The blog took an instrumental break since I shared the Easter Basket Guide a little while back, and for the sake of appropriately documenting for when I scroll through memories here years from now, let me make a small notation about the reason behind the instrumental break: F*$%#)’#[email protected]&^%*[email protected]!!ck.
There. Glad we got that out of the way.
Like the rest of the world, I have spent the last several weeks sort of aimlessly wandering around, wondering what it is that I’m supposed to be doing and how I am to feel. If there were metaphorical rooms representing all the ways one can handle a global pandemic we never imagined, just know I’ve opened every damn door and spent time in all the rooms including “Cry because life is over and we’re all going to die” (heavy childhood immersion in the Book of Revelation not helpful right now) as well as the ambitious “No worries, we’ll just make crafts every day!”.
About that ambitious route: what ever made us think that being cooped up with our hungry bored kids 24/7 for two months would actually render any time to tackle a bunch of projects? I mean, yes, I’m enjoying the strange togetherness consequence of this quarantine that has made for some beautiful memories with our family. But I’ve never felt more overwhelmed with all that there is to do, perhaps because there are no random Target excursions to ease the load and distract me from the to do list.
My friend Shannan wrote something yesterday about the “ands” we are holding right now–believing that we will get through this and yet scared for those who won’t, wishing we could venture out and also wanting to retreat further in, feeling frustrated that we can’t get toilet paper and yet knowing there are far more people who are dealing with real suffering. I’m feeling so grateful for the peace inside our home and the little things I’m noticing that make this quarantine easier while also feeling heartbroken and anxious for the world. I want to responsibly dig into the news information about how this is affecting our society so I can be aware and conscientious, and I also want to turn it off to tame the anxiety that follows. There is no either/or though. So we balance the “both” and the “ands” as best as we can. For the record, I had a “both” moment Saturday night that looked like sipping a shot of tequila while also doing an arm workout.
One thing’s for sure, we will never forget the Spring of 2020–what it felt like to drive on open streets, past parks with taped-off playgrounds and store parking lots that normally require slow circling to find an open spot, now empty. We won’t forget the knock on the door from the teacher who stopped by just to say hi and wave through the window and the tears that fell when she left. We will remember what it feels like to miss someone only ten minutes away and how a stroll by their house to wave only made the missing worse. Or the elation I felt recognizing my friend’s familiar eyes above her face mask as she pushed her cart past mine on our serendipitously timed essential grocery run, and how strangely comforting it felt to see someone you know outside of “the cave.” We will never forget the vocabulary we’ve learned these past few weeks–PPE, “flatten the curve,” social distancing, hydroxychloroquine, N95. I will remember the fear in the middle night, the “what ifs” I wondered for our own family and for those we love. And I’ll never ever forget the things that made that fear feel better–the songs we listened to, the friends I called, the memes that made me laugh, the social media stories of neighbors singing and friends paying for groceries and teachers rallying and the son who drove across town to hold his tiny new baby up to the window so her grandfather could behold her beauty.
I’ll never forgot what it feels like to have life stand still in our homes while we wait for the world to turn the page to a chapter we all want to end.
From the pages we’ve written in our home through this chapter…
Family movie nights in the pool.
Gathering around the computer to wave to a teacher during an e-learning session.
Watching my dad jokingly walk to our car virus-protected when we surprised him with a wave-through-the-window visit.
The gratitude I’ve felt for every little corner of our home for the love and comfort it’s provided during this time when we can’t leave.
Overreacting every time I see the kids do something potentially dangerous (“Let go of that chandelier, Dash!”), followed by “This is no time to go to the E.R.!”
The heaps of toys in the driveway from all the times I kicked the kids out of the house.
The way family huddles never felt so good.
Slowly balancing our love/hate relationship with Friday so that love’s in the lead (Brett’s not there yet…ha)
My kids’ anticipation of a holiday like I’ve never witnessed. They’ve been so wonderful about all the sacrifices they’ve had to make and have, for the most part, gone with the flow beautifully. This weekend’s Easter celebrations will definitely stand out among all the Easters of our past. You’d think it was Christmas.
Feels good to be back in this space–a little normalcy among what is hardly normal.
Love, safety and wellness to all of you while we push through this. If you’re out there working on the front lines, thank you, thank you, thank you. Everything good we are trying to make in our homes right now is due to the sacrifice you are making to keep the world going.