Week Four.
Or Week Sixty Four.
I don’t know…do you? Does it matter?
Week Four was Spring Break, so The Children had no schoolwork to occupy them for even just a mere two hours a day. So…yeah. There was….Nothing. To Do. All Day. Just wake up whenever, do whatever, for however long you’re doing it, eat a bunch of food, complain that it’s chicken, then go back to doing whatever for however long you’re doing it while creating just a freakish amount of laundry. Actually, come to think of it…that was exactly how we spent Spring Break last year. Huh.
This no routine routine is something I am not cut out for. Last week, you could find me wandering my living room, which is about the size of your master bathroom most likely, saying things like, cards? Yahtzee? 15 more minutes until you take a break. Cards? Yahtzee? 14 more minutes until no more Minecraft. Cards? Yahtzee? 13 more minutes….
A numbness took over and I aimlessly circled in white space, certain that the only thing this pandemic is proving is how useless I am because I can’t drive my kids to sports. What good am I if nobody needs a ride anywhere?
To this, I texted one of my besties who is working from home alongside her husband and two teenagers and asked her- am I an asshole because I wish I had a job to do right now other than cook and clean and feel constant guilt and beg my kids for love and attention? And she said no you’re not (she has to say that because she’s my friend) and agreed that she hasn’t even had a second to feel guilty because she’s so busy working but she wonders if she’s missing out on all the kumbaya family time social media is busy distorting for us. I assured her it wasn’t all kumbaya over here because at that very moment, Daughter was busy lighting things on fire in the driveway and Son left on his bike to go find a Dr. Pepper because I’m a terrible mother and did not buy any at Target and declined his offer for me to jump immediately in my car and go get him some. (Cue Dr. Pepper Shamers.)
I gotta hand it to us, ladies. Not even a quarantined pandemic can quell our self doubt and questionable worthiness and usefulness as a human, mother, friend. Maybe we should stop being so hard on ourselves. It’s exhausting. I mean, if I can not give a shit about Tik Tok and don’t even have a desire to understand it, that means I must have some redeemable qualities, yeah?
See what happens when I have no routine or direction? I start comparing my self worth to Tik Tok.
I gotta get out more.
Oh yeah.
Never mind.
While nothing can compare to the thrill we once knew of dropping our kids off at school for eight hours a day, I joyfully welcome the return of digital learning next week. I think The Children will too. We all need a little routine, a little direction, to keep us motivated to keep on keeping on during this quarantine; one long day followed by the next. But I have learned that some days, it makes me feel better to wear real clothes. That some days, it’s okay for me to read on the sofa instead of cook chicken. That some days I can be the boss of screen time and other days I do not give a rats ass. That some days, I’ll be damned if I don’t win the family board game battle, and other days I let it go. I have learned that my kids can do more than just put their dishes in the dishwasher (like total sociopaths, but still they always have) and it does not, contrary to their very popular belief, kill them to do all the dinner dishes. I mean, what a relief that at the very least, we’re safe from death by dishes. (So many dishes.) I have learned that being bored does not translate to desire to clean closets or craft or learn a new language. I have learned that being outside is vital for survival. That feeling the sun on my face is a reminder that life is still happening. We are still here. We still have a purpose. And mine is for chicken.
Lastly, I have learned that each day, I grow more and more motivated to cut my own hair. Carson Daly can do it. What could go wrong? And if it does go wrong…I mean…who cares.
Because…quarantine.
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