoes. Yes, you need a jacket if you feel cold. No, you can’t bring 18 toys. After you get your shoes on you need to physically move your body out of the mudroom and go sit in the car. And then buckle yourself in. No, that’s not your seat. Yes, you can unbuckle and go back in the house to go potty.
We’re broken, is what I’m saying. We don’t even know how to leave the house for the most basic of excursions anymore. Lord help us.
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I was messaging a friend back and forth. She said she’s quiet right now, that she doesn’t have any words and is just trying to process things. I thought it was so interesting because this friend and I are basically the same person, yet I feel like I have nothing BUT words right now. I’m posting things more than ever. Even right here, right now, I come back to this document labeled “Coronavirus” in my Google Docs almost every day. It’s not Shakespeare, but it’s words. Lots of them.
I realized I used to have more words when the kids were younger. When they were home basically all day every day, I felt like I had more words, in a way. Absent adult conversation, writing was a way for me to get adult thoughts and feelings out of my head after being surrounded by small children all day.
And this time feels SO MUCH like that all over again. Especially with distance learning. I’m physically and mentally with the kids so much right now as we tackle schoolwork and everything else throughout the day And, for the most part, they love it! But it takes a lot out of me. To some extent, I enjoy it. But it’s also incredibly draining in the same way three kids under three was draining; just their mere physical presence is a lot.
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Tuesday, March 31st
Our Pastor sent out an email today with 10 self-care strategies shared with him by a Director of Pastoral Care from his seminary. Strategy 5 reads “Do less. We can focus on 50-70% of the stuff we did before the crisis hit.” That sounds about right to me. In fact, that sounds too high. I think it falls down to 30-50% if you have small children.
Jen Hatmaker says she’s aiming for 55% with homeschooling her children. THIS IS ALL WE CAN DO.
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Wednesday, April 1st
(A Lighthearted) List of Quarantine Winners and Losers
Winners:
Homeschool moms: Just take a bow.
Beans: Your time was already coming. This accelerated it.
Athleisure: Leggings and joggers are proof he Lord loves us and wants us to be happy.
Delivery Services: Praise the Lord.
Netflix: Obviously.
Losers:
Jeans: And anything else with buttons and zippers.
Days of the Week, Names of Months, etc.: Time doesn’t matter.
Cars: I usually fill up the van once a week. Now the last time I got gas was 3 1/2 weeks ago.
Carole Baskin: Not sure how she even relates to Coronavirus but it seems like she should be on this list.
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Friday, April 3rd
Caden sent a video to his teacher today of us baking banana muffins (Because: measuring! They’re learning about measuring! Look at us being all math-y!) and the dysfunction was REAL.
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Yesterday was mostly fine—good, even—and today feels like a shitshow. It’s all too hard and I’m sick of these kids and also it’s gross outside and why. Let’s start over again tomorrow.
Tomorrow’s a new day, right?
I don’t know. Is tomorrow a new day? It kind of feels like the same day all over again. Like a stupid, scarier, all-of-humanity version of Groundhog’s Day.
It’s just one more up and down on the rollercoaster of feelings. I seem to roll with a cycle of “this isn’t so bad” to a big ol’ “meh” where I just exist without feelings before plummeting to “everything is terrible let’s burn down the house and just start over”. But we’ve been riding this coaster for three weeks now and I’m sure I’ll begin the cycle over again. Also we watched more Tiger King last night and after watching those people, that show makes me feel like I don’t have a single problem in the whole entire world.
So it’s fine! I’m fine. Everything is fine. And I’m seriously considering buying this t-shirt as my new daily uniform.