I think maybe the best thing that happened to me the past week was when I was asked for my ID while purchasing life support, I mean wine, and the cashier laughed and said Wow…no way! Good for you.
I didn’t press him for details on what he meant exactly, because let’s face it; that could mean a number of things, but I chose to take it as complimentary because any jolt of positivity these days is a welcome one indeed. It was probably the mask and the fact I was freshly showered that really put me over the Is She 21? edge. But I don’t care; I’ll wear a mask just to get carded. I have no shame.
The Children had no school on Monday, which basically made it feel like…every other day but Daughter did really put her endurance to the test with a four hour marathon of The Office. I wanted to tell her that maybe she should stop but then I thought better of it and went to Target instead. Also, it brings a tear to my eye knowing I’ve done something right. You can’t teach good taste in television; you simply encourage and hope they spread their wings and make you proud. That’s what she said.
Tuesday I was bored. I was so. so. bored. I even took my pulse a few times which served the duel purpose of having something to do while reassuring me that yes, I was still alive. I hate even saying I was bored because what a luxury to be bored. But that was my reality on that day and I tried really hard to sink into it; to try and appreciate it to make up for all the other days that are the opposite of bored. But it was terrible. I was so bored I couldn’t even fold the piles of laundry that were just sitting there, mocking me, saying-hey. We’re here for you. We’re always here for you. Take care of us. No. I’m not going to. I’m just going to do nothing but hate myself and wait for tomorrow so I can start over. I know-really healthy mentality. I hope you’re taking notes.
So many days I find myself glancing at the clock and take myself back to a pre-COVID existence. I imagine all the things I should be doing, instead of the things I’m actually doing. I should be picking up my kids from school, running them to a practice, complaining about 8 am baseball on a Sunday morning. I should be squeezing in a lunch with a friend before the bell rings. I should be thinking days or weeks ahead and planning and organizing for what’s to come. But instead I sit and stare at the laundry, dreaming of the magical mundaneness of a busy parent with rising adolescents.
And yet I don’t want to waste this time, wishing for it to be gone. Because as badly as I want a return to our old routine, I also have a teenage son who undoubtedly spends more time at home then he would otherwise and a preteen daughter who’s individuality and independence are growing stronger even in isolation. I get a few more hugs, a lot more eye rolls, and the sound of a french horn wafting through the house. And as much I want to resist, as many things that I hate about this chapter of our lives, I have to remember that with the speedy intensity at which children grow, all this extra time spent with them is actually a gift.
A gift wrapped in caution tape, broken glass and super glue, but a gift nonetheless. Proceed cautiously.
That’s what she said.
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