Pictured for you instead is this very nice loaf of bread Nat baked. Since it is snowing, we are baking and eating a loaf of fresh bread a day, apparently. I'm just going to go with it.
We started our week with the official news that schools will remain closed until the end of the year. It was not unexpected or surprising news. As I reflected last week, it does feel that we are just settling into a rythm of this remote-learning stuff, just scratching the surface of success with it. So, then. 5 more weeks to hone our skills.
A part of me is definitely feeling relieved. It is good to have some closure, some knowledge of what is coming so we can plan, at least a little, for the future. And, it is good to know that we do not need to rush headlong into large, socially-close gatherings and risk exposure to the virus. We can stay nestled here at home, hoping it is safe enough. We are blessed to be able to do this, and still get paid for our work. And also sleep in every day. Because silver linings are important, I will go on the record to say I do NOT miss waking up at 5am. At all.
A part of me is feeling deep sadness. I am mourning the loss of all those events and projects and sports and activities that come with the last weeks of school. Just last year (in another lifetime) we determined that May is the new December, with the same rush and preparation and excitement only with (a little) less snow. Not this year. No first season of track for Jack. No spring Tigersharks. No spring soccer. No band and choir concerts. No West Shore concert. No last day of school pictures with my kids' teachers. No last day of school hugs from my students. No end-of-year picnic celebrations. No afterschool bike-ride playdates. No cookouts with friends and neighbors and saying "we should do this more often!" There is so much loss and it feels so real even though none of those things had actually come to fruition yet and maybe they wouldn't even have been that great. We just expected them to be great. Expectations will get you every time.
A part of me is just feeling detached. That sadness, it is remote for me right now. Like I am watching someone else feeling sadness and loss and I totally empathize but it's not really mine. I've been trying to stay in the moment as our situation changes day by day, and I've developed a little daily routine that is keeping me level. And though I am certain there will be many more day-by-day changes as we deal with the great unknown of this enemy virus, all of a sudden we've been told that things will stay the same for quite some time. No more possibility of a miraculous return to normalcy. Not in the next month or two anyways. And that seems like such a long time! Two weeks at a time, with a little hope in between... that was manageable. Though I find it laughable now that one-month-ago Amanda actually believed for a little bit we might be having a big party for Ivy's birthday. This-month-Amanda is more of the mindset that our new normal, this little routine of mine-- it will be all we get for 5 weeks plus 6-12 more months.
Detachment may be only way I can handle that thought.
Meanwhile we muddle on. Trying to keep up motivation for the kiddos to earn their grades in the midst of their own sadness at the sudden end of their school year, all their lost expectations. Jack has fallen pretty far behind in his ELA class and is putting off his writing projects to the degree he's got an 11% right now and I SO empathize with him. I want to put it all off too. At the same time it is pretty embarassing that its the teacher's kid who is missing all his work. We are struggling to find a balance of allowing him independence and self -direction and also holding the line for him because, despite being a bright kiddo, there's a lot he doesn't know yet. His way of coping seems to be to withdraw into his phone and gaming with friends all day (and night) and its a struggle to get him outdoors or chatting and engaging with us. Once we do-- he's a delight! Loves running at the park with Winter, has intelligent and interesting dinner conversations. I am sure that 12-going-on-13 would be ....interesting... even not in the middle of a pandemic...
Ivy is a little trouper with her schoolwork, adhering to her checklist of daily work with fidelity and motivation. She'd be a dream home-school student if she wasn't also my daughter and therefore comfortable with expressing her (very big, very negative) feelings all over me all day. Her frustration with her situation comes out in the form of whining, complaining, freaking out at her brother, and emotionally overreacting about every. single. possible. thing. To the point that we now have a behavior plan hanging in the dining room and she is working on earning extra screen time and candy (and avoiding consequences). Hoping the plan helps her develop some coping strategies but also helps me have a calm, concrete way of dealing with her when she is emotional. Her freakouts, just like Jack's missing school work, are big triggers for me. They make me feel out of control and like I'm a bad parent (because if I was good, my child would be happy all the time, right??) and so I react with anger. Not the way to deescalate an emotional kid, in case you were wondering. Wish us luck. Five more weeks plus 6-12 more months of being together ALL. THE. TIME. with my sweet, darling, impossible children. Phew. Here we go.
Listened to a good podcast from Brene Brown on my run today, about breaking our habitual ways of dealing with anxiety. Appropo right now. I am a classic "overreactor" according to Brene's classifications, seeking to take control and fix other people's anxiety or situations that feel out of control. Yep. Sometimes over-reactivity can be a good thing. Despite my generally squeamish and indecisive day-to-day affect, I am pretty good to have around in actual crisis situations. But I'm a bit too much for my poor children in their more moderate anxieties and emotional reactions when I barge in and demand that they fix what is going on, right at this moment, because their emotions make me feel like my control over my world is cracking apart... So I am going to see if I can learn to be "a practitioner of calm" to help us all get through this in one piece. The definition of calm that Brene uses is: mindful, wise, and not reactive to the emotions of others. An ambitious goal for me, to be sure, and maybe right now, during the end of life as we know it, isn't the best time for a major personality change... but I think maybe its the most necessary time of all.
Again, wish me luck.
Here's what we've been up to besides dealing with our feelings:
House projects-- about 1/3 of the way done with the upstairs bathroom and LOVING it.
Saturday evening run.
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