I’m officially over it. I’ve tried not to admit, I’ve denied it at every turn, talked to myself about a much needed attitude adjustment, reapplied deodorant, printed out new activity sheets and played Disney Hits through our tiny animal speakers 59 times too many. I’ve convinced myself I’m actually NOT checking the COVID websites 12 times a day, and despite all the signs we’re still settling IN to this pandemic and not out of it quite yet, I’m making plans for May and hopes for June. Because I’m on the real struggle bus, totally suffering from the Over-It Syndrome.
I don’t think my kids are clever, anymore. I’m not witty or quick, either. I don’t think their destructive messes in the kitchen are “just a creative part of learning.” I’m tired of them feeling their own, natural, reasonable feelings and expressing them to me : frustration, confusion, annoyance, anger, sadness, loneliness, exhaustion (the nerve. . . just kidding, of course, but For. The. Love.). I don’t know how to “figure this out” anymore, and I’m not sure how much longer I can keep up the “I’m a great mom and we’re doing fine, and all is well and school is going swimmingly and every assignment is clean and uploaded and the floor shines and I laugh all.the.time” persona.
I miss running. I miss the alone time. I miss the minutes to take a deep breath and regroup, refocus, find myself. I feel trapped and stuck, and I feel guilty for saying that. I grieve the weeks, experiences and friendships we’ve lost. And I know, I know, we read all about how “these are just NEW experiences! These weeks are GIFTS and we should look at them in great gratitude, full of blessings!”
I know. But today, this time doesn’t feel like a gift. It feels like a burden. Like a vague, never ending, confusing chapter in a storybook I’d just rather skip. #truth
These pictures. This is what I want back. The simple peace of having dependable expectations and structure.
I keep telling my kids (because they keep asking):
“I don’t know, but I wish I did.”
Because that’s the answer, right? To everything, every time, no matter what.
What are you making us for dinner?
Do you think we can see our teacher again? (She’s moving and the twins are devastated to think they can’t hug her goodbye.)
Will my theatre summer camp still happen?
When will we see our out of town family again?
Will This Whole Thing be over by the time it’s my birthday?
Can we swim this summer in our neighborhood pool?
Will Daddy be ok?
Waving the white flag here, friends. What do you do to allow yourself time to grieve, moments to be real? What do you do to get back on the This Is Ok Bandwagon? I’d really love to know.