Oh vey.
This last week felt a little endless. It felt like quarantine might go on for a lot longer than is mentally available for me to think about. Which, I mean….I can’t let myself go there. We get through today. We go to bed. Maybe we sleep, maybe we don’t. We wake up. And through the day we go. Rinse. Lather. Repeat.
The fatigue has set in on my eyes. As grateful as I am to our little front yard, I kind of don’t want to look at it anymore. As nice as it is to take long walks with the (world’s happiest) dog, I’m really sick of the same routes. As cozy as it is to sleep past 6 am each day, I would love to get back to my gym after dropping MY KIDS OFF AT SCHOOL. I’m sorry I ever yelled at you, Children, to put your damn shoes on because at least that meant we got to leave the house.
God, I miss yelling at my kids to put their shoes on.
I know these sacrifices are small in the greater picture of this pandemic. I know how fortunate we are to access our school digitally, prepare meals each day and stay healthy in our little 1500 square foot bubble. The fact that the front lines of this crisis seem far away and can just be switched off with a click of my remote does not elude me. We all need to do our part; we all have sacrifices big and small that we must make so others can simply survive. So our first responders can stay healthy and keep aiding those in need. When faced with the dire reality of life and death, watching Daughter do her self taught gymnastics routine 567 times each day suddenly seems pretty fucking amazing.
But I think it’s important to be gentle with ourselves; to remember that we can be grateful and yet still cry under shaded eyes while walking the (world’s happiest) dog. That our hearts can be full with love for so much time spent with our children while also wishing they would please just go back to school and sports and friends. That one day we might crumble beneath a mountain of fear and anxiety and the next we are helping another climb gently down from that same mountain. That virtual happy hours are fun but what we wouldn’t give to wrap our arms around our loved ones and over pay for cocktails simply for the atmosphere.
Daughter had a birthday this past week. She turned 11. Of course her birthday plans were cancelled and she was super disappointed, but she handles things so well. Said no one ever. We had a lot of talks, mostly me talking to a slammed door in my face, about how it’s okay to be disappointed, upset, sad, frustrated but we can still have a special day. She wasn’t having it. I let her cry into her pillow because I understand the therapeutic value of crying into a pillow. And even though her dramatic antics were wearing me down, I really did feel so badly for her. And that pillow.
The big day came and there were balloons and hot chocolate and pizza and presents and one spectacular meltdown over a non-existent phone she felt she felt entitled to receive. And just when all felt lost, there was a parade. Friends and family who decorated their cars and made signs and threw candy and beaded necklaces out their windows and honked their horns and toasted our girl from six feet away while blasting birthday songs from their vehicles. There was a small, appropriately spaced gathering of old friends and new who went out of their way to make the day of a very special 11 year old. Then came endless smiles and waves from Daughter who only hours before had self quarantined during quarantine. What could more appropriately symbolize the ups and downs of this new normal than being deep in the trenches of adolescent pain one moment then wrapped in a warm cocoon of kind gestures and simple love the next? I know that one day, dear Daughter, you will look back on this birthday and realize just how lucky you were to see what a treasure it was to receive the best gift that humans have to offer: love. And Reeses Peanut Butter Cups.
Onward we march into week three. We get through today. We sleep. We get through tomorrow. Rinse. Lather. Repeat.
See you on the flip side.
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